4 This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: 5 “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. 6 Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. 7 Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.”
10 This is what the Lord says: “When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my good promise to bring you back to this place. 11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. 14 I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.”
I remember growing up I didn’t really like working out in the landscaping. I never quite understood the point of it. My mom did, though, and my brother and I would be out there with her at some point almost every week in the spring, summer, and fall. She loved to hand us earthworms and roly-poly’s and teach us what plants we could eat and how to plant bulbs. And her landscaping was so beautiful it often got gushing praise.
I’ve been thinking of her landscaping lately as I watch the landscaping around my house. There are some lovely things and there are some prodigious weeds, and honestly, I couldn’t tell which was which at the beginning. One section of the landscaping looks to be a patch of edible plants gone wild — wild onions, mint, and a medicinal plant called purple dead nettle. I’m excited about making a little kitchen garden there by the backdoor. My yard is full of violets, and I think it’s maybe the most gorgeous yard I’ve had. I’m starting to see, though, what’s growing well and what’s not, what loves being where it is, and what is struggling; what has decided to replant itself elsewhere – like the irises, which probably started at the side of the house, coming up under the ladder of the playset and even in the sandbox.
And I’m itching to do something more with it, but I am also grateful I’m watching and learning what its patterns are, because there are some amazing surprises. Little plants that looked like they could be weeds have turned into great big bleeding heart bushes.
And as I’m doing this, I’m grateful now for my mom’s roly-poly’s and ivy, and even for the geraniums (which I hated deadheading) – for all the things I learned without knowing it. And I’m even more grateful that she is still around, with her green thumb, and I can pick her brain when I see her next.
I learned the value of tending to beauty, and that beauty and order, patience and hard work could combine to add good to the world.
***
I’ve been continuing to find meaning in the image of exile for this time of our life together. You may remember the story of Jeremiah buying a field in his hometown just before being carried into exile and Jerusalem being destroyed. That was a scripture that came to me at the beginning of all this. The scripture Lillian read from Jeremiah this morning has been my companion in the last while. People ask about us here at Timbercrest, about how we are doing, and here’s what I’ve been saying: We are coming out of crisis mode, and we are starting to find our way into new rhythms, but those rhythms are still strange. We know that this pandemic is temporary, but we also know that we can’t stay in the heightened anxiety and chaos of crisis mode for much longer. Our bodies are tired of the alertness and worry. So we are settling in, in some ways, but settling in is hard because even the little things take intention right now.
Extending the image of exile and return, we have been in exile long enough for some of the fear to subside, but we are very far from home. We don’t know how long we will be here, adrenaline is still high and all we need to do is turn on the news to get another dose of worry. But we are figuring out new routines, finding our way into a new kind of life together.
Jeremiah’s letter comes to people newly in exile – build houses and settle down, God says through the prophet; plant gardens and eat what they produce. I can almost hear some of the people in exile say, “but how long are we going to be here?” “but this isn’t home!” Sometimes people don’t want to decorate their rooms in Health Care when they first get there because decorating rooms makes it too real, too permanent. We don’t want to be here for long enough to plant a garden and eat what it produces! Planting a garden for people in exile takes a kind of radical acceptance of what is, when it can seem easier to close their eyes and just wait for it all to go back to normal.
This year as I read this, I noticed another part – one of the hard things about planting gardens in exile is that gardening is very specific to the location. Babylon soil and climate and plants are very different than Jerusalem soil and climate and plants. How do we even know how to plant gardens in this new place?
You’ve heard the reports… our Governor is opening up the state bit by bit, but by most accounts, the virus won’t be gone for quite a while yet. Some count that time in years, months, weeks. We don’t know. But it is pretty clear that our time in exile isn’t over yet.
So we have come to this point, this decision. We can choose to stay hunkered down, hyperalert to threat, counting the days until this is over. We can survive. Or we can choose to actively pursue peace, beauty, love, health; staying aware of the risks and expressing compassion through our caution, but releasing our fear and finding a kind of home, even here.
