God Bless the Grass, Isaiah 40:6-11

by Timothy A. Sporrong

A voice says, “Cry out!” And I said, “What shall I cry?”

All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. Surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever.

The song is by Malvina Reynolds written in 1964:

God Bless the grass that grows thru the crack.
They roll the concrete over it to try to keep it back
The concrete gets tired of what it has to do
It breaks and it buckles and the grass grows thru
And God bless the grass.

God bless the truth that fights toward the sun
They roll the lies over it and think it is done
It moves thru the ground and reaches for the air
And after awhile it’s growing everywhere;
And God bless the grass.

A voice says, “Cry out!” And I said, “What shall I cry?” The people are grass. The grass withers and flower fades; but the Word of our God will stand forever.

Let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

In the back of our hymnal, selection 805, there is a prayer of intercession for the church. It says:

When we compare her with all other human institutions, we rejoice, for there is none like the church. But when we judge her by the mind of her Master, we bow in pity and contrition.

Let’s be honest — there is reason for pity and contrition, the church is not a perfect institution. There is a sense in which Reformation Sunday is not a day of celebration.

As one eminent theologian puts it, “Why would we celebrate the Great Schism?” (By the way, according to Webster’s Dictionary, “sizem” is the pronunciation preferred by clergy persons, but “skizem” is also accepted.)

If there is any doubt that people are grass, it is put to rest by the fact that there is “(skizem)” over the pronunciation of the word “(sizem).”

Rather than a celebration, perhaps Reformation Sunday is simply an acknowledgment that the church has been and is much less than perfect. That is, the church has needed and continues to need reform.

You see, Sinead O’Connor is not the first person to want to tear up a picture of the pope.

Over the centuries, the church has too often been an institution dedicated to self-preservation. It is one of history’s greatest tragedies that the once persecuted church became the persecuting church. It is not a record of which to be proud.

As Mark Twain said:

The church has spilt more innocent blood than all the other so-called political wars combined. It is always crying out for others to reform; it might not be a bad idea for the church itself to reform a little by way of example.

When it wasn’t persecution, it was simple greed.

Historian Barbara Tuchman writes:

Time and again the church became a virtual temporal state of sumptuous pomp and unlimited simony. It sought to make up lost prestige and power in material terms. So besides its regular income, every office, every nomination, every pardon, every indulgence and absolution, in short everything the church had or was from Cardinal’s hat to pilgrim’s relic was for sale.

Once again, the house of God became a spiritual marketplace.

Recalling our Gospel text, you can envision Jesus, swinging the whip and clearing the temple in righteous rage. You can hear the coins crashing to the floor and his words echoing:

My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.

Today, almost 500 years after the Reformation, the church remains an imperfect institution — schismatic, self-absorbed, temporal . . . .

Where we should be a place in which everyone feels accepted and welcome, a place of forgiveness and joy, too often the church is a house divided, divided over baptism or worship styles — should we sing medleys from The Song Goes On or “A Mighty Fortress is Our God?”

Divided over who is to blame, over who is right and who is wrong, over who is not doing their share. Too often, instead of feeling accepted and forgiven in Christ, we feel both left out and guilty — a sad combination.

And a voice says, “Cry out!”

And I said, “What shall I cry?” The people are grass.

Hey, the church is people. We are the church. And yes, the church, therefore, is an imperfect institution, for we are grass. Does that inspire you? I didn’t think it would.

But hold on a minute.

Yes, the church has, at times, become a concrete, monolithic sepulcher, a cold, crusty garden of stone. Yes, the people are grass, and the grass withers and the flower fades.

But that is not the end of the story. For the Word of our God will stand forever.

The Spirit of God and the Word of God are indestructible, uncontainable, indefatigable. And the Good News is that God’s Spirit and Word work through people; they work through grass.

God bless the grass that grows thru the crack
They roll the concrete over it to try to keep it back
But concrete gets tired of what it has to do
It breaks and it buckles and the grass grows thru
And God Bless the grass.

You know, even the dark ages were not all dark. There were cracks. Look closely at the Medieval Period. You can see light shining through the cracks, you can see the green blade rising! In the darkest of times, a few, singular, relentless blades of grass empowered by the Spirit and the Word cried out.

John Wycliffe and John Huss are but two prominent examples, two pre-Reformation reformers.

Wycliffe at Oxford University in the late 1300s wanted to give the Scriptures and the Sacraments back to the people. In response, Pope Gregory XI wrote to the Masters at Oxford:

We are compelled to wonder and grieve that you through certain sloth and neglect allow tares to spring up amidst the pure wheat in the fields of your glorious university.

Funny, Wycliffe is the one accused of being the weed. It seems a clear example of pouring concrete over grass.

For Wycliffe, to ignore the Word of God meant to ignore Christ. He died of natural causes, but eventually the church had Wycliffe’s bones dug up and burned (a grass fire) and the ashes thrown into the River Thames.

Huss in Prague a few decades later picked up the cry. In return they burned his bones while he was still alive. He was burned at the stake.

