The Soil Remains

"Because one thing I could do. I could plant flowers. The soil remains."

I PLANTED A GARDEN in the spring, beans and squash, and watched them grow and spread across the ground. Harvest time came and I had a plethora of beans, more than I could eat. But something happened to the squash. One day, they were green and full and covered with ripening fruit. Two days later, there was nothing left. Tiny green caterpillars, unseen to my eyes, laid by some unknown species of moth, took over and consumed everything. My heart and emotions in tatters, for a week, I stared at those naked vines. They weren’t coming back. There’d be no restoration, and I haven’t even the heart to plant them again next year. But one afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore and scoured the ground. Because one thing I could do. I could plant flowers. The soil remains.

When Jesus came to earth, a lot of Israel had been planted and grown, pulled up and discarded. There was no more Abraham, no more Moses, no King David. They’d spent 70 years in Babylon then rebuilt Jerusalem at the hand of a foreign king, only to be conquered by the Romans, who’d taken over everything. Jewish culture now vied with Gentile idols, the living on display beneath the thumb of the dead. But which was which? Because when Jesus began declaring the kingdom of God, His greatest critics and those who would hang Him on the cross, were the priests and scribes. In the temple, once full of the presence of God, stood a naked altar in an empty room. Fine linen clothing, fantastic headdresses, and ornate tefillim decorated those called to work within it. Yet staring at the Messiah surrounded by the sick and crippled, the healed and whole, they fought the Light, content in hundreds of years of Darkness. Seeing life restored to the deaf, the blind, they clung to hate, determined to die.

There would be no resurrecting the garden. Though the soil remained, the vines had died and the fruit with it. Tiny caterpillars, unseen to the people’s eyes, had crept in and blinded them to the words of the prophets who’d described this moment in time. “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!” Jesus said to their faces, “because ye build the tombs of the prophets, and garnish the sepulchres of the righteous…Wherefore ye be witnesses unto yourselves, that ye are the children of them which killed the prophets (Matthew 23:29-31).” And they bristled, anger seething within. How much would it take? When would what they wore and where they stood look more like redemption and less like pride? Children cried out “Hosanna” around Jesus’ feet, and they could only plan His murder. Not only was this garden eaten up with thorns, but in the branches of the mustard seed tree, the largest of herbs, perched birds plotting to destroy it.

Jesus came not to restore what was nor to sustain what surrounded them. He was not there to feed egos and policies, to debate the infinite small print that the Law had turned into. He came not to fight for His way to the top of the then mountain, but to cast it into the sea forever. He’d clear the soil, remove the stones, and from the wayside, water seeds with no hope of growth. He’d replant, start over, and on the same soil tradition had hardened and scoured with eons of foot traffic, plant flowers. Where branches withered and fruit rotted would spring up beauty such as had never been seen. The seeds of heaven scattered from His hands, dampened by His sweat and tears, beneath the sun of the cross He would die upon.

What God has done blossoms in me. Though the skies may gray, though the rains may come, and beat upon my house, at the foot of it, where the garden once grew is now beauty that cannot be contained. What was no longer is and stretched out in front of me is a pathway that leads straight to heavenly places and the Savior who laid down His life so that I might grow. So that Israel might grow. We have Gentiled the gospel, but it’s entirely Jewish. In video after video of how they found their Messiah, I listened as those born Jews confessed that they thought the Bible was Catholic or Protestant, only to discover Jesus was a Son of David and salvation came from the Jews. We cannot afford to forget because being grafted in we have grown in abundance. How much more then when Israel grows here again?

The same God who planted us, tends them, the same Son shining upon us all. And the worm has no power except what we give it. We can choose to stay in the past, staring at dead vines or pick up the tools which He has given us and fight back. Plant seeds. Grow flowers.

“For there is no difference between the Jew and Gentile: All humanity is infected and dying, and the same Lord is Lord of all and provides the rich blessing of his perfect Remedy to all who accept it.” (Romans 10:12)

Support the soil -> One For Israel

Image by Plnatbest from Pixabay


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Suzanne D. Williams, Author
www.suzannedwilliams.com
www.feelgoodromance.com