There Is A Look In A Farmer's Eyes . . .

There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . .


Over ninety-nine percent of our nation, and much of the world, depends on the vocational determination, raw strength, faith, love and vision of farmers, who are less than one percent of our population. Think about that. Cultural financial icons, whom the economic lords deem the privileged '1 percent' of our nation, don't have enough money in their scattered accounts and investments to equal the driving power of the less than one percent who feed the world. Think about it. When was the last time you ate a dollar bill and felt filled by it? A hundred dollar bill? Maybe a thousand dollar bill would fill you? There isn't a stock market broker or company on Wall Street more powerful, more reliable, or more capable of meeting your body's truest need than a farmer . . . yet, our world worships the ground financial advisers walk on, providing them with compensation packages that, at best, could be considered as bizarre, all in the name of 'market value'.

Well, what is the market value of the food you eat, the nutrition your body requires, the sustenance you depend upon? What is the essential price you would pay for the fuel you need to see you through the day? Time after time, we have seen the pictures of the 'poor, poor souls in other lands' whom nature has deprived of favorable weather and a lack of education has cheated out of the means to meet their needs - and time after time we have commented, 'How sad. How very, very sad and unfortunate.' Though many work tirelessly to meet the needs in such places, giving generously of themselves and their resources, seldom do we in these privileged United States spend much time relating to their stories as one which might become our own. Yet, such a time of relating may be closer than we dare imagine . . .

There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . .

I think it was in 1983, our family farm near Marissa, Illinois was part of an area which received very little rain throughout the growing season. In October of that year, as I was preparing a nearby field for wheat sowing, Dad drove the combine into an 18 acre field of corn adjacent to where I was working and began to shell corn. He shelled both headlands and made, as I recall, four rounds in the field before he had enough in the hopper to unload into the waiting truck. As he emptied the hopper, I pulled my rig alongside his and waiting for him. Idling the combine, Dad stepped out of the combine cab, tears running down his cheeks, and said in a halting voice, "This is bad. It's been a long time since I have seen something like this." Then, he could say no more. He didn't have to, his silence spoke volumes. I have never forgotten that moment and now, facing a drought in the Midwest of nearly unprecedented proportions, both geographically and economically, with another four days of 100+ temperatures and no chance of rain expected, I am bracing for what I fear many, many among us will see in a farmer's eyes.

There is no way to convey to ninety-nine percent of the nation, much less the world, what less than one percent of the population is anticipating but, suffice it to say, the look in many a farmer's eyes in this region should give one hundred percent of the people in the world reason to pause. There are changes coming in the food supply, if for no other reason than what once has been taken for granted as being abundantly available, in all likelihood will no longer be true. The drought and heat of 2012 may well be written into the annals of history as a watershed moment (pardon the pun) in both American and world development. Shrewd and diligent market analysts are already driving up the commodity markets in anticipation of what will not be produced this year . . . and if you think the rallies on Wall Street over the last couple of months regarding bank loans were huge, imagine the anger and resentment which will be kindled over rising food prices and shorter funds on which to live.

There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . .

The look in the farmer's eyes in this part of the world has much to do with disappointment, frustration, anger, faith, hope, pride, and a brooding sense of failure . . . all centered in their heartfelt vocational call to provide nourishment for the world in a changing environmental climate. It is a look with which many of us can relate and one which deserves our deepest respect and support.

Yet, among us are those whose eyes gleam at the notion of riches to be made in a market of shortage. Some would call them 'market savvy', some might call them profit-takers, some might even call them knowledgeable and calculating yet, regardless of what they are called, the lives of many will intimately depend upon the decisions of a few - and the less-than-one-percent who grow the food are going to be a part of the ninety nine percent who will have to stand, hat in hand, hopeful to afford to live as once they lived. For you see, in the farmer's eyes is reflected the ever present reality that they sell their commodities wholesale and buy everything they need retail. In years such as this, what you see in a farmer's eyes is the injustice of their vocation reflected against the hope of their deepest faith. In years such as this, the injustice shines more brightly than ever and despair threatens the thinnest threads of hope.

There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . . and we all would be well served to heed it. For in recognizing the challenges which those who produce our food face this day, we can be responsibly proactive in both, seeing to equitable distribution of resources for all and fairly supporting those upon whose labors our very lives depend . . . and I am not talking about the stock market.

There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . . I pray you see it, too.

Refreshed!

I have been watered by the children.


Ever go into your garden or out onto your lawn and know just by looking at it that it needs water? Such has been my life and spirit lately. I have needed watering. I have been found wanting for refreshment and nurture. I have been dry of heart and short of stamina in my spirit for some time now, but only recently have been able to name it. In talking with my wife, Nancy, a week or two ago about a growing urgency for some prolonged time away, her immediate response was, "Well, I could have told you that. You haven't taken more than a couple of days here or there since last November and you are starting to get short with everyone, including me."

