Yesterday morning, our youth minister, Brooks Nesse, preached a terrific sermon. Brooks made a compelling case for why and how older members of the congregation should be discipling younger members. As Brooks said in various ways, we should be reflecting Christ to younger believers, acknowledging Christ’s work in their lives, and challenging them to continue growing more like Christ. The sine qua non of all this is INTERACTION. You can’t disciple or mentor a person with whom you have no contact!
Then I Went for a Walk
It was an oppressively hot summer afternoon, but nothing else was pressing, so I did what I love dearly: I went for a walk around White Rock Lake looking for beautiful things to photograph. Only a few of the wildflowers I have been noticing lately were still blooming. So I decided to concentrate on what those flowers have been busy making all Spring—seeds. The brilliant colors are gone. The soft, delicate petals are few and far between. In their place are the tan and grey of seeds and the white of their wind-catching hair. Delicate has given way to hard, smooth to spiky. Youth has given way to old age.
Or Has It? A Little Wandering Afield
In college, one of my history professors assigned Johan Huizinga’s The Waning of the Middle Ages. We were to write a paper using that book to support either of two claims: that the end of the Middle Ages was either their “flowering” or their “going to seed.” Being a contrarian, I opted for neither, and wrote a paper arguing that 1) it is a mistake to divide history into neat periods (not sure if young Brad would convince old Brad on this one!) and 2) demonstrating that Huizinga’s evidence was inconclusive at best on the question of “flowering” and “going to seed.” The senescence of one age is the youth of another. Doesn’t even nature teach this?
Just three weeks ago, the fields wore a blanket of Queen Anne’s Lace. Before that, in late spring, the light green nests of this plant opened up to reveal white petals on supple arms. Now those arms have folded back in to form a new kind of nest: cages that hold a covey of spiky seeds.
Looking at the those tight nests, I asked myself, “Is this the end, or the beginning?” Are seeds old men or children? It began to dawn on me that what passes for death in flowers is, in fact, the passing on of their life. Old age is giving way to youth.
I’ll Photograph a Sermon
Yesterday, as I set out on a long hot walk, I was thinking about Brooks’ sermon, about the need to disciple younger people. Passing by browning fields, I was also thinking that I’m past the season for capturing the beauty of flowers. But then it dawned on me: just as my eyes have been opened to the beauty of wildflowers that nobody ever notices, my eyes can also be opened to the beauty of how those same flowers transfer life to next year’s flowers. Discipling happens in the field as it ought to happen in our church. I’ll be thinking of Brooks’ sermon for months to come. Old flowers and young seeds will bring it to mind.
Then I Got Home
When I got home after that long hot walk, I thought I’d throw my sweaty hiking pants into the washer. But then I noticed: they were covered with the seeds of Queen Anne’s Lace. Wandering afield to capture photographs, I had brushed up against the older nests of seed. I had interacted with them, come into close contact with them, the sine qua non of discipleship. It turns out Queen Anne’s Lace wants to grow in my own garden.
Good job, Brooks. It was a terrific sermon! It really sticks with me.
