“A man reaps what he sows.”  – Galatians 6:7 

“Plant a radish / Get a radish / Never any doubt / That’s why I love vegetables / You know what you’re about.”  I can remember vividly our son Cecil performing that in a song-and-dance duet routine with one of his classmates in a high school production of the musical “The Fantasticks.”  That was many, many years ago, so I have long forgotten much of the play and his performance in it, except that song has stuck in my head ever since, not only because I thought our son did a “fantastic” job in performing the number, but also because the lyrics themselves offer such a great life lesson.

There is no magic when you sow a field with wheat seeds that you can be pretty darn sure that wheat is exactly what will sprout up, not barley, oats, or corn.  But, of course, it also holds true that if you sow a field in weeds, it is weeds that will surely sprout.  Who, though, in his right mind dares sow weeds instead something useful and productive like vegetables or pretty flowers?  Besides, weeds tend to grow up voluntarily around the vegetables anyway unless we are intentional about weeding them out.  Are our personal lives not just like that?

I’m reminded of Robert, a recovering drug addict I once knew, who used to say that “if you hang out with bad people, bad things are going to happen,” then quickly add, “but if you hang out with good people, good things are going to happen.”  He knew that from first-hand experience, having spent his early years hanging out with bad people who led him into the underground world of illicit drugs and the inevitable consequences of that lifestyle; that is, until he started hanging out with some good kinds of people who helped him through recovery to become useful and productive – from a weed to a flower.

A happy productive life is like gardening, being intentional about what we hope to produce, not only for ourselves but for those around us – our children, co-workers, neighbors, and fellow citizens.  Plant a carrot / Get at carrot / Not a Brussels sprout. / That’s why I like vegetables. / You know what you’re about.  And what we plant in our gardens says a lot about what we are about, does it not?  As the scriptures say, “A man reaps what he sows. . . [so] let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

“. . . a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”  – Luke 12:15 

All of us I suppose dream of one day attaining financial security, a time when not only are we worry-free about the necessities of life, but able to accumulate a few luxuries we’ve always longed for.  And our consumer-crazed society reinforces such thinking, convincing us that if we buy more, we will be happier, more fulfilled, and more comfortable.  Great, as long as it inspires us toward excellence in our chosen endeavors.  But we must beware of the hazards that can occur in becoming too cozy with success.

Jesus addressed this matter in his parable about a rich man who after producing a good crop decided to tear down his barns and build bigger ones to store his grain and goods, after which he could take life easy – eat, drink and be merry.  But Jesus warned the rich man, “You fool!  This very night your life will be demanded from you.”  (Luke 12:20)

As a young man the great American playwright Tennessee Williams struggled to make ends meet – as many of us have – taking on such menial jobs as a laborer in a shoe factory, and caretaker of a chicken ranch.  But being a man of great talent and ambition, he dreamed that his literary endeavors would one day bring about success.

So it was that in the winter of 1943-44 Tennessee Williams’ luck changed upon receiving rave reviews for his play “The Glass Menagerie” which premiered in Chicago and soon made its way to Broadway.  That’s when, in his words, “I was snatched out of virtual oblivion and thrust into sudden prominence, and from the precarious tenancy of furnished rooms about the country I was removed to a suite in a first-class Manhattan hotel,” as quoted from an essay written by Williams three years later and published in the New York Times.  The title of the essay?  “The Catastrophe of Success”, a tragic commentary about the potential hazards of fame and fortune, which he himself had encountered.  “Security is a kind of death . . .” Williams had come to realize.

Tennessee Williams’ essay and Jesus’ parable are not inconsistent in their message it seems, that is that the hazard of becoming too cozy with security is a kind of death.  The solution, though, according to Williams is that “purity of heart is the one success worth having.”  Otherwise, “. . . a man’s life does not consist in his abundance.”

“In humility consider others better than yourselves . . . look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.”  – Philippians 2:3-4 

To overuse a much overused phrase (and forgive me for overusing it again), there seem to be two kinds of people in the world, those who are arrogant, and those who are humble.  Except, in this case please allow me to impose a level of complexity in that overused and over-simplified statement, something I have observed over my long lifetime, and that is that many who may appear through their blusterous personalities to be arrogant are sometimes actually deep down quite humble, while others put up a façade of humility to mask that which is really arrogance.  In other words, we can be easily fooled.

The late renowned theologian Frederick Buechner explained it like this.  “Humility is often confused with gentlemanly self-deprecation of saying you’re not much of a bridge player when you know perfectly well you are.  Conscious or otherwise, this kind of humility is a form of gamesmanship.  If you really aren’t much of a bridge player, you’re apt to be rather proud of yourself for admitting it so humbly.  This kind of humility is a form of low comedy.  True humility doesn’t consist of thinking ill of yourself but of not thinking of yourself much differently from the way you’d be apt to think of anybody else.  It is the capacity for being no more and no less pleased when you play your own hand well than when your opponents do.”

