Psalm 1

1Happy are those
    who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or take the path that sinners tread,
    or sit in the seat of scoffers;
² but their delight is in the law of the Lord,
    and on his law they meditate day and night.
³ They are like trees
    planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in its season,
    and their leaves do not wither.
In all that they do, they prosper.

⁴ The wicked are not so,
    but are like chaff that the wind drives away.
⁵ Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgement,
    nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous;
⁶ for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
    but the way of the wicked will perish.

*So first thing after they moved in
the neighbors dug up Ruth’s old garden,
a front-yard oddity that had appeared —
shaggy, extravagant, sprawling — wherever
her springtime sweat cast its charms.

The new people pulled out
her spindly jungle of asparagus; tore up
the nasturtium border whose sensuous petals,
like mangoes, you could pluck and eat;
they hacked down six-foot sunflowers;
mowed over silky native grasses that flowed
on breezy days like a woman’s hair.

The little paw-paw tree they decided to keep.
They mowed around it.

Grinning and waving at us as we strolled by,
they spent a hot September weekend
digging and seeding, laying straw,
staking off squares of flat, potential decency.

The straw muddied, winds came,
snow fell then melted, the weather warmed,
and Ruth’s earth took its revenge:

A hundred tulips shot up
in the feeble spring lawn,
raising first their cocked leaves,
then their green, defiant heads.*

That is a poem called “Resilience” by Debra Rienstra. And, what I especially appreciate is the image of these defiant flowers that will not be bothered by the shallow ways of conformity that much of society would have us believe is of the highest value. The tulips are not concerned with the latest trends in lawn care, or the meager mowing of those who hold power over their space. They are firmly planted, and will honor the memory of once wild gardens by bursting forth with beauty and defiance.

When we hear images in scripture about nature, like we get in our psalm today, a tree planted by streams of water, it often evokes images of serenity and peace. And, while that is true, I also think every once in a while, it is important to see this concept of being firmly grounded with deep roots as an act of resilience in times of trouble.

A great example is our psalm today. On the surface it would seem as though the path of the righteous, the way of God, is one that is full of serenity and peace. Those who meditate on the law of God, who spend their time walking in God’s paths are happy! Delighted! They are planted beside the soothing streams, and green hills. On the surface it would seem like the psalmist is painting an image akin to Thomas Kincaid, a fantasyland, DisneyWorld. 

But we all know that a life spent following God’s laws is not devoid of pain and hurt. The DAISY award winning nurse in the maternity ward experiences a pregnancy loss herself. The school teacher who buys all of his supplies out of pocket, and stays late to tutor a kid for free gets laid off after the district cuts budgets. Or, the small business owner who gives back so much to the community has a fire that takes out their shop. 

But happy are those who delight in God’s law! If you are someone who has gone through something like that, and let’s be honest with ourselves, who hasn’t experienced some kind of devastation in our lives, it may feel like we are not on the path that God is watching over. It may feel like we have lost our way. 

And you may ask yourself in those times, “What did I do wrong? How did I get here?” Are we to believe that whenever these things happen it’s because we somehow followed wicked advice, or sat in the scoffer’s seat? Is there no grace?

No. 

No, because this psalm is not a testimony of experience, but rather a statement of faith. It is a statement of faith that says, “I am a tree planted by streams of water, grounded, with deep roots. So, when the storms come, when the winds blow, I will not be overtaken. When the waters break their banks I will not be washed away.” This is a psalm that proclaims, “Even when the air is dry and rains haven’t come, I will not wither away, and I will continue to bear fruit.” 

The psalmist begins the whole book of psalms with this statement of faith, “Take the ways that you know to be wrong, and you will be blown away when the hard times come. But, stick with God’s ways and you will stand tall.” Or as Debra Rienstra would say, when the garden gets uprooted, be like the tulips, who spring up through the shallow rooted grass.

You know, I really enjoy a good story well told, especially around a campfire. I had the distinct honor, while working at Camp Fowler, of learning a number of campfire stories that I still hold close in my heart. See, Fowler has a rich storytelling culture. Each summer night the campers, staff, and volunteers gather at the campfire on the beach, and as the sun goes down over the pine covered mountains, and the stars emerge, we listen to stories of giants and wizards, talking animals and ancient spirits. 

