Harvest Home

Farmers and landowners had long marked the end of the grain harvest with a big meal to which the workers, along with the ‘extras’ who had helped in the harvest fields, would all be invited.  It wasn’t solely for reasons of space that this meal would not take place in the farmer’s dining room.  The majority of the guests were not of his social class, and would feel out of place there.  Instead tables would be erected in a barn and straw bales piled up to form the stage for the entertainment, or for the band to accompany dancing after the meal itself.  The presence of the master, though an essential part of the occasion, was not the inhibition it would certainly have been had the event taken place in his own home, and the conviviality itself was as much part of the celebration as was the meal.  You can almost sense Thomas Hardy sitting in the corner to record the atmosphere for his next Wessex novel! 

Although thanksgivings for harvest have been offered in this and many other ways for many centuries, the traditional Harvest Festival, as celebrated in virtually every church in the land, originated in early Victorian times, when an enterprising Cornish clergyman decided to add a spiritual dimension to what had gone on in the village for years, and invited parishioners into church to give thanks to God. 

I used to work for a man who could best be described as a ‘gourmet’.  To say he liked good food was only to tell part of it.  When there was cause for celebration, a new contract signed, or a new customer to greet, there seemed always to be a bottle of Champagne in the office fridge ready for the purpose.  At the slightest excuse, guests and selected staff would be invited to a nearby restaurant for a meal.  It wasn’t the local Burger King either, but a select ‘Cordon Bleu’ establishment that boasted a celebrity chef.  That was also where we gathered for the annual Christmas dinner, many of us feeling a little over-awed by the sense of place.  Then one year, this ‘tradition’ lapsed.  We were invited, with spouses, to a nearby village pub for the festive gathering, and a jolly time was had by all.

So, what, I hear you ask, has this to do with the foregoing words about Harvest?  Look closely and you will see a common character in each element: the master.  The celebration is not complete without him; in many ways he is key.  But neither is it complete if it takes place on his own turf, on his terms.  To achieve completion, the master comes down to the level of the common man, and isn’t that what we celebrate, not at harvest, but a few months later?  

If you’re attending a harvest supper shortly, remember to look over your friend’s shoulder, into the middle distance, and think of another Master, joining his people as a babe in human form, to share for a short while the full experience of their lives.

Getting to the Bottom of it

Some years ago, I read the story of a duchess who discovered that news of her adultery had appeared in the local newspaper.  She was aghast; she couldn’t face the prospect of her tenants, and other ‘common people’, knowing this unpalatable detail of her private life … let alone the possibility of sniggering behind her back!  She liked to think of herself above the level of scandal and tittle-tattle.  So she bought up all the copies of the paper that were in the village store, and had them destroyed.  However, one of her servants had a cousin who lived in the nearby town.  He did manage to see a copy of the paper, told his cousin, and the fine lady’s tale of shame quickly spread far and wide.

The duchess’s attempt at cover-up was futile.  The saying ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ comes to mind here; the newspaper in this case was the messenger, and the adultery the message.  That saying is usually quoted not so much with thought for the simple protection of the postman, or any other bearer of ill tidings.  Its real meaning is that to take action against that person or entity is completely ineffectual in contradicting the message he’s brought.  We might, for example, screw up a letter bearing bad news, or burn that unwelcome credit card statement … or deny God’s love.  None of these has the slightest bearing on the respective underlying truth: Aunt Bessie has passed away, the debt is at an unsustainable level … and ‘God so loved the world that he gave His only son’ (John 3:16).

If you have time, look at Jeremiah 26:11-15.  Jeremiah had been telling those worshipping at the temple to turn away from their evil lives and, not for the first time, he was in trouble for what he’d been saying.  He pointed out that killing him wouldn’t deter God’s wrath; that would only be achieved if the people were to change their ways.

In the story of Palm Sunday, the people threw leaves and branches on the ground as Jesus passed by sitting on the donkey; they cried out, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Luke, 19:38-40).  The Pharisees told Jesus to make his followers be quiet; in reply, Jesus quoted words from the prophet Habakkuk, “If they keep silent, the very stones will cry out!”  In the original, the previous verses read, “The one who builds his house by unjust gain is as good as dead.  He does this so he can build his nest way up high and escape the clutches of disaster. ​​​​​​​Your schemes will bring shame to your house.  Because you destroyed many nations, you will self-destruct” (Habakkuk 2:9-10).  The hidden meaning of Jesus’ response echoes that same, non-messenger-shooting point.  Whether his disciples were to cry out or not wouldn’t change the fundamental truth of the Pharisees’ failings, nor their eventual punishment.

St Paul told the Romans ‘nothing can separate us from God’s love’ (Rom 8:38), and it’s that great and incomprehensible truth that we remember to our comfort in times of despair, and that we deny at our peril.

In Your Dreams?

I'm generally concerned about dreams and their contents, and whether or not they are 'messages from Heaven'.  I believe that we have to be very careful before assigning divine significance to what we dream.  With that caveat, I’ll continue.  

A few weeks ago, I awoke with a particular sentence ringing clearly in my mind.  “It was Shadrach who, at the foot of the Cross, knelt and said, ‘Lord, I forgot ...’.”  It’s clearly biblical but not, so far as I can determine, from the Bible; I conclude that it was simply an almost coherent jumble of words that had passed through my mind in the previous few days.  However, on the assumption that it might be helpful to someone, I decided to examine each phrase of this sentence and see – wakefully, and with prayer – what conclusions I could draw from it.

Shadrach appears in chapter 1 of the book of Daniel, where we find him with two friends, Meshach and Abednego.  While Daniel is remembered under his original Hebrew name, his friends who, like him, were assigned Babylonian names by their conquerors, are more familiar as they were re-named.  Shadrach was originally called Hananiah, a name that means ‘Yahweh has been gracious’.  There seems to be no specific meaning to ‘Shadrach’, and it’s understood that these name-changes were likely to have been part of a simple expedient of replacing anything that gave expression to the former culture of the captives.

The idea of kneeling at the foot of the Cross is purely metaphorical.  It might have its origin in the thought that the Cross was on a hill (as in Mrs. Alexander’s hymn ‘There is a green hill’, although the Gospels refer simply to ‘a place called Golgotha’) in which case the eyes of an observer might well be at the (level of the) foot of the Cross.  Carrying further the metaphorical dimension, Jesus, as the King, is way above us in both moral and theological terms, and our rightful place might be said to be ‘at his feet’.

In the Gospels there is no mention of ‘the foot of the Cross’; the closest instance I could find is where Jesus commends his mother and the disciple whom He loved (whom we take to be John) to look after each other.  This passage begins, “Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother ...” (John 19:25 NIV, [my italics]).  However, I think the meaning of this expression is obvious, especially in those Christian traditions in whose jargon the believer is encouraged to ‘bring his sins to the foot of the Cross’, i.e. accept that Jesus’ sacrifice there has achieved forgiveness for their sins if these are confessed in repentance.

The general confession in the Book of Common Prayer includes the words, “We have left undone those things which we ought to have done”, which take precedence there over the doing of “things which we ought not to have done”.  I don’t know about you, but I find it easier to call to mind what I’ve done than what I might have done if I’d remembered.  On that basis, it seems likely that I shall end my life with far more sins of omission un-forgiven than the other sort!

Putting these three thoughts together we might conclude that, whatever we might be called, through God’s grace, expressed by Jesus’ death on the Cross, we can be assured that, if we confess them sincerely, there is forgiveness both for our wrong actions and for allowing those good deeds to slip our minds.

Thinking caps on, then.  What have you forgotten lately?