Follow the extended link for the sermon. I think it turned out okay.
One of my favorite stories is The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnette. It is the tale of Mary Lennox and her adventures at Misselthwaite, the home of her uncle Archibald Craven.
The characters in this story are rich and full of life.
There is Mary, an orphaned girl. Her parents were killed in a horrible earthquake in India. She is sent to live with her uncle in England at Misselthwaite. She does not cry.
There is her uncle, Archibald Craven. He is a broken man, in spirit and in the flesh. His wife, Lily, has died leaving him fearful and bitter. He has a hump on his back and even a limp.
Colin is Lord Craven’s son. He is an invalid, bedridden his entire life. He is spoiled and cruel.
Ms. Matlock is the housekeeper. She runs the manor staff with an iron fist, caring for Colin and maintaining the home.
There is Martha, the chambermaid and her brother, Dickon, who has almost magical powers.
And then there is the garden itself. The garden is a secret, to be walled up and ignored because it is seen as a place of death. Colin's mother sustained an injury and died because of the garden. So, Lord Craven decides that no one is to go in. It was Lily’s favorite place, once full of life and hope. And now it has become a place that symbolizes death and loss. It must be forgotten…and so too all the pain associated with it. No one may enter.
But this is where the story begins.
One gardener does go in. He had been given charge of it by Lily, Lord Craven’s wife, before she died. And then Mary comes to the manor and is led by a magical bird to the locked gate. She discovers the key in a neglected bedchamber and the dominoes fall.
She and Dickon with some help from the gardener bring the Secret Garden back to life. At first glance, the garden appears to be dead, strangled by weeds and undergrowth and neglect. But as she and Dickon begin to explore it, they discover that the garden is “wick.” It is alive.
They begin to tend the garden…pruning and weeding, watering and planting.
Eventually, they lead Colin to the garden…spoiled, nasty, death obsessed Colin and there he learns to walk. He learns to be human.
And in the end, when Archibald Craven returns home, beckoned by a dream of his wife again in her garden, he discovers a place he thought dead to be full of life, and the son that he thought crippled, able to run and leap and play. His life is transformed. Through the garden, the lives of all are transformed.
Mary Lennox, the young girl "who does not cry," becomes the vehicle for revelation. And she learns to cry.
Colin is healed by his faith and the love of his friends. Lord Craven learns yet again to love.
Eventually in the end all at Misselthwaite are healed when the garden is no longer a secret, walled up, unable to "harm" anyone. As traumatic as the loss of Colin's mother was, as tragic as the loss of Mary's parents was, the promise of love and hope prevails. We cannot shut ourselves off from love and pain. That is a way to imprison ourselves just as Lord Craven attempts to shut off the garden in the process walling off his own heart.
And the garden will not be kept secret.
It has too much to give,
to much life to share.
What is it about a garden? What makes it such a powerful symbol?
A garden is an artform. It is planned. It has an architecture to it.
People who are skilled gardeners will tell you about the virtues of each plant in their garden. They can tell you when they will bloom, how large the plants will grow and how much fruit they will produce. A garden is to be known by its maker and experienced as a place of peace and fruitfulness by those who visit it.
A garden takes work. It takes tending. Gardens don’t happen by accident. They are intentionally crafted; its spaces choreographed with walks and vistas, fountains and benches.
A garden must be weeded, watered, pruned, and given time to rest. Success and failure are found in a garden. There are tomatoes that will not yield fruit, roses that will not bloom. Rabbits will eat their fill. So too will insects. And all are found in the garden.
With all of this at work in a single place, a garden can often seem to have a life of its own.
I realize that many of us here may not consider ourselves gardeners or even “green thumbs.” But for me at least, I have to confess that there is something mystical about a garden. Something deep within me responds to them. And it appears that I am not alone. Gardens have captured the imagination of humanity for thousands of years.
The Garden of Eden
The hanging gardens of Babylon
The Chicago Botanical Gardens…
We sing songs about gardens.
We may write love poetry using the images from a garden.
Awake, O north wind,
and come, O south wind!
Blow upon my garden
that its fragrance may be wafted abroad.
Some nations pride themselves on their gardens…
There are great public gardens,
small family gardens,
and even the occasional secret garden.
St. John of the Cross, a sixteenth century theologian, monk and mystic stated that “the soul is a garden.” For the faithful, tending the soul is a life’s work. It is a gentle work. Souls need to be weeded. Sometimes they need to lie fallow for a while, waiting for God’s grace to pour down like rain. The soul is to be cultivated with love. It is to be tended intentionally, not only in a series of accidental prunings and plantings. It takes diligence to bring a soul to life…patience, love, kindness, forgiveness, and above all, God’s grace.
For me, the church too is a garden. Thus we have our theme for this Sunday and much of our program year. We are, at Community Church, tending the garden.
Our garden has literal walls. There are pathways and vistas of long relationships and new associations. The architecture of faith is our worship life together, our shared prayers and our songs. Our fellowship is no less our tending. There too we find what sustains and grows.
The Community Church has undergone transformation after transformation. It has experienced periods of drought and neglect. It has experienced periods of fruitfulness and growth. It has received grace…God’s love poured down.
A church, this church and any other, is an intentional community. It has planned architecture. It is sustained by patient care…with tending. It needs to be watered. It needs times of rest…to lie fallow. This is a place that can be fruitful. With God, we are the gardeners. We are what is planted and tended as members of this garden. Here we learn to cry. Here we learn to love.
Our scripture today is taken from the Song of Solomon. Some of my friends were teasing me for preaching from it. And their teasing is well founded. What can millennia old erotic love poetry tell us today? But there it is…”love poetry.” Why would the poet, in the wish to express love, hope, desire and passion, choose images from a garden? There could be many reasons, but in the end, I believe it has everything to with how love is to be known and understood.
Love is not to be veiled, hidden away. Love is the fruit of toil and cultivation. It reveals itself in passion and perseverance. It is not lackluster. It is, well, juicy! Love and its desired object is to be proclaimed from the highest hill.
As a lily among brambles,
so is my love among maidens.
As an apple tree among the trees of the wood,
so is my beloved among young men.
With great delight I sat in his shadow,
and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the banqueting house,
and his intention towards me was love.
***
At the end of the movie adaptation of The Secret Garden, Mary tells us that in the garden she learned to cry and that Archibald Craven learned again how to love. She says that this is what the garden taught them. And then, as the camera pans over the walls of the garden, the little girl says, “and perhaps we have learned to see that the whole world is a garden. “
The promise of the garden is one in which the whole world shares. This is the passion of the love poet. This is the passion of one smitten by the virtues of another. Why would we wall it in and keep it a secret? Have we not been smitten by the virtues of God? Is there nothing to proclaim?
Brothers and sisters, this church is the Garden of our Lord. Here is love proclaimed, God’s love for the whole world. Here we gather, our intentions clear, shared with one another and made known to the world. We are in the midst of God’s love affair with the world…and this must be proclaimed from the highest hill.
Awake, O north wind,
and come, O south wind!
Blow upon [our] garden
that its fragrance may be wafted abroad.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Posted by tripp at September 10, 2006 07:32 AM