sermon by Torin Eikler
Mark 4:35-41 Job 38:1-11
It’s all well and good to sing about joys flowing like a river or giving our fears to the winds. That is what we should be doing, releasing our burdens and our fears to God and receiving the gift of joy in return. But it’s so much harder in real life. Growing up, as I did, in the Midwest, it’s particularly hard to sing that with feeling and authenticity. Tornadoes were a big specter in our childhood lives, and whirlwinds bring feelings of fear and awe rather than the promise of relief. When the wind comes, I tend to run away and hide rather than embrace it. The words of “When the storms of life are raging” come a little closer to my way of thinking.
Yet, storms, too, are a little iffy for me. While I love to watch the play of lightning on the canvas of the sky, I can’t help but head inside and count the seconds between light and sound to see just how close those striking flashes of electricity are … just in case. And, the story of the disciples on the Sea of Galilee took on new life and reality for me when I found myself in a storm-tossed boat in the Galapagos archipelago some years ago.
I was visiting my Mom in Ecuador at the time, and I got to join the group of exchange students she was responsible for their end-of-the-year trip. As a student of biology, I was terribly excited to visit those islands with all their unique wildlife, and the trip was wonderful. But, on one memorable night a storm came up while I was sleeping on the top deck of the smallish boat taking us around. There really wasn’t any rain to speak of, but the winds were something else.
I woke up when the boat started rocking pretty badly to the beat of eight or nine foot high waves, and I remember thinking I was probably safer lying down on the deck than trying to get to the stairs down to the main level. But, I changed my mind when the spray from a few waves coming over the bow-rail splashed across my face. It would have been very comforting at that moment to feel Jesus standing there beside me as I pulled myself along, crawling with my hand on the low wire “railing” at the edge of the tossing deck.
I have found myself feeling the same way at times when my life is in upheaval, and I know from what other have shared with me that I’m not alone. We all feel lost and helpless when we hear news about health problems among our families and friends. It’s hard to release our fears of what people will think of us if we do anything out of the ordinary. We can’t just stop worrying about where the money is going to come from to pay our mortgage or send our children to college. The list goes on and on and tossing all that into the wind could lead to it blowing right back in our faces. In the midst of the storm, it often seems like our fears and our worries are the only solid things left to hold onto. They are the little scrap of a boat that stands between us and the rising waves, and most of us aren’t really ready to “let go and let God.”
That kind of faith grows through practice. Each time you really do cast your fears to the wind, it gets a little easier – especially if things have worked out for you before. But boy that first time is hard. Come to think of it, so are the second and the third. It doesn’t help that we are generally taught self-reliance and self-sufficiency. Our parents (if they have done their job well) tell us that the ultimate mark of maturity and independence is when we can move out of the house, get a job, and pay our own way. Our society underlines that message with its stress on getting ahead and its ridicule for anyone who moves back in with mom and dad (although the current economic circumstances may be changing that). With all that pressure, it seems to take a whole lot of practice to get to the point where it actually gets easier … if it ever does.
It’s easy, you know, to think that the disciples had that kind of faith. In the midst of their storm, they woke Jesus up to help them, and he calmed the storm. And, that’s what we’re talking about isn’t it – turning to God to calm our fears and our uncertainty? But that last verse makes me wonder if they weren’t in the same boat we are. If they are left asking who Jesus really is to still the winds with a word, were they really expecting a miracle when they woke him?
Most of those in the boat that day were experienced sailors. It almost certain that they would have been caught out fishing when a storm came up before, and they probably knew what they needed to do to get through it all. I suspect that they might have been more frustrated that Jesus wasn’t helping out and woke him hoping for another hand at the sails or the bailing buckets rather than expecting some kind of miracle. I’m not sure it had to do with faith at all. Put in another way, the disciples may have woken Jesus more because they were hurt by his indifference to their plight rather than because they wanted him to save them. If there was faith there, it seems like it was just as sleepy as Jesus.
There is another story about a sailor at sea in the midst of a storm. It takes place in the Gulf of Mexico on a lowly shrimp boat with just two sailors and no sleeping messiah on board. And, if you haven’t guessed already, it comes from the movie Forrest Gump.