I know of no better example of that type of “true humility” than a good friend of ours, an entrepreneur and the founder and leader of a highly successful enterprise, who, when she speaks to groups, talks incessantly about herself.  Except, no one seems to notice, for neither is she boastful, nor is she self-deprecating, only that it is impossible for her to share the mission of the enterprise she founded and the lives it has impacted without sharing about herself.  As Buechner expressed it, “not thinking of your self much differently from the way you’d be apt to think of anybody else.”

In much the same way the Apostle Paul encouraged the Philippians to practice that type of true humility, the same humility of Christ himself.  “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.  Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.”

“For what I want to do I do not do . . . [and] . . . what I do is not the good I want to do.”

• Romans 7:15,19 

You go visit your physician for a checkup during which the doctor begins to strongly suggest your need for some lifestyle changes, beginning with exercise.  “You need to quit spending so much time at the gym,” he chides.  “You’re going to kill yourself with all that exercise.  You’d be better off lounging around on the couch snacking and watching TV.”  Then he launches into a lecture about your diet.  “You need more calories,” he says, “higher fat, more sugar and carbs.  Try eating burgers and fries for lunch instead of salad, maybe add a chocolate chip cookie or two, and in the evening a big platter of fried food, with perhaps a wedge of pie a la mode (at least two dips).  Oh, and it wouldn’t hurt to imbibe three or four good stiff drinks before dinner either.”

Have you ever had a doctor say anything like that to you?  Ha, ha, me either!  But if you are like me I bet you have dreamed about how nice it would be to indulge yourself endlessly like that, and still keep your body in good shape without the necessity of those torturous workouts at the gym.  It is sort of like dreaming about winning the lottery, that if we had all the money we ever needed and the ability to buy anything we ever wanted, life would then be just about perfect.  Or would it?

Here is another question: when have you felt best about yourself, the most fulfilled?  Has it been when good fortune has fallen into your lap through no effort of your own?  Or has it been when you have worked hard for some sort of good and you got to experience the results?  The answer, if we are honest with ourselves, is the latter of course.  Yet, there seems to be that constant tension we all struggle with between extreme self-indulgence and a deep desire for our lives to be used for some greater good.

“For what I want to do I do not do [and] what I do is not the good I want to do,” the Apostle Paul confessed.  (Nice to be in good company with someone who has struggled with the same tension.)  Over the years, though, I have learned to appreciate the tension, for I find that it is the ambition to do good that helps me resist being overly self-indulgent, yet it is yielding to the temptation of self-indulgence that helps loosen the grip of pride that can easily accompany good works.  Maybe that’s what God intended.

“For none of us lives to himself alone.”  – Romans 14:7 

After all these many years I still think often about Rookh Richards, a lady who lived around the block from us in my small hometown when I was growing up, and how in her quiet little way she influenced my life.  We had this interesting bond, Rookh and I, even though she was a generation older than my parents, and I was just a young kid of about ten or eleven.  Every afternoon for exercise Rookh would take a brisk walk around our neighborhood, so if I happened to be playing in the yard and saw her coming my way I would stand and wait for her to come by where we would engage in this brief little banter, some sort of teasing, about what I don’t remember.  Whatever it was we would both laugh as she scooted off to finish her walk.

While Rookh was certainly a beloved neighbor and well-known by our family, yet she was not part of what I would consider our family’s inner circle.  A great lady though she was for sure – warm, kind, and generous, a fine citizen, married to a prominent rancher, and always a quiet supporter in church and civic affairs, one of the “grand ladies” in our community back in her day.  But what I remember most was her sense of humor, and how our relationship was formed by teasing each other – about who knows what!

“No man is an island,” the poet John Donne famously wrote.  What the poet was expressing I think is that no matter who we are, where we live, what we do, whether rich or poor, young or old, male or female, outgoing or shy, educated or not, we all touch the lives of others we encounter one way or another.  Realizing that, we each have an opportunity, even in the briefest and most casual circumstances, to influence and leave a lasting impression, either for good or not so good.  My relationship with Rookh was certainly brief and casual, probably no more than twenty or thirty seconds each time she passed by our house.  Yet, for me she left a lasting impression in how one’s warmth, friendliness, and sense of humor can be used in a positive way.

Rookh passed away when I was in high school, and I still remember sitting in her funeral service teary-eyed, mourning the loss of my friend and those brief, casual encounters that will never be forgotten.  As the Apostle Paul says, “For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone.” Rookh certainly didn’t.  And neither do we.