4 Oct 2020
Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus GreenReadings: Deuteronomy 8:7-10, 2Corinthians 9:6-15, Luke 12:16-21
I have a harvest story for you today from Vietnam.
A long, long time ago Vietnam was ruled by a good king, Hung Vuong the Third. He only had one daughter, so took in a poor orphan from a nearby island. The child was called An Tiem and the old king raised him as if he were his own, deciding as An Tiem grew wiser and stronger that he must marry his daughter and continue his line. The daughter, while having very little say in all this, by chance, fell in love with him and, while conscious of the patriarchal subjection of women, decided not to let it affect her personal happiness, and they were very happy. Being a good wife, but conscious of the environmental impact of her species, she produced for him two little children.
However, as with any king’s court, there were some bad people who envied the young couple and spread lies and rumours of how An Tiem cared nothing for the king and wanted to rule on his own. The old king got worried, and consumed by suspicion and fears, and having never read King Lear, exiled An Tiem and his family to a desolate island.
The island was a terrible place with fierce winds and cliffs that the waves smashed against. The princess was very unhappy at this reversal of fortunes; for the first time having to work, and with none of her delicious treats, jars of ointments, or Amazon Prime. But being a good wife she remained devoted to her husband, comlaining hardly ever, and together they became an effective team on that barren island.
Then one day with very few planes in the air An Tiem noticed birdsong and some odd yellow sea birds pecking among the rocks. Climbing up the cliffs for a closer look, he saw them picking at black seeds, some of which fell close to An Tiem’s feet. Scooping them up and scurrying away, locked down on this terrible island, like many he turned to gardening. He planted the seeds. Even though nothing else seemed to grow on this barren island — He thought perhaps these just might…
The family tenderly nurtured the seedlings. Soon little shoots grew, then turned into vines. Buds emerged, then flowered, then came fruits. The fruits grew larger and larger, first like a plum, then an orange, then a grapefruit, bigger and bigger, till they were larger than An Tiem’s wife’s head, covered with smooth green skin. Finally An Tiem sliced one open, discovering beautiful moist deliciousness and many more seeds. It was worth the wait.
He called the fruit “dua do”, but his wife, listening to the birds who’d led them to the seeds said — “they’re singing ‘Tay Qua, Tay Qua’…” Which means ‘water melon’.
They packed the fruits away carefully, planting more and traded them with sailors for delicious treats and ointments, as well as food and toys for the children.
Then one day, An Tiem’s wife was looking towards her homeland and had an idea. Gathering some watermelons she wrote her name on them and sent them out to sea in the direction of home. The king’s servants discovered the fruits bobbing at the royal harbour and brought them in. The king was filled with joy when he remembered his wonderful family, and tasting the delicious fruit understood that they’d survived and flourished through great adversity. Realising he’d been stupid to send them away, he brought them back and there was a great feast of celebration. And ever after, the people of Vietnam have told the story of the birds and their magical black seeds and the delicious sweetness of An Tiem’s gift: the watermelon.
***
In all times and all places; for all faiths and all peoples, harvest is a time of thanksgiving. For watermelons, for corn, wheat and barley, for rice, humans have given thanks for the weather, for the soil, for the crops, that have given them the security of food through the winter.
The beginning of farming, around 10,000 years ago, changed human culture. After centuries following the migrations of food sources, humans took root and ownership of land. Storable food made trade and wealth possible. Being resident, and not having to constantly chase food meant leisure, which gave time for reflection, for the development of art, music and language. And, of course, recorded religion. Adam is told on leaving the garden of Eden that he will toil the land, and his children, Cain and Able, are the archetypes of the arable and dairy farmer respectively. And so began civilisation.
But farming also put us at the mercy of the elements, rain and drought, ice and wind; no culture is without its gods of harvest because all who are involved with agriculture understand that we are dependent creatures; that fickle nature can fructify our crops or reduce them to nothing. And this year, perhaps we are realising again how dependent we are as creatures — Despite our neatly packaged food industry, human kind is always at the mercy of the elements. And that includes viruses and wicked stockpilers.
But the thankfulness that Harvest is connected with does not take the simple attitude of human thanksgiving. Harvest is celebrated every year in good and bad harvests — with great joy, hard toil, or meagre offerings. It’s not thanks that our harvest is better than theirs — or better than last year. We still celebrate harvest despite the hellish wreaking of devastation in other countries, famine and drought. We simply give thanks for what we have, share a little, and pray for the needs of others.
And sometimes, some years we might ask, really why should I give thanks this year? Who would give thanks for 2020? When I went to Auschwitz a few years back I saw Eucharistic vessels that had been smuggled in for priests to take forbidden services. Eucharist means simply ‘thanksgiving’. You might well ask — how do you give thanks in a place like that?
Thanksgiving is an attitude. You can list things your thankful for; you can weigh up and measure whether you’re lucky; compare yourself to Ed Sheeran (who I heard made over £100k every day in 2019 – excessive), the king of Vietnam, poor Donald Trump, this might make you grateful, or bitter — but thankfulness is an attitude that looks at everything in life through the prism of ‘gift’. That we have nothing, hold on to nothing, but we who are alive are daily given inestimable gifts with which to do our best.
My mother calls me Pollyanna — based on some literary figure I have never read. Apparently, she is always optimistic. I don’t believe in PMA, and I find optimism shallow; I deliberately try and curb my optimism as it usually leads to bad decisions. I’d rather expect the worst than be surprised by it. But I do believe in looking for the good, for the opportunity in every moment and every person. And for giving thanks for any victory however small. For trusting that whatever the situation, somewhere there is grace working.
In our Gospel the rich man does not believe himself to be dependent. He believes he is self-sufficient. He is also greedy for more and more despite his considerable wealth. He is not thankful. Paul in contrast writes of the cheerful giver, the one who is blessed with generosity and becomes a blessing to others. And always in Paul we have his appreciation of the surpassing grace of God: ‘Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift’
Our Vietnamese prince and princess didn’t grow bitter over their fortunes but found those little seeds where grace grew. Even on a bitter windswept island they found a way to make a harvest and to give thanks. Your list of thankfulness maybe very long, it may just have one very special thing, but it pays to always remember we are dependent. On nature; on the people around us. And to remember that there are always things to give thanks for and grace to be found. So let us give thanks for what we have, share a little, and pray for the needs of others. Amen.
Comments