Written by professors, graduates, and others in
the Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary community, these reflections, prayers, and spiritual practices will take you along the journey with Jesus through the cross toward resurrection.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
• 1 Samuel 16:1–13
People who know me and spend any time in my home know that I have a proverbial “green thumb.” I have several beautiful plants in my space. I love greenery and the gift of life that having them in a space gives. One of my friends once said that the plants that live in my house sing. And she is right. I think they sing, mostly, because I talk to them and encourage them to grow and blossom. They turn their leaves toward the sun and soak up the nutrients I provide through plant food. And when visitors come, my plants welcome them with outstretched foliage.
It is a rare thing for a plant to die in my care. I have taken plants that look as if they were already dead and washed off their roots, sometimes dried them off, re-potted them, fed them, sang to them, and before you know it: they’re back! I love that challenge. And besides, I hate to see plants die. For some time now, my own ability to nurture and cultivate houseplants has been tied to my sense of my ability to thrive. As I wrote in a poem once, “I can nurture life, if not in myself, at least in a plant, and that gives me hope.” The ability to nurture a plant or a soul and to see results is no small feat.
But in 2012, I did the unthinkable. I allowed not one but three potted plants to die. I made attempts to keep them alive, but unlike in the past, I made no heroic efforts to save them. When it became clear that my earnest efforts were failing, I rested assured in the fact that I had really tried. But I started saying to them (yes, to the plants): “I want you to live. I really do. I have watered and fed you. I’ve moved you to the sunshine (or away from it if that’s what was called for). I’ve sang to you and talked with you. But I can’t do anything else. I hope you will live. I want it. But I do know that things and people die.” And then these three plants died over the course of a couple of months.
In this Lenten season, I take this lesson of dying plants to heart. Things die. People die. Relationships morph and change and, yes, die. It is always sad to me. I can feel the grief welling up long before the final breath. I do not discard plants with a cavalier notion. Neither do I cavalierly let go of places, people, or things. But things do die. Even with our best efforts thrown into their life. And we have to let go.
I’m learning the lesson of letting go without God or anyone else having to pry my fingers away from its death grip on the dying or dead things in my life. The road to the cross, the Lenten journey, is a road to letting go in preparation for death. It’s the acknowledgement that we must. It’s not easy. But I’m trying to learn.
– The Reverend Valerie Bridgeman, PhD (MDiv’90)
President & CEO of WomanPreach! Inc.
Immediate Past President of
Austin Seminary Association
For the glory of God and to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ, Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary is a seminary in the Presbyterian-Reformed tradition whose mission is to educate and equip individuals for the ordained Christian ministry and other forms of Christian service and leadership; to employ its resources in the service of the church; to promote and engage in critical theological thought and research; and to be a winsome and exemplary community of God's people.
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