In that story, Lt. Dan – who has lost both legs from the knees down in a battle in Vietnam – is out trolling for shrimp with his resented rescuer, Forrest Gump. While they are fishing the Gulf, a hurricane blows up and catches them away from the harbor. As the skies darken with threatening clouds and the winds rise, the two work seal up the ship, preparing to ride out the storm, but Lt. Dan refuses to go into the relative safety of the bridge.
When the hurricane begins to hit its stride, he lifts himself up the center mast and lashes himself to the top. As the wind increases and the rain and the waves whip across the boat, he begins shouting and cursing – challenging God and the fury of the storm. And, there he stays throughout the night venting his anger, releasing all his frustration at the way his life has turned out and his fears about his future.
In the morning, Forrest comes out on deck in the light of a glorious sunrise and finds Lt. Dan smiling as he tosses himself over the side for a short swim. In the narration, Forrest speculates that his friend has finally made his peace with God.
Now that’s faith that’s awake and alive. That’s a faith that is not afraid to answer the question of who Jesus is, that has already answered that question by acknowledging the author of the storm. It’s a faith that knows it’s talking to (challenging even) the One who laid the foundations of the earth, stretched stars across the heavens, and put the boundaries of the sea in place, and it’s the kind of faith that give us the courage to cast our burdens to the winds. And, if Forrest is to be believed, it really can free us to receive peace and joy in return.
I feel pretty safe in speculating that all of us would pay enough attention not to be caught on a boat in the middle of a hurricane. And, if we were, I think we would all find ourselves sitting inside with Forrest rather than on the top of the mast with Lt. Dan. Still, we do often find ourselves right at the center of unexpected storms all the time.
Of course, I’m speaking metaphorically here, and the storms that catch us off guard are life experiences that upset our peaceful voyage through the days. The loss of treasured loved ones is a big one. Changes in the work place that leave us jobless or facing a big move to a new place can be turn us on our ears. Difficult relationships with abusive or depressed partners, disagreements with friends or family, even the simple struggles of getting along with parents or children can catch us up and spin us around until we aren’t quite sure who we are or what we really want anymore.
And even though everything is easier when it’s just acting in a movie, and it’s much, much harder to live embrace the vibrant faith that offers all our struggles up for God’s care or screams in the face of the whirlwinds that blow through our lives, we still have to face the question: are we awake and strong in our faith or are we just a little bit sleepy and unsure or ourselves and the power of our messiah?
All our justifications and excuses aside, do we have the faith and the courage to answer the question the disciples ask? Can we stand up and say that the One we follow is the Son of God – One with the power to calm the storms without and within? And if we can – if we do – do we still have the courage no only to turn and recognize that same One in our little boats with us but also to reach out for embrace that promises us release?
As difficult as it can be to make it through the storms of life on our own … as much as we often feel all alone in the midst of the struggle despite our claim that Christ is always with us … it is still difficult to step out of the boat in faith. It’s scary to let go of the fear and worry that we know and reach out, trusting that our Father with his great whirlwind of power will hold us with tender and caring hands. Yet, the promise of our teacher and Lord – the great claim of our faith – is that the God who loved us so much as to become one of us will save us if we but open our hearts and ask. If we can do that, there is hope for peace and joy. The worries and the fears that keep us holding onto the railing with white disappear with the storm, and we find that Jesus was there with us all along, holding us tenderly and calling us to wake up from the nightmare and see the beautiful, joyful sunrise.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Seeds of the Harvest
sermon by Torin Eikler
Mark 4:26-32 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
In the Anabaptist tradition we talk a whole lot about discernment and following the call as an essential part of our lives of discipleship. We are generally encouraged (and indeed encourage each other) to constantly be on the alert for the tugging of the Spirit that urges us to take on new roles or focus our energy in new ways. And, of course, it’s always in the service of growing the Realm of God – of nurturing into fullness the seeds of the Kingdom that we find sprouting all around and within us.
I must confess that I, myself, am usually just too tired or distracted to do any real discernment during my day to day living. Sometimes, a reminder to return to that quiet space of listening and contemplation is most welcome and leads me to new understanding, but most of the time, I find it frustrating and burdensome … and maybe just a little annoying to be reminded of my failure to make time or space for the Spirit’s guidance in my life.