These were always a delight to the ear, but the stories that were truly profound to me were the ones that were based in reality, almost believable due to their real world details. The camp director, “Uncle” Kent was particularly gifted at telling these stories. 

When nightfall came, and the fire began to dim, the campers’ yawns grew larger, and Uncle Kent would gift us with one of his stories. And, he would always say the greatest compliment one could ever pay a storyteller would be to fall asleep, for that would be proof of the storyteller’s skill of being able to transport souls into the realm of dreams. I often would get excited myself at the tall tales of Bill Greenfield and his Adirondack Adventures, or of old King Solomon and his Wisdom. If I could stay awake…

But, the one story that I could never fall asleep on was the tale of the Man Who Planted Trees. It is a beautiful story, filled with particular details that seem to pay no attention to the main plot. Precious minutes are used describing the shining fresh oil on the barrel of a hunting rifle that is never used. And the soft orange glow of a fire in a small cabin in the countryside that is never visited by anyone except the protagonist.

I have always loved this story. Not just for its attention to detail, but for its sheer beauty, and its subtle testament of faith. Briefly, it is the story of a man named Elzéard Bouffier, a lonesome shepherd living in the South of France at the turn of the 20th century. The narrator over the course of the plot describes how Elzeard meticulously planted oak trees on a large plot of land that had been clear cut in the decades before. Over time the Oaks grew tall and sturdy, and through the study of the land Elzeard eventually planted Beech trees, white birch, Spruce and Pines until the young forest eventually began to take root. Soon, wildflowers sprung up on the forest bed, and eventually the wildlife returns, which brings with it frontier folks, resettling the old abandoned town once again. 

Elzeard eventually dies in the end. A peaceful death, surrounded not by friends or family, but by trees that he had planted. The story says that he did not get to see the townsfolk return, nor the migrating deer, or even the once dry well fill back up. But, Elzeard did not need to. The lonesome shepherd trusted in the ways of planting trees, and had faith.

I doubt Elzeard Bouffier was ever a real person, but if he was I wonder what he would think of the first psalm. I wonder what it would have been like to go out every day in the wind swept field, planting seeds of trees that would take a decade to grow, with the thoughts of dry watercourses running with streams in the spring. 

I truly believe that planting trees in faith that they will take deep roots, even though you may never get to rest under their shade is a statement of hope in God’s vision of the glorious kingdom. We are called to be people who are grounded like trees, with deep roots in the kingdom of God. We are called to follow the way of righteousness, justice, and peace. We are called to follow the ways of God.

But, there’s still that nagging feeling that hasn’t gone away. Isn’t there? I know it’s easy for me to stand here and say, “Just follow God!” And maybe that makes you feel alright for a time. But, when the dark storm clouds come, and you feel blown off course, you may ask yourself, “I am trying to follow God, but I don’t know if I am on the right path.”

And you wouldn’t be the first person to ask that question. There was a man named Thomas. And Thomas was faithful, though was also known to ask hard questions from time to time. One day, Thomas found himself caught up with a traveling band of outcasts and near-do-wells, moving from town to town in the hill country. They were following their enigmatic leader, who often spoke wisdom through riddles and odd sayings. And after about three years of following this man with this group of wanderers, Thomas was getting a little frustrated. It really started to come to a head when they came to a large city in the area, and stopped for supper. Thomas was wondering if he had made a mistake, and wondered if he was truly on the right path in his life. It had been three years, and he was still poor and socially outcast. Now, he found himself cramped in this upper room with his band of vagabonds, supposedly celebrating the Passover, though it wasn’t like any Passover he had ever seen.

And after a few hours of washing, eating, and talking, the leader of this group began talking about his dad’s house that everyone was invited to. He said that there were a lot of rooms there, and that he would be going ahead to prepare the rooms for everyone. And that in due time he would come back and bring everyone with him to this great place. Thomas was confused, especially when this guy said that everyone already knew the way there. So, Thomas finally spoke up, “We don’t know where you’re going! How can we know the way?”

