Harvest
Be patient, therefore, brothers and sisters, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near.
-James 5:7-8
Though the weather here in Marietta doesn’t seem to have gotten the notice yet, fall officially begins on Tuesday, September 22, and I cannot wait.
Fall is by far my favorite season of the year. The oppressive heat of summer subsides (dear Lord, let it happen soon), and the outdoors become much more inviting. It’s the season of light sweaters, warm cider, and the even warmer laughter of friends gathered around a bonfire. Keep an eye out and soon you might notice leaves changing and pumpkin patches popping up. (Here’s your not-so-subtle reminder to sign up to volunteer in ours.)
The joys and celebrations of fall stretch back to something that many of us, divorced as we are from our agrarian forebears, rarely have to think much about anymore: the harvest.
For generations, fall marked the culmination of long months of faithful work. Seeds planted months before had been watered, weeded, and watched. Growth happened slowly, almost imperceptibly, until at last the fields and orchards produced the food that would sustain a community through the winter.
I am not a skilled farmer.
The fruits of my labor in my backyard garden this summer have been about half a dozen cucumbers that my kids devoured, some summer squash that were eaten by squirrels before they were ready to be picked, and creeping watermelon vines that stubbornly refused to flower.
So perhaps I am uniquely qualified to appreciate the farmer in James’s letter.
James tells his readers to look at the farmer and learn patience. The farmer cannot shout a seed into growing faster or worry a vine into flowering. Eventually there comes a point when the farmer has done what the farmer can do and must trust that growth is happening.
But of course James isn't really talking about farming.
We plant seeds in our children and wonder whether they are taking root. We invest in friendships and communities without always seeing immediate results. We pray for people we love. We work toward things that matter. We try to become a little more patient, generous, forgiving, or faithful. And sometimes, after all that effort, we look around and wonder whether anything is actually growing.
James reminds us that faithfulness and immediate results are not the same thing. Some of the most important work God does in us—and through us—happens awful slowly. So slowly that we might be tempted to think that we haven't grown at all.
So be patient. Be faithful.
Rev. Ryan Young