Got to eradicate those weeds — burn ’em out.

But the Song Goes On:

God Bless the grass that breaks thru cement
It’s green and it’s tender and it’s easily bent
But this blessed grass that’s gentle and low
Its roots are deep and its will is to grow.
So after awhile it lifts up its head
For the grass is living and the stone is dead;
And God bless the grass.

Enter Martin Luther and John Calvin and Ulrich Zwingli. The Reformation was about to break full force.

The grass growing through the tiniest of cracks was about to crack the church wide open.

Perhaps Reformation Sunday should be a celebration after all, a celebration of the Spirit and the Word working through Grass.

Luther knew that it was not he who did the work.

In a sermon preached at Wittenberg in 1522, he said:

I have simply allowed the Word to act. For the Word created heaven and earth; the Word must do this thing, not we poor sinners.

In short, I preach it, teach it, write it, but I constrain no one by force. Faith must come freely.

I opposed indulgences and all the papists, but never with force. I simply taught, preached and wrote God’s Word; otherwise I did nothing.

And while I slept or while I drank Wittenberg beer with my friends Philip Melanchthon and Nicholas von Amsdorf, the Word so greatly weakened the papacy that no prince or emperor ever inflicted such losses upon it.

I did nothing; the Word did everything.

Had I desired to foment trouble, I could have brought great bloodshed upon Germany. But what would that have been?

Mere fools play.

I did nothing; I let the Word do its work.

The grass withers and the flower fades; but the Word of our God will stand forever.

God bless the truth that fights toward the sun
They roll the lies over it and think it is done
But it moves thru the ground and reaches for air
And after awhile, it is growing everywhere.
And God bless the grass.

The Song Goes On today as well.

Now, more than ever, we need the Spirit of the Reformation. We need to be reminded of what the Church of Jesus Christ can be, an instrument of grace and peace, a place of acceptance and forgiveness. Every once in awhile we get just such a glimpse. The Spirit and the Word of God move in mysterious ways.

My friend Tim (Yak) Johnson, pastor at Trinity Covenant Church in Oak Lawn, was in Seattle, Washington [last] summer to baptize his niece and to preach at First Covenant Church.

He awakened early on Sunday morning to put some finishing touches on his sermon. He needed one more illustration about the meaning of the church. He wanted to tell the church what to be for his niece in her baptism.

Coming up empty, Yak decided to take a walk and to find a coffee shop for a light breakfast. Wearing an old faded T-shirt that said Sweden on it and some old torn Levis, he headed out onto the streets of West Seattle.

He hadn’t showered yet and, by his own admission, he looked a bit disheveled.

The coffee shop he planned to go to was not yet open, so he turned the corner and went on up the street when he was approached by a middle aged woman.

“Good morning, sir.” she said.

“Good morning,” Yak responded.

“You Okay?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m fine, I’m just looking for some breakfast.”

“Well, I know where you can get some,” she said. “Besides, you look like you could use a meeting. Why don’t you join my friends and I?”

Having absolutely no idea what he was getting into, Yak says he was not exactly sure why he agreed to go with her, but he did. She led him back to the rear entrance of this same coffee shop, saying she and her friends knew the owner.

A small group was gathered in a side room. They greeted the woman by name and welcomed Yak warmly, inviting him to sit down.

At that point it didn’t take long for Yak to realize that he had joined a breakfast meeting of the local chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous. (“You look like you could use a meeting.” I don’t know if it was the Sweden shirt or not.)

When it came his turn to speak, Yak said, “My name is Tim Johnson, I’m not an alcoholic; I’m just a visitor from Chicago and I’m here for breakfast.”

“Hi, Tim,” they all said.

“It was an amazing thing,” Yak reports. “After I further identified myself and explained my situation, they were still very glad to have me there and invited me to stay for breakfast. Whatever my need, I was welcome. Needless to say, I had found my sermon illustration. It was a picture of what the church could be in nurturing my niece.”

You may have heard of the Frederick Buechner essay on Alcoholics Anonymous. He writes: “You can’t help thinking that something like this is what the Church is meant to be and maybe once was before it got to be Big Business.”

Sinners Anonymous. I am Timothy Sporrong; and I am a sinner. Hi, Timothy. Hi, every Pat, Terri, and Sal. It is the forgiveness of sins, of course. It is what the Church is all about.

No matter what far place sinners end up in, we should know that there will be a church nearby, and there we will find the Gospel of Jesus Christ proclaimed and forgiveness extended and other sinners ready to listen to the truth and to tell it.

And that is what the Reformation is about. Simply calling the Church to be the Church.

God bless the grass that grows thru the crack
They roll the cement over it to try to keep it back
But this blessed grass that’s gentle and low
Its roots are deep and its will is to grow
After awhile it lifts up its head
For the grass is living and the stone is dead.
And God bless the grass.

A voice says, “Cry out!”

And I said, “What shall I cry?”

All people are grass! We are, you know — Grass.

But it’s okay, for God blesses the grass.

Amen.