Well, there it is . . . I am in need of watering, much like the crops in the fields of this region in the midst of the drought. Jesus went up to the mountain to get away, even stole away a few moments to sleep in the front of the boat during a storm . . . and I don't have the good sense to do the same.

Then I received a phone call from a friend and colleague in ministry, Rev. John Holst, whose daughter is organizing special programs for a Science Camp at DuBois Conference and Retreat Center, our Illinois South Conference, UCC, church camp near DuBois, Illinois. John called asking me to put on a one hour program for 4th and 5th graders focused on a faith based understanding of the drought. I told him I thought I knew a few farmers who could do a better job, but he persisted in his request for me to do it since he thought I could give it a faith based understanding. I thought, 'Who better to talk about a drought than one who is feeling pretty dry.' So, this morning I journeyed to DuBois Center and met with 14 young folks who stole my heart and managed to water my thirsting soul.

Fourteen pre-teens in their second day of camp, feeling their awkwardness with each other as strangers, yet wanting to coalesce as a group, bonded by their knowledge and experiences, hungering only for more than what the world offers, and led by an incredibly international group of young men and women, met with me after their morning 'Blast' of Bible study and craft time. Fourteen young folks with the temerity to sign up for a Science Camp in a Church Camp setting. Fourteen young folk who, in their home and school settings are the ones who will be voted by their classmates and families alike, "The Ones Most Likely to Succeed". Fourteen children of God who, quite truthfully, scared the bee-jeebers out of me for what they already knew and would be expecting of me in talking about the current drought . . . and this morning I faced them with only a half dozen dead soybean plants and one dried up corn plant in hand - and the Spirit of God at work in this place.

We started out planting Marigold seeds in moist dark soil near Oak Lodge, seeds which had been left on the concrete floor some minutes before by 'Doc' who had told them the Parable of the Sower. All had assumed those seeds would have no life and each had walked all over them, leaving them to the wind, the birds or whatever else might pick them up. Then, while they were working on crafts, I gathered them up in my hand, poured them back into the discarded Marigold package and waited for their attention. Once we were together, we took the recovered seeds and gave them the home they needed . . . and then the campers did the same with me.

The world, as seen through the eyes of 10 and 11 year olds, is an incredible world, indeed. They already understood drought, yet spoke in terms of hope. They understood the loss of crops and still believed in and spoke of 'God provides', Manna. They embraced the notion that less than one percent of our nation is actively engaged in agriculture, but also owned the reality that all people must share God's abundance and care for each other, no matter the vocation. They set their sights higher than the trees and sank their roots deeper than the span of those limbs below the ground. They announced the nurture of God's baptismal reign with waters of blessing, flowing mightily along the banks of my cracked and creviced soul, rescuing me from the heat and strain of days too long without relief.

I have been watered by the children, both in their laughter and questions.

I went to teach and was taught. I went to nurture and was saved. I went to lead and was led beside still waters. I went to share faith and, there, found mine restored.

I have been watered by the children and, though I know my own deep need for intentional Sabbath yet remains, now feel ready to serve another day. Thank you, DuBois Science Camp campers! More than ever I could have imagined, God is at work in you bringing rain where most it is needed. The drought may not be over in our region, but you have quenched this thirst of this one soul and I am grateful.

I have been watered by the children . . . and I pray you will be, too!

Listening in Heat and Drought

What does one say to a farmer in 108 degree drought conditions as they watch corn stalks roast, soybeans wilt and alfalfa wither in the fields?

You say nothing. You 'stand with' always. You pray unceasingly.

My Dad is telling stories of 1954 when it got up to 112 degrees and the corn turned white, in one day. There's a lot of that going on right now . . . remembering. Remembering when, in a time gone past, crops didn't produce, livestock struggled, income shrunk, families went broke, farms were vacated, neighbors helped one another, friends shared resources, and the faith community became that one refuge of respite in the midst of the storm. Remembering when prayers were lifted up and rains did not come falling down. Remembering when the coolness of the servant soul was tested by the heat of the Summer sun. Remembering when the hopes of Spring planting hit the wall of weather's reality. Remembering . . . and wondering what these days will bring.

On days like this, I try to do a lot of listening for it's in the telling of stories that the balm is remembered in Gilead. I am not God, nor am I in a position of defending God when things aren't going well (Though, Lord only knows that everyone and their brother wants to take credit for 'having influence with God'when everything is going well and prosperity is the gospel upon which kingdoms are built!), yet as a servant of Jesus Christ I am called, in season and out of season, to witness to the Presence of God, the nearness of the Kingom, even when the world seems painful and despairing. I am called to 'stand with' those in deepest distress, not with words of explanation, but with the same heart of compassion Jesus shared with the lepers, the tax collectors, the sinners, and the oppressed.

Sometimes, when words finally fail, the Spirit can break in - making new the hope that was left back in the land so long ago.

It is going to be hot and dry today . . . again. The God who was with you in the days of adequate rainfall and moderate temperatures is with you also in the days of drought and heat. Listen.