vulnerability and our mortality. Exposed to the terrors of the world we forget Gods covenant and do what I believe feels more natural to us:
We fear.
And with good reason. There is a lot to fear out there. But just as there is a lot to fear out there, I believe there is just as much – if not more – to appreciate. And on a celebration of Harvest, I believe all that is what we give praise to.
A Danish poet wrote a lovely poem about how we as humans are torn between fear and joy. The poet is called Tom Kristensen, and the poem is called “The Beach Alley”.
Parts of it go like this:
Often we walk with eyes blinded
by fear, so we’re unable to see,
by dread, so we cannot perceive,
along a beech-lined alley.
Often we walk with ears shuttered,
for once again, war draws near.
Yet harmony still can be found
in buzzing bees and blackbird’s cheer.
But only in flashes it opens,
this momentary calm so brief,
a fleeting second where we feel
that simply to grow brings relief.
Yes, fleetingly, the now unfolds,
and grants us glimpses of Your trust,
makes fear seem so foolishly gray,
and stirs in us hope as we must—
just one now, then closed again quickly,
that short, life-blessed now we knew,
that earthly now we cannot trust
as surely or deeply as You.
Some of you might recognize the poem as I have used it before, but I believe only in its Danish original. The translation that I found captures the essence though:
We dare not trust in the glimpses where we experience how “simply to grow brings relief.” Because eventually the moment of harmony and hope will close as we cannot trust the ‘now’ as much as God.
The human condition in a nutshell.
This summer I was blessed to witness something that I believe will let me be able to maintain the ‘now’ – at least for a while. I witnessed something so full of hope – hope despite of darkness.
And why not share that moment with you today as we celebrate Harvest. Celebrate how God provides.
It happened in Jasper.
You probably all remember that 30 % of the beloved city burned down last summer. Homes and restaurants, businesses, not forgetting all the amazing surroundings.
I therefore was a little nervous about visiting the city during my road trip with my family this summer. We did not want to be seen as tourists that came to see the disaster. But as people posted here only temporarily, we figured we might not get another opportunity.
Driving into the city was tough. As you came closer the burned down trees started to appear. And it just went on and one kilometer after kilometer until you arrived at the former city border.
That was when the real sadness hit you. Instead of prospering houses one now only finds portable cabins lined up row after row next to each other. Like a refugee camp.
I immediately stopped thinking of how much these people lost in the fire and started to wonder how long they would have to live like that instead.
We checked in at our hotel that was at the other end of town. It was somehow weird to see how this part of the town was still full of light despite the devastating surroundings.
Weird. But also uplifting. And it got even more uplifting as we went out to have something to eat. Here signs everywhere told tourists how not to leave the trails while visiting the city and its hikes and sights.
Because beneath all the ashes plants grew anew. Vulnerable plants that need not be stomped upon but need our protection.
The signs were everywhere. And somehow every sign became to me a living example of hope: Despite fire and similar catastrophes, something will always remain and regain. That became clear to me as I saw the signs, saw the city.
Not only was it burned down – it was miraculously alive as well. And venturing out to the burned down surroundings, you could witness it as well. Witness hope. Witness how life through God is stronger than death.
You might not either have the chance or the desire to go see for yourself, but I hope my description of my glimpse of harmony and hope can encourage you to muster the same trust that the glimpse enabled me to muster.
Also, I have added a picture of the plants growing anew in Jasper on the Song Sheet that we will be using for the dinner downstairs following our service today.
Take it home. Put it on the fridge. Or whatever. But carry with you out into the world on this day from this church trust. Trust in God. Trust in creation. That will be my Harvest Hope for you.
Amen.