I think some of my frustration with the whole process comes from my wish for a kind of bolt of lighting sign. You know something dramatic like a neon sign dropping from the heavens right in front of me telling me what to do. Or maybe the birth of an all-absorbing passion somewhere within me. Or even something as simple as having one outstanding talent that leads me down an obvious path. And, perhaps you have felt the same way.
Well, that hasn’t happened to me yet, and I it may not. And, while it doesn’t hurt to hope, I suppose, it seems much more likely that our lives will be filled with small nudges and little deeds in the service of our God. Most of us will be among the anonymous seeds that, together, yield the harvest that prepares for and supports the work of God across history. According to the parables, that’s the way the Realm of God works.
When we look back at Samuel’s time, we can see the pattern at work in the story of David. He was the least of the sons of Jesse – the youngest, relegated to lowly task of herding the sheep. Yet, it was in that unassuming youth that Samuel saw the potential for the greatest of Israel’s kings. And it was with God’s blessing and through divine power and providence that David was protected in his battle with Goliath and his struggle with Saul, until through any number of more and less trivial moments he grew to become the greatest of the kings of Israel.
Little things are planted here and there and they grow by the power of God. Unassuming moments and actions take place all over the place all the time, and they build on each other until all of the sudden, there is a great harvest ready to be brought in. That’s the way it was in the glory days of Israel when there really was a kingdom, and it’s still that way today – even though only those with eyes to see find God’s realm among us.
A few years ago, I ran across a book called The Sparrow in a friend’s library. Like many of the books I enjoy reading, it was science fiction, but it wasn’t filled with technological miracles or space-faring warriors or even an earth advanced almost beyond recognition. It could have taken place just a few decades from now. But, the biggest difference – the reason it has become one of my favorite novels – is that The Sparrow is actually a parable that explores human nature, the nature of faith, and the intricacies of our relationship with God.
It is the tale of humanity’s first voyage to encounter another civilization on a distant planet, and among the main characters (really the main character) is a Jesuit priest named Emilio Sanchez. An orphan from the slums of Puerto Rico, Emilio was taken in at a catholic school where the priest discovered his gifts for language while he discovered a sense of calling that led him to ordination. Throughout his career on Earth, he was moved from country to country, ministering to the poor – especially orphans like himself. With each move, he grew more and more frustrated and began to question his place in the work of God and his calling as a priest.
When the Vatican decided to fund an expedition in response to radio messages intercepted from space, it was clear that Emilio was an obvious choice as part of a crew. In the course of his work, he had become fluent in more than a dozen languages and had developed a system for identifying the role and meaning of words that allowed him to take languages apart, understand the way they worked, and put them back together in next to no time. It was a skill that would be essential to a mission that would have to communicate in decidedly non-human languages on the fly.
When he hears about his new assignment, Emilio feels like he finally sees the hand of God in the pattern of his life. His frustrations fade away and with a sense of awe and excitement, he embraces his role in the mission. He says goodbye to the two or three friends he has cultivated across the years, and boards the ship for the trip to Rakhat.
Across the arc of the story, Emilio and his companions experience both great beauty and terrible horrors as they learn about civilization on Rakhat. In the end, only Emilio survives to return to Earth when a second delegation arrives years later. Yet, despite all the grief that he has experienced, his faith survives his anger and despair. And, though he struggles to make sense of the results, he never doubts that his many experiences on Earth were part of God’s plan to prepare him for his role in the first mission or that the mission was somehow part of God’s greater plan for all creation.
Most of us, I think, probably won’t ever find ourselves with that feeling that our whole lives have led up to one moment or made us uniquely qualified for one particular role in God’s plan. Still, there will be little moments along the way – moments when we find that our past has prepared us for the task at hand in a special way. At times, we can come to recognize those intersections – to make out how the seeds that have been planted in us are growing – through time spent in contemplation and discernment. At other times, we only find understanding after the fact, perceiving the pattern after the seeds have matured and been harvested. The seed cannot always know what it will become after all, and the time of the harvest is in God’s hand.
Many of you, I know, are gardeners. You know the joy and the challenge of planting seeds and watching them grow. You know about the frustration and inevitability of weeds. No matter what you do, they come back. Dandelions, thistles, crabgrass, or whatever they may be, they just won’t die. And once you’ve rooted them out of one area, they pop up in another.
Enter the mustard plant.