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life…”

How do we know the way to go? Jesus is the way. He said this at the Last Supper, hours before he would be arrested, beaten, and nailed to a cross. Jesus is the fulfillment of the laws of God, the crescendo to God’s master symphony, the most righteous on the path of the righteous, in whom we all delight. And yet, even Jesus knew that following the ways of God would ultimately result in hardship and death on the cross. There has been no greater devastation. 

And yet, the way did not come to an end on the cross, but burst forth out of the grave like tulips out of the ground at springtime, defiant of death, and beautifully blooming in the light of the morning son.

So what are we then to do, friends? We know the way, but we still need to walk the path of God’s vision here on earth. I would contend that participating in this beloved community is one way to walk the path.

A few weeks ago I shared a story about a church in Florida that intentionally set out to engage in a “Matthew 25” ministry. To refresh your memory, in Matthew chapter 25 Jesus calls upon the righteous of God to feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, and visit the sick and imprisoned. Saying specifically, “That which you have done to the least of these you have done to me.” 

I said that the leadership of this Florida church set out to partner with local outreach groups and law enforcement to provide meals, clothes, and water stations to the homeless, letters to those who were imprisoned, and blankets to cancer patients. Well, after I told that story it was pointed out to me that we, the Colts Neck Reformed Church, as a part of our benevolence budget, give to Fulfill food pantry, Open Door, Covenant House, Room for All, and the Hope-Western Prison Education Program. We are a Matthew 25 church in our giving.

But it isn’t just financial giving that counts as participating in the community. Jesus said that in order to inherit the kingdom of God one must become like a child. We have over twenty people in our community dedicated to Christian education of our youth through Sunday School, Youth Group, and children’s choirs. And, I can personally say, I am always looking for more volunteers!

By participating in this community you can live into God’s vision for the world by meeting people who have different lived experiences than you, who think differently than you, who have different family systems than you do. You can engage with people who are richer and poorer than you, who love differently than you do, who identify as a gender different from yours, who voted for the other candidate, and has a different opinion about the Middle East than you do. And yet, by participating in this community you can stand shoulder to shoulder with all of those people and sing together, “O God our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter in the stormy blast, and our eternal home.” Ours, together, lifting our hearts to worship and serve the same God who loves each of us. 

The psalmist tells us that those who do not follow the ways of the wicked are happy, but I can’t guarantee that if you do everything right in this life, follow all that God wants, go on every mission trip, give the full ten percent of your income, that you will be happen. But, I can guarantee something else. Friends, I must admit I have buried the lead. See, the Hebrew word our translation says means happy is “Asher,” which is better translated not as happy, but as “blessed.” When you dedicate your life to being grounded with deep roots in the ways of God you will be blessed. Actually, you will find that you have been blessed, you are blessed, and will continue to be blessed.

For when you are grounded like a tree by streams of water with deep roots, your blessing is not found in the material gains and losses of the world, but in the strong and sure foundation of the one who planted you, the God of love, who loves you, the trees of the field, and the entire world so much that he would send his only son to show us all the way to a glorious kingdom.

And the good news my friends is that we get to participate in this beloved community with one another, and with God. Even though we are grounded with deep roots, we are at the same time always being sent out on the way, to share these blessings of God with neighbors and strangers.

So let me wrap this up with one more quick story about Camp Fowler. When I was on staff one of my tasks was to take groups on hikes and canoe paddles throughout the Adirondacks. And, there would always come a time after we had reached our destination when it was time to pack up and head back to camp. I always found that this was the saddest part of the trip, so I always would try to crack a joke to improve morale. After four years on staff there was only one joke that would get the group going with laughter. “Let’s make like a tree, and…” Leave is what you would say if you were a normal person. But I was a camp counselor, so I would always say at the end of the trip, “Alright folks, let’s make like trees, and get out of here.”

It’s a stupid joke! I know. But may we all embody the sentiment. Let us be like trees, grounded with deep roots in God’s kingdom vision, and get out of here so that we can be agents of God’s grace, mercy, peace, and love.

May it be so. Amen.

*Note* I do not own the rights to this poem. I give credit to its author, and I am not seeking credit for it, nor any financial gain from it.