Of pear-shaped pears, and mold-shattering Mystery

But we make His love too narrow by false limits of our own;

And we magnify His strictness with a zeal He will not own.

For the love of God is broader than the measure of the mind;

And the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully kind.

---There's a Wideness in God's Mercy

   F.W. Faber, 1854

My son's girlfriend has begun a career in agriculture, and knows fascinating things about vegetable and fruit propagation. It is so enjoyable to sit around the supper table and talk about 'plant' stories we've seen on television, or read online, or heard on NPR. Of course, Jess' relation to this information is often either through direct observation or experience, so we get an insider's take on it. Last night we were enjoying a delicious King o' the West honeydew (the only kind I will buy --- trust me), and talking about the trend in Japanese agriculture of growing melons in crates, thus making them stackable for ease in shipping, and to fit them into the compact refrigerators common in much of that country. Jess told us, that, on a summer agricultural trip to China, she had observed orchard workers painstakingly fixing molds in the shape of Buddhas and other popular characters around growing pears on the limb. When mature, this shaped fruit would fetch many times the price of, say, pear-shaped pears.

The text from this amazing hymn hints at an action similar to what Jess saw in China, but we often are not conscious of doing it. God's love for us, and mercy on us, are so vast, so limitless, that our minds cannot contain the knowledge of this God. So, rather than live with the Mystery of a love beyond our understanding (and beyond our controlling), we remake God...in our own image. We make God with a human amount of love, and a human limit to that love. We put a human-shaped mold around God. And we end up with a human-shaped idol instead of the vast Love that is our God.

What a shame, that we cheat ourselves. All for a watermelon that fits in the fridge.

Wing My Words

English 19th-century hymnist Frances Havergal has penned a phrase that sticks in my brain, there to intrude upon my thoughts during odd moments of reflection. Most known for the (unfortunately named) gospel hymn "Take My Life and Let It Be", Havergal, in the hymn "Lord, Speak to Me, That I May Speak", used the phrase 'wing my words'. Listen again: 'wing my words'. Wow. Aside from wishing I'd written this, I am in awe of the longing found in three short words. Oh, for the words I speak to breach space and time, finding their target with meaning and intention intact! Oh, for the hearer to really hear! This could be the breath prayer of anyone who crafts writing or speaking, desiring their words to make a difference in others' lives.

Today, though, it occurs to me that we need not pray or wish for our words to be winged. Often, our words fly, for good or ill, without our even considering them. Our words, carrying balm or wound, already wing their way to the ears and eyes of others. And these words? Carefully crafted or not, they can soothe, heal, build up, bind together. Carefully crafted or not, these words can wound, break down, destroy, build walls. For better or worse, our words are already winged, taking on a life of their own once spoken or written.

Wing my words; and let them be words of healing and encouragement. There are already enough winged words of destruction, and condemnation, and wounding. This is my breath prayer today.