We all know about one or two varieties of mustard. There is the one, sinapis hirta, whose seeds are pretty common in spice racks though most of us probably don’t use it very much – at least in that form. Probably, though, we all have it in another incarnation since it is the key ingredient in the mustard that we put on our hot dogs, hamburgers, and maybe even French fries.
Another variety, brassica juncea, is grown for its leaves and is more commonly known as mustard greens. That one is a favorite in some regions of the United States, especially when mixed with bacon, butter, and garlic. I was introduced to this one when I lived in South Carolina, and I came to love it. But, it’s an aquired taste. So, be prepared for something a bit different if you decide to try it yourself.
Neither of these two mustard plants, though, are the one Jesus speaks of in the second parable we heard today. That one, generally agreed to have been brassica nigra, was known throughout the biblical world as a noxious, if beautiful, weed. Like the weeds that we struggle with, it proved to be nearly impossible to eradicate once it found its way into a field or a garden. For that reason, Jewish law actually prohibited the planting of mustard in a garden, and several Roman writers suggested that it only be planted in a segregated field so that it didn’t get in among the other crops.
I described the plant as a noxious weed, but that may not be exactly the right word. Clearly people did cultivate the plant and probably used the seeds in cooking. So, I guess it wasn’t considered to be harmful, but it was a tightly controlled plant that still managed to get loose and cause trouble. Yet, Jesus used this well-known weed as a parallel for the Kingdom of God.
Usually, we concentrate on the image of that tiny seed growing into a huge shrub and providing shelter as the reason for his choice. And we interpret the parable as meaning that the Realm of God takes root at the slightest indication of faith and grows to create a safe and welcoming space for us to make our spiritual home. But, I have been wondering if that is all that Jesus intended.
Maybe he chose the mustard seed precisely because it was such a prolific weed. No matter what we do – no matter how we try to stamp it out or control it, it spreads. It pops up in all manner of unexpected places and is capable of completely taking over. I suppose we could call it invasive though that’s not a term that we normally associate with the Realm of God because of its negative connotation. Maybe that’s part of the point. Parables, after all, are not intended to be logical and straight-forward. They surprise us with truth that we wouldn’t see otherwise.
Earlier in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus announced that the Realm of God is among us and within us. Now we hear that it is like a seed – but not just any seed. It is a tiny seed that grows according to God’s time and God’s plan, and it cannot be controlled or stamped out. Slowly and surely, despite our best efforts or the efforts of the world around us, it begins to take over any place it gets a foot hold. It matures within us over the course of our lives as our experiences shape us and prepare us for the moment of the harvest. And we in turn become gardeners, planting seeds of the Kingdom.
And, even though spreading seeds of the Kingdom can be frustrating, and we all wish, in some way, that we could just get there – just see the world covered with shining flowers or sweet fruit or nourishing grain – there is comfort in knowing that we are planting seeds – that we are ourselves seeds in God’s garden. Seeds in that garden are different. No matter how small they seem and how much resistance and abuse they receive, they can and do become something special. They grow, and we grow, into something with unexpected promise – something that does provide shelter, sustenance, and surprising beauty.
Whether we find our way into the work of the Spirit through meditation and discernment or we happen upon it through a chain of events in our lives; we can be assured that we are a part of that work. Even as our own faith grows and matures, even if we don’t realize it, we are planting seeds of surprising promise. As we follow the path of discipleship, we join in the Spirit’s work of transforming the world into a beautiful place run wild with peace and justice – into God’s garden.
Let us embrace that vision and our part in it, for God has looked on our hearts and chosen us. Let us go into the world as disciples of Christ; feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, sheltering the destitute, spreading the good news, and welcoming all we meet in love. Let us grow into “weeds” of the Kingdom, humbly spreading seeds of hope and promise in the faith that, in God’s time and through God’s grace, they will grow into a bountiful harvest of peace and justice.
May it be so.
Mark 4:26-32 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
In the Anabaptist tradition we talk a whole lot about discernment and following the call as an essential part of our lives of discipleship. We are generally encouraged (and indeed encourage each other) to constantly be on the alert for the tugging of the Spirit that urges us to take on new roles or focus our energy in new ways. And, of course, it’s always in the service of growing the Realm of God – of nurturing into fullness the seeds of the Kingdom that we find sprouting all around and within us.
