A Parable of Pots and Planters

Terry has a little garden growing in pots and planters on our balcony — partly decorative (trailing petunias and a few sadly underdeveloped sweet peas), but mostly a "kitchen garden" (basil, mint, lemon balm and tomatoes). On hot August days, we’ve learned to honor the unique personality of each species. Water the basil once a day and it seems to thrive. Water tomatoes too soon and they may rot before they’re ripe… or maybe I have that backwards (I’m not the gardener in our family).

Of course nature takes care of her own, and with the amount of rain we’ve had this summer, these plants might have done just fine if they’d been in a "regular" garden. But small quantities of soil in plastic pots can’t drain or retain water as well as an open plot of land, and there’s limited depth for the plants to sink their roots. All in all, the man-made (or in this case, woman-made) environment of Terry’s container garden is a pretty precarious place for a precious plant.

I thought about that as I read the feature story in this week’s newsletter from the Alban institute. It’s an excerpt from Carol Howard Merritt’s book, Reframing Hope: Vital Ministry in a New Generation, looking at the church in the challenging environment of the 21st Century. "The landscape has changed all around us," says Merritt. "To some it feels like a desert — dry and barren, inhospitable, unable to sustain the next generation. Yet our common Biblical story reminds us that we have a God who brings salvation to people who wander in the driest deserts. With a bit of divine imagination we will see the wells full of living water, as Hagar and Ishmael did. With a bit of divine imagination, we will see the milk and honey flowing all around us.

"Even in the driest deserts we are beginning to see networks of tributaries flowing around us and vast constellations of stars sparkling above us. New opportunities, tools, movements, missions, and passions cascade through our wilderness landscape bringing vital ways of organizing faithful communities, communicating prayerful longings, and seeking social justice."

On the hottest days, before the watering can pours its life-giving elixir, Terry’s garden begins to resemble the driest deserts of those familiar Biblical stories. But one plant — Danny’s basil — seldom wilts.

Danny is our grandson, and his basil began its life as a Mothers Day card. In a crafts class, Danny learned to make paper and created a card with basil seeds mixed into the pulp before it was flattened and dried. After admiring the card for several days, Terry buried it in potting soil, added water, and within a week dozens of little plants began to sprout! Three months later, we’re enjoying delicious pesto made from a Mother’s Day card!

I don’t know why Danny’s basil grows better than the other plants on our balcony, but I see it as a sign of hope. With "a bit of divine imagination" and the creativity of a new generation, perhaps the church can thrive as well.

Blessings,

- Stu