Beaches and Peaches

It’s been a beautiful autumn in West Michigan.

The air has been soft, the sun has been shining, the temperatures have been a good mix of cool in the morning and warm in the afternoon. I’ve had the windows open to let the fresh air into the house more often than not. We’ve had a Super Moon, the aurora borealis (even with city light pollution!), peaches, apples, raspberries, and something called a pumpkin pepper. This week, the trees have reached their peak in their change of color.

And yet…

If you are anything like me–one who is mostly, sometimes, waiting for the other shoe to drop–there is always an “And yet…” 

And yet, my heart aches for those in Florida and North Carolina who have had their homes and communities decimated by recent hurricanes. And yet, I weep for those in Palestine who are being terrorized by bombs and guns and war. And yet, there are thousands walking thousands of miles to try to find safe and stable places to live. I love these glorious autumn days, and yet I know that what I’m enjoying is a result of global climate change. 

It’s been an amazingly beautiful autumn in West Michigan. And yet…

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We are deep in a sermon series on the topic of Home at my church, a series that will take us up to the season of Advent. This is a big departure for us as we are a congregation that faithfully follows the Lectionary. But, so far, I’ve loved it. I’m a sucker for a good theme.

The series started, as maybe only a series on Home can start, with the book of Genesis. On the hot, sunny, early September Sunday, after the first sermon on Home, I left church and went to the beach. There is a particularly quiet beach on the shores of Lake Michigan that is my favorite place in the world–a place that brings me peace and joy and comfort and goodness, especially in late August and early September. It’s where I go when I need all to feel right with the world. 

It’s easy to sit on the beach, look out across Lake Michigan, and wonder at God’s creation and this place that I call Home. This was especially true on the Sunday we started a new sermon series on that topic. 

As I sat on the beach, thinking about Genesis and Creation and a sermon series on Home, I remembered that my favorite telling of the Creation story is James Weldon Johnson’s  “The Creation”. I first heard this poem during my high school teaching days, read by one of my colleagues who has the most resonant, fabulous bass voice. I hear his voice whenever I read this poem. Upon reading it again, a stanza caught my attention because it fits this autumn season where I live: 

Then God raised his arm and he waved his hand
Over the sea and over the land,
And he said: Bring forth! Bring forth!
And quicker than God could drop his hand,
Fishes and fowls
And beasts and birds
Swam the rivers and the seas,
Roamed the forests and the woods,
And split the air with their wings.
And God said: That’s good! 

Can you picture it? Can you see God waving God’s hands and spinning and swinging around, calling, “Bring forth! Bring forth!” Then an abundance of fishes and fowls, beasts and birds, fruit and vegetable come forth. 

It’s easy for me to feel like I live in West Michigan only to experience the joyous wonder and abundance that comes in late August and goes through mid-October. The stands at the Farmer’s Market are full. The trees and bushes and grass are a deep, verdant green that have slowly turned to vibrant shades of red, orange, yellow, and purple. There is plenty of goodness in this early autumn season here in West Michigan.

I never can quite decide whether February and March and living in gray, damp, dirty slush are worth living here, but somehow, by the time late summer rolls around and Lake Michigan reaches the perfect temperature for long, lazy swims and picking ripe, juicy peaches from the tree, or sweet raspberries from the bush, I forget how much I hate late winter and early spring here.

There is a softness to Lake Michigan in autumn that I haven’t experienced anywhere else. And, if you’ve ever eaten a fresh Michigan peach on a hot summer day or a juicy apple on a warm September Saturday, you understand how easy it is to forget the dirty, slushy snow. Autumn on the shores of Lake Michigan is magic, and as I have often (tongue-in-cheek) said, it is evidence that God loves me very much. 

But my favorite part of the poem “The Creation” is this line: “And God said: That’s good!” 

Can you hear God say these words? Can you imagine God giving a slight nod and saying, “Yep. I did that right. That’s good.” I can almost hear God shouting, as my daughters still do, “Look at me! Look at what I can do!”  If I were God, I’d hold up a ripe Michigan peach and shout, “That’s good!”

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Here’s the thing, though. God didn’t stop at natural creation. Here’s another stanza from Johnson’s poem: 

“Then God sat down—
On the side of a hill where he could think;
By a deep, wide river he sat down;
With his head in his hands,
God thought and thought,
Till he thought: I’ll make me a man!”
And God did: 
“This great God […]Kneeled down in the dust
Toiling over a lump of clay
Till he shaped it in his own image;

Then into it he blew the breath of life,
And man became a living soul.
Amen.      Amen.”

God shaped humans in God’s own image. And that’s good. 

And yet, if I’m again honest, loving humans–seeing God’s sovereignty in God’s creation of humans–is harder than loving West Michigan in February and March. Humans are messy and complicated, hurtful and mean, and loving and kind. And, yes, made in God’s image. 

I can make some guesses about what our pastors will say over the next few weeks about Home and Finding a Place In God. I can guess that they will say something about Creation Care and being Made In God’s Image and Belonging. And I know that talking and thinking about Creation Care will be easy (yep, beaches and peaches and apples and Lake Michigan).

Talking and thinking about being made in God’s image, however, will stretch and challenge me. There is too much that, real or not, divides us. There are too many things that people are fighting about. There’s a lot of shouting from a lot of people. There’s a lot of shouting that is causing me a lot of anxiety. And, if I’m brutally honest and transparent, I’m scared to see what this week and the next few months will bring. 

God toiled and shaped humans in God’s own image. God breathed the breath of life into humans. And then God said, “It’s good!” 

And yet, humans are messy and complicated, and, yes, we–even I–yell a lot. 

So, I will go to the beach today since warm days to walk or sit on the beach are winding down. And I will try to quiet my heart and my mind. I will imagine God kneeling down and toiling over clay. I will imagine God blowing the breath of life into a living soul. I will turn my face toward the breeze drifting over the waters of Lake Michigan so that God can breathe fresh life into me. Then, hopefully, with God’s miraculous wonder, I’ll go into the week seeing humans–all humans, even the messy, complicated ones like me who yell a lot–made in the image of God. 

The Creation by James Weldon Johnson (1871-1938)