The Seasonality of God

 

There’s an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:

A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to make love and another to abstain,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to rip out and another to mend,
A right time to shut up and another to speak up,
A right time to love and another to hate,
A right time to wage war and another to make peace. (The Message Translation)

 

One of the truths hidden in plain sight in this poem is how close to creation these words are.  We live in a world of air conditioning, electricity, 24-hour shopping, with delivery right to our doorstep.  To the writer of Ecclesiastes, you might as well have been describing an alien planet!  In the days when these words were written, people were either farmers or herders.  Sure, there were a few merchants, soldiers, officials, priests, and rulers, too.  But most people had soil in their souls and under their fingernails.  Living intimately with the land and around creation means a different experience compared to our world where we are sheltered from the elements and have a supermarket on every street corner.  Look at the second line about planting and harvesting.  This isn’t just poetic prose; this was the profession of many who first heard these words.  Farmers know that there is one time to plant and another time to pluck up.  Juxtapose this with the truth that we live in a world where we expect to get fruit and veggies, even out of season.  In a world of convenience, we forget that an apple in the middle of July doesn’t taste the same as one plucked from the tree in October up north.  Same with the words about killing and healing.  Too often, my mind wants to go to extremes, partly because that is what we hear too much around us.  Partly because this poem keeps swinging us from one extreme to another like a giant swing.  The word “kill” can make me think of images of war, refugees, mass shootings, and arguments over sensible gun laws.  Yet, the context here, in an agrarian culture, is more about killing a chicken for dinner or offering a dove as a sacrifice at the temple.  We might also think of chomping on a carrot that is giving us energy.  This brightly orange and beautiful vegetable absorbed from the soil, sun, and soaking rain to grow.  I mentioned on Sunday that because we live in a world that loves to push and pull us to political/economic/religious edges, we might be tempted to classify, categorize, prioritize, and idolize some of the 28 times named above as either good or bad.  But it doesn’t have to be so.  Has there been a time when you needed to cast away a stone that was too heavy?  Has there been a time you ended a relationship for your own well-being?  Which of the 28 times in this list leap off the screen for you?  Which of the 28 times sit uncomfortably in your stomach, causing indigestion?  Which ones connect to the timeline you worked on in July?  Sit quietly, listening for God’s wisdom in these words intersecting, interrupting, and interpreting our lives right now.  Amen.

The Seasonality of God

For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill and a time to heal;
a time to break down and a time to build up;
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek and a time to lose;
a time to keep and a time to throw away;
a time to tear and a time to sew;
a time to keep silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate;
a time for war and a time for peace. (The NRSV)

 

What are your responses as you reflect on the words above?  I know I have lots of feelings when I hear/read these words.  I feel both comforted and challenged.  This passage takes you on a rollercoaster of emotions, each line a pendulum swing from one extreme to another.  The wisdom writer in Ecclesiastes starts with the mystery of birth, life, and death.  I don’t remember my birth, and I don’t know when I will draw my last breath.  In some ways our lives are mysteries from beginning to end.  I think of the beautiful Psalm 90 that says, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”  It is tempting to see that word, “number,” as a mathematical equation to solve or a calendar event to control.  We don’t know how many days we have.  The author, Oliver Burkeman, estimates that each of us has about 4000 weeks of life.  In a world obsessed, addicted, and stressed out by trying to get everything done and be the best version of yourself, we feel/carry the weight of time on our shoulders, pushing us down into the ground.  Perhaps it isn’t only gravity that keeps us connected to the earth?  Centuries before Burkeman encouraged us to be thoughtful, prayerful, curious, open, and loving in how we live, both the Psalmist and Ecclesiastes combined theology and philosophy into a recipe for us to taste.  This connects to charting the art of your life.  You started with people and places, mixed in experiences and encounters, thought about God’s presence, experimented with the words: faith/hope/and love, and yesterday we spoke about the seasonality of the Sacred. This is a foundation for you to lay beside the words above.

 

This week, I invite you to lay this passage alongside your timeline/art project of life.  The words above are not only about the individual.  As a pastor, I do many funerals.  I am confronted, confounded, and challenged by the fact that life is finite and how much of life is beyond my control.  As you look at your timeline, are there significant births and deaths you might note?  When did your parents, spouse, child, loved one, soul friend, pets who are like family, or others die?  How did you process that pain and grief?  I don’t think you get over grief like a common cold.  Rather, you find ways to pick up the pieces, some of which are sharper than a shard of glass and some of the broken pieces shine with new light through the jagged edges.  Each day we gather experiences as one way God is co-authoring your story.  You might consider how each move you’ve made to a new home involves new beginnings and endings.  Or each person you’ve met is like encountering a new story, or each rupture in a relationship that can’t be repaired no matter how much duct tape you try to apply causes ache that might still be persisting.  Let this opening line of Ecclesiastes create a spaciousness in you to explore the mysterious ways of life/death/resurrection that is a thread/theme in each of our stories.  Amen.