Fr. Simon Sleeman. They say, writing a sermon is like building a chicken coop in a high wind – you grab any flying board and nail it down… quick. This week I grabbed a few boards.
The first – from Mass last Sunday – where we prayed that, “our lives would joyfully bear fruit”. That was the last prayer we said before leaving the church. Our lives bearing fruit – joyfully. I wondered at that – still bearing fruit when we are old, still full of sap still green. A possibility.
The prophet Jeremiah, the second board, told me how I might do that – live fruitfully, joyfully but also how I might fail.Jeremiah was a big man, he centres an epoch – that big – he was outspoken, fearless – poor, he mourned (he was the weeping prophet) he was hated, a walking beatitude, he never flinched from setting the human agenda – a life well lived, bearing fruit.
‘Cursed are those’ he barks, ‘who trust in humans’, who think they can make it on their own – gratifying their every desire.This cursing wasn’t mere profanity – cursing the car that won’t start or the person who cut in front of you – cursing was noble, religious, powered speech. The cursed…rootless, tumbleweed in the desert, blown around by every whim or breeze, fad or fashion. Fruitless.
A few years, wandering on our own, blown about in the desert, a few years of affluence and abundance – anxiety flares, depression soars, suicides…rootless, joyless, fruitless..Rootless… I accumulate – just one click, just one clip, just one sip – another…. pair of shoes, another book – so much paraphernalia needed to anchor me. The serpent cursed, crawling on its belly.
Jeremiah mellows and says… aloud … ‘Blessed’ are those who trust in God – again blessing, like cursing, wasn’t just some form of gentle encouragement – the blessed, were strong trees, deep rooted – fruit bearing.
Jeremiah rings out in our ears this morning and Jesus too, telling us, we can climb out of the ocean of self, onto dry ground, put down roots and bear fruit.
‘Don’t wander off’ they plead, opting to live in the ocean of self, worshipping the idols your culture wants you to do, nay, needs you to do. If you do, you will soon fatigue and need artificial aids to keep afloat- pieces of drift wood, life jackets.
Can we still ourselves and hear their urgent, now seemingly long distance call, amidst the noise, the bustle, the news. As we count and compile – our spirits shrivel – Jeremiah calls, cries, clamours – turn, repent. Turn to the truth. Trust in God, that is the truth.
There is more than the our survival at risk here; the survival of our planet is at stake, the world hanging by a thread, for the ‘cursed’ endanger the world’s health and its sanity.
So rootage is what I am after – rootage as I pray, rootage as I work, shop, change a tyre, rootage as I get sick, have surgery and convalesce, rootage as I accumulate birthdays and anniversaries. God the great continent of reality in which I live and to whom I must answer. It is with God we must deal if we are to become human, living fruitful joy-filled lives.
Rooted in God, in Christ, I rise from the dead – Rooted in Christ, ‘I put down roots and I put out leaves’. Amen