I must confess that I, myself, am usually just too tired or distracted to do any real discernment during my day to day living. Sometimes, a reminder to return to that quiet space of listening and contemplation is most welcome and leads me to new understanding, but most of the time, I find it frustrating and burdensome … and maybe just a little annoying to be reminded of my failure to make time or space for the Spirit’s guidance in my life.
I think some of my frustration with the whole process comes from my wish for a kind of bolt of lighting sign. You know something dramatic like a neon sign dropping from the heavens right in front of me telling me what to do. Or maybe the birth of an all-absorbing passion somewhere within me. Or even something as simple as having one outstanding talent that leads me down an obvious path. And, perhaps you have felt the same way.
Well, that hasn’t happened to me yet, and I it may not. And, while it doesn’t hurt to hope, I suppose, it seems much more likely that our lives will be filled with small nudges and little deeds in the service of our God. Most of us will be among the anonymous seeds that, together, yield the harvest that prepares for and supports the work of God across history. According to the parables, that’s the way the Realm of God works.
When we look back at Samuel’s time, we can see the pattern at work in the story of David. He was the least of the sons of Jesse – the youngest, relegated to lowly task of herding the sheep. Yet, it was in that unassuming youth that Samuel saw the potential for the greatest of Israel’s kings. And it was with God’s blessing and through divine power and providence that David was protected in his battle with Goliath and his struggle with Saul, until through any number of more and less trivial moments he grew to become the greatest of the kings of Israel.
Little things are planted here and there and they grow by the power of God. Unassuming moments and actions take place all over the place all the time, and they build on each other until all of the sudden, there is a great harvest ready to be brought in. That’s the way it was in the glory days of Israel when there really was a kingdom, and it’s still that way today – even though only those with eyes to see find God’s realm among us.
A few years ago, I ran across a book called The Sparrow in a friend’s library. Like many of the books I enjoy reading, it was science fiction, but it wasn’t filled with technological miracles or space-faring warriors or even an earth advanced almost beyond recognition. It could have taken place just a few decades from now. But, the biggest difference – the reason it has become one of my favorite novels – is that The Sparrow is actually a parable that explores human nature, the nature of faith, and the intricacies of our relationship with God.
It is the tale of humanity’s first voyage to encounter another civilization on a distant planet, and among the main characters (really the main character) is a Jesuit priest named Emilio Sanchez. An orphan from the slums of Puerto Rico, Emilio was taken in at a catholic school where the priest discovered his gifts for language while he discovered a sense of calling that led him to ordination. Throughout his career on Earth, he was moved from country to country, ministering to the poor – especially orphans like himself. With each move, he grew more and more frustrated and began to question his place in the work of God and his calling as a priest.
When the Vatican decided to fund an expedition in response to radio messages intercepted from space, it was clear that Emilio was an obvious choice as part of a crew. In the course of his work, he had become fluent in more than a dozen languages and had developed a system for identifying the role and meaning of words that allowed him to take languages apart, understand the way they worked, and put them back together in next to no time. It was a skill that would be essential to a mission that would have to communicate in decidedly non-human languages on the fly.
When he hears about his new assignment, Emilio feels like he finally sees the hand of God in the pattern of his life. His frustrations fade away and with a sense of awe and excitement, he embraces his role in the mission. He says goodbye to the two or three friends he has cultivated across the years, and boards the ship for the trip to Rakhat.
Across the arc of the story, Emilio and his companions experience both great beauty and terrible horrors as they learn about civilization on Rakhat. In the end, only Emilio survives to return to Earth when a second delegation arrives years later. Yet, despite all the grief that he has experienced, his faith survives his anger and despair. And, though he struggles to make sense of the results, he never doubts that his many experiences on Earth were part of God’s plan to prepare him for his role in the first mission or that the mission was somehow part of God’s greater plan for all creation.
Most of us, I think, probably won’t ever find ourselves with that feeling that our whole lives have led up to one moment or made us uniquely qualified for one particular role in God’s plan. Still, there will be little moments along the way – moments when we find that our past has prepared us for the task at hand in a special way. At times, we can come to recognize those intersections – to make out how the seeds that have been planted in us are growing – through time spent in contemplation and discernment. At other times, we only find understanding after the fact, perceiving the pattern after the seeds have matured and been harvested. The seed cannot always know what it will become after all, and the time of the harvest is in God’s hand.
