PRAY FOR HARVEST REAPERS
Dear Jesus,
I have imagined standing with you on a hillside in late summer. We watch as a breeze nudges the standing grain into motion. The field is transformed in an instant to a rolling golden sea. We face the setting sun and the red light casts a glow over everything before us. Neither of us says anything for a breathless moment. Not you. Not I. We don’t want to shatter the silent scene that transfixes.
Then I become aware that you have turned from the sunset and have cast your gaze down the road we had just climbed. I follow where you are looking and see people standing in no particular order, heading in no particular direction. Aimless. Lost. They are so many that I feel an urgency to get your attention back on the grain, even as my stomach tightens knowing that out of these moments of silence often comes a statement from you that will change your hearers forever, making it impossible to ignore what before we had not wanted to see.
Your words roll around in my consciousness, ricocheting like the sound of waves crashing on the rocky shoal. “Pray the Lord of the harvest to send laborers into the harvest. The harvest is great. The laborers are few!”
I thought about asking why you didn’t just send me along with the others you have called. But I didn’t. Why did you urge us to ask the master of the harvest to send laborers? Was that an invitation to us to recognize that the task was beyond our capacity to accomplish? Were you sending us at the same time that we were supposed to pray for others to join us? Or, were you inviting us to pray for the grace to recognize our own need? When the standing wheat become the faceless and meandering crowds searching for meaning and purpose for themselves, the few being sent can sense defeat before they start. And what if we become confronted by our own quest for meaning?
The urgency comes from the ripeness. Ripe wheat must be gathered into storage before the storms and frost come. Pelting rain and sleet can destroy crops, ruined as the shafts bend and break. The crowd’s hunger is now. Are you telling me that if I don’t act now something less satisfying will dazzle them and turn them from you and the kingdom you bring?
Please bear with me as I ask about something that may seem obvious to you, a plan you voiced that I might have missed. This really isn’t about me and what I do is it? It’s all about you and your Good News. Maybe I am afraid of being as vulnerable as I suspect you want me to be. Maybe I need a clearer plan of action with projected outcomes before I start. I need a safety net. Couldn’t you be a little more specific? What am I supposed to say? What are the words that will convince and change people?
Or does simply giving evidence that I have turned myself over to you reap the harvest? I have to be sure that I have peace before I can wish it on a household. Peace has to do with confidence, after all. Sometimes I wonder how confident I am that I am in God’s secure grasp and that no one and no thing can wrest me from that grasp. You give peace. How do I know that I have taken peace in?
I think I begin to see what being sent by you will mean in practice. Yesterday I was on my way to take care of some chores. I had my list in hand and a timetable to follow. I tried not to see him, imitating the others who looked away in embarrassment rather than have their eyes meet his. He was disabled and sat right near the entrance to the store. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and was sure he had looked up to me as I passed by. He didn’t say anything. So I felt no obligation to acknowledge him.
When I got inside I could not continue on my way. I felt an urgency to turn back and watch the man and notice the eager anticipation that shone on his face each time someone walked near him. And then, just as a cloud can eclipse the sun, hope faded as the person walked by as I had done.
I shrugged and continued on my way, but I could not get the man out of my mind. I bought a sandwich and some chips and a coke. As I ate my lunch I kept seeing you watching me from that man’s chair with the same anticipation on your face that he had on his. Each bite was harder to swallow than the one that preceded it.
Finally I asked the waiter for a duplicate order to go. I determined that if he were still in that same place I would offer the lunch because that is what you would expect of me. And if he accepted my offer that would be like wishing him your peace wouldn’t it?
He thanked me as I handed him the bagged lunch. I told him he was welcome and started to turn away, satisfied that I had done my part and fulfilled my charitable obligations. Then I saw how twisted his hands were. So I offered to unwrap the sandwich and open the coke. Then he asked me a question and we started to converse. There went my schedule and the plan for my day.
A table with an umbrella over it stood not far from where we were. I suggested that we move to it so that it would be easier for him to manage the lunch. Strange how fast time can go by. Was it an hour later when he had finished his meal and we our conversation? I said that we might meet again someday and before I could turn and walk away he smiled at me and said, “Peace and God bless!”
Here’s what I need to know. Which one of us was the worker sent by the Lord of the harvest?
Sincerely,
Didymus
PS. There are other implications of your directive that are stirring in my mind. Maybe I will write you further about these issues. The time seems ripe.
