What the rain teaches us?
I think it can be said that we pray for rain…until it comes.
As many of you know, I love the rain. I love the intensity of the sky, the sound of the rain as it changes from a gentle shower to a downpour. I love the rumble and crack of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning. As soon as the rain begins—especially late at night—I stop whatever I'm doing and watch. I am mesmerized by it. I can admit, though, that we have probably reached our limit on rain here in Alberta. When there is this much of it, rain becomes an inconvenience. It changes our plans and often keeps us indoors. I will say, however, that weeding has been much easier this year. The ground is so soft that the weeds pull out cleanly.
I think, spiritually, we run into the same problem. We pray for patience, but we don't enjoy the situations that teach it. We pray for deeper faith, but not for the uncertainty that stretches it. We pray for growth, but growth usually requires change. I guess you could say that the answers to our prayers often arrive disguised as inconvenience. After a long dry spell, the earth becomes hard. Seeds struggle to penetrate it. If you've tried to grow grass over the last few years, you've probably experienced this firsthand. The weeds, on the other hand, have developed deep roots that are difficult to remove. I had almost given up trying to keep up with them. This year I have a different problem—too many mushrooms!
Over the next few weeks we will hear Jesus share parables about seeds as he teaches the disciples about God's kin-dom. When it comes to your faith and your relationship with God, would you say your heart has become hardened by drought-like conditions, or is it soft like the soil after so much rain? One of the things that softens our hearts is honesty.
Here is what I think we can learn from the rainstorms we have experienced recently. The role of thunder is to get our attention. It interrupts us. It makes us stop what we are doing. In life, thunderstorms can look like illness, loss, unexpected change, or difficult conversations. While we wouldn't choose them, they often make us pause long enough to notice God in ways we hadn't before. This is not because God sends the storms, but because God meets us in them. We should also remember that rain falls on everyone. It does not discriminate, and neither does grace. God's love is abundant, generous, and available to everyone. Finally, we need to remember that you can't rush growth. All the rain in the world can't make a seed sprout before its time. Rain creates the conditions for growth, but the miracle itself unfolds slowly, quietly, and often beneath the surface where we cannot see it. Growth takes time.
So maybe God is trying to teach us to stop measuring our lives by how quickly we change and instead trust the slow work of grace. Like the rain, God's love doesn't arrive only when life is convenient. It comes steadily and patiently, softening what has become hard, nourishing what seems lifeless, and preparing us for growth we may not yet see. As we begin this series on Jesus' parables about seeds, perhaps that is our invitation: to trust that God is already at work beneath the surface of our lives. The question isn't whether the rain has come, but whether we are willing to let it soften the soil of our hearts so that God's seeds of love, hope, and new life can take root and grow. Blessings, Rev. Karen