Many of you, I know, are gardeners. You know the joy and the challenge of planting seeds and watching them grow. You know about the frustration and inevitability of weeds. No matter what you do, they come back. Dandelions, thistles, crabgrass, or whatever they may be, they just won’t die. And once you’ve rooted them out of one area, they pop up in another.
Enter the mustard plant.
We all know about one or two varieties of mustard. There is the one, sinapis hirta, whose seeds are pretty common in spice racks though most of us probably don’t use it very much – at least in that form. Probably, though, we all have it in another incarnation since it is the key ingredient in the mustard that we put on our hot dogs, hamburgers, and maybe even French fries.
Another variety, brassica juncea, is grown for its leaves and is more commonly known as mustard greens. That one is a favorite in some regions of the United States, especially when mixed with bacon, butter, and garlic. I was introduced to this one when I lived in South Carolina, and I came to love it. But, it’s an aquired taste. So, be prepared for something a bit different if you decide to try it yourself.
Neither of these two mustard plants, though, are the one Jesus speaks of in the second parable we heard today. That one, generally agreed to have been brassica nigra, was known throughout the biblical world as a noxious, if beautiful, weed. Like the weeds that we struggle with, it proved to be nearly impossible to eradicate once it found its way into a field or a garden. For that reason, Jewish law actually prohibited the planting of mustard in a garden, and several Roman writers suggested that it only be planted in a segregated field so that it didn’t get in among the other crops.
I described the plant as a noxious weed, but that may not be exactly the right word. Clearly people did cultivate the plant and probably used the seeds in cooking. So, I guess it wasn’t considered to be harmful, but it was a tightly controlled plant that still managed to get loose and cause trouble. Yet, Jesus used this well-known weed as a parallel for the Kingdom of God.
Usually, we concentrate on the image of that tiny seed growing into a huge shrub and providing shelter as the reason for his choice. And we interpret the parable as meaning that the Realm of God takes root at the slightest indication of faith and grows to create a safe and welcoming space for us to make our spiritual home. But, I have been wondering if that is all that Jesus intended.
Maybe he chose the mustard seed precisely because it was such a prolific weed. No matter what we do – no matter how we try to stamp it out or control it, it spreads. It pops up in all manner of unexpected places and is capable of completely taking over. I suppose we could call it invasive though that’s not a term that we normally associate with the Realm of God because of its negative connotation. Maybe that’s part of the point. Parables, after all, are not intended to be logical and straight-forward. They surprise us with truth that we wouldn’t see otherwise.
Earlier in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus announced that the Realm of God is among us and within us. Now we hear that it is like a seed – but not just any seed. It is a tiny seed that grows according to God’s time and God’s plan, and it cannot be controlled or stamped out. Slowly and surely, despite our best efforts or the efforts of the world around us, it begins to take over any place it gets a foot hold. It matures within us over the course of our lives as our experiences shape us and prepare us for the moment of the harvest. And we in turn become gardeners, planting seeds of the Kingdom.
And, even though spreading seeds of the Kingdom can be frustrating, and we all wish, in some way, that we could just get there – just see the world covered with shining flowers or sweet fruit or nourishing grain – there is comfort in knowing that we are planting seeds – that we are ourselves seeds in God’s garden. Seeds in that garden are different. No matter how small they seem and how much resistance and abuse they receive, they can and do become something special. They grow, and we grow, into something with unexpected promise – something that does provide shelter, sustenance, and surprising beauty.
Whether we find our way into the work of the Spirit through meditation and discernment or we happen upon it through a chain of events in our lives; we can be assured that we are a part of that work. Even as our own faith grows and matures, even if we don’t realize it, we are planting seeds of surprising promise. As we follow the path of discipleship, we join in the Spirit’s work of transforming the world into a beautiful place run wild with peace and justice – into God’s garden.
Let us embrace that vision and our part in it, for God has looked on our hearts and chosen us. Let us go into the world as disciples of Christ; feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, sheltering the destitute, spreading the good news, and welcoming all we meet in love. Let us grow into “weeds” of the Kingdom, humbly spreading seeds of hope and promise in the faith that, in God’s time and through God’s grace, they will grow into a bountiful harvest of peace and justice.
May it be so.
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