This state of adrenaline and fear takes a toll on not just our minds and emotions, but on our bodies. When we simmer in stress hormones, the toll it takes is very physical – loss of sleep, an increase of pain, exhaustion, lowered immunity, not to mention depression and anxiety. We can continue with a sense of “surviving”.
The other option, and it will take an intentional, courageous choice, is to plant gardens. Gardens are an expression of self and careful tending to beauty. Gardens are physical work and patient attention. Gardens are an act of claiming space and an act of trust in future bounty. Gardens are a way to get to know the earth beneath you.
So how does this translate to us? The best advice out there is saying that to cope with all these stress hormones in us we have to do two things – we have to express what’s within us, and we have to take care of our bodies. Sleep routines, eating well, physical exercise seem both too simple to be a way forward, and also too difficult to do well right now. Even expressing is difficult at the moment because of our shifting ways of connecting to one another. But these are the ways we plant gardens in exile.
I would add another element to the mix from Jeremiah. In all the uncertainty, we can plant gardens and settle down – find ways to really live in this place of exile – because God knows the plans he has for us. We may not know what’s next, but God does, and his plans for us are for good – to give us a hope and a future.
So planting gardens in this place – fully living into new routines, finding joy and hope, choosing to make something good of each and every day, singing the Lord’s songs in a foreign land – these things are not signs of giving up; these things are courageous acts of faith.
The small things take courage these days, but we have a choice ahead of us. We can keep surviving and waiting for this to be over, or we can find ways to fully live in the midst of this new reality.
This does not mean going back to how things used to be. The governor may be opening up the state, but long term care facilities will not be opened for a while yet. And here at Timbercrest, we are being cautious for each other’s sake, for the sake of the most vulnerable among us, as an act of compassion.
But even here, we can plant gardens – we can learn this new land enough to experiment with growing things, plants that may surprise us with their beauty and heartiness. Plants that may produce much good fruit. Plants that may go back with us to our homeland bringing great blessings there, too.
It certainly will take effort and experimentation, patience and persistence. But God is always doing a new thing, even now it is springing forth. Do you see it?
What choice will you make in your life this week? Will you just survive? Or will you live fully? Will you do the hard work in the soil of your heart, plant seeds, and tend them? What will you choose to plant in your life, in the lives of those around you this week?
Maybe you will make phone calls or write letters. Maybe you will learn something new. Maybe you will add a daily walk to your routine. Maybe you will try something that makes you nervous but that you think God is calling you to do. Maybe you will support a stay at home parent, or an online teacher, or a small business owner, or a healthcare worker, or someone who is having a hard time making ends meet. Maybe you will face down an internal dragon. Maybe you will create good art. Maybe you will reach out to your neighborhood or wing. Maybe you will offer to volunteer. Maybe you will try out and share a new recipe. Maybe you will forgive someone. Maybe you will tell stories to your grandchildren on video chat. Maybe you will do something that used to fill your cup but you haven’t done in a while. Maybe you will literally plant something. Maybe you will…. You fill in the blank.
I have come to know you people over the last two years. I think I know what your choice will be, and even now the new thing is springing forth in you, in us. Choose not just to survive. Instead, find ways to plant gardens, even tiny plots of land with tiny seeds. You may end up, like in my landscaping, with irises in your sandbox, or wild onions and mint by your backdoor, or bright purple violets sprinkled through the grass, who knows! I can’t wait to see this year’s harvest!
“11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”
Lead on O Cloud of Presence
Benediction — Go and learn how to plant gardens in this strange land. May the God of Love bring abundant growth!
Laura Stone is a chaplain at Timbercrest Senior Living in North Manchester, Indiana. A minister-theologian, she does much thinking about what it means to be Anabaptist and Pietist in the midst of illness, aging, and grief, and about what faith has to do with the ways she ministers and lives. Some of her other interests include quilting, science fiction, music, and contra dancing.
For more of her sermons and other writings, check out The Patchwork Pietist.