Gods Good Earthweb001.rbc.org/pdf/discovery-series/gods-good-earth.… · · 2015-03-04HP001 God's Good Earth pp 10/10/05 11:31 AM Page 2 ... A month or two later she died

God’s Good Earth Dr. Paul Brand, writer of God’s Forever Feast, livedthrough all but the first 14 years of the 20th century.During those years, many of them spent as amissionary doctor in India, he was able to witnessthe hand of the Creator working to heal the disease-wracked bodies of lepers. But because he was alsofascinated by birds, plants, and ecology, Dr. Brandwas able to observe the Creator’s hand at work inthe natural world. In this booklet, an excerpt fromhis book, he draws an extended analogy betweenthe natural gift of good soil and our spiritual growthand nourishment as followers of Christ.

Enjoy this delightful devotional study.Martin R. De Haan II

Contents

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2The Wonder Of Soil And Seed . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4Against All Odds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5Keepers Of The Field . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8A Losing Battle? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12Sower Of Spiritual Seed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15Used Or Used Up? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18Roots In Competition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19Rich And Fertile Soil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21A Good Fish Story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26

Managing Editor: Dean Ohlman Cover Photo: Jim EricksonScripture quotations are from the New International Version, ©1973, 1978, 1984, by theInternational Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishers.Copyright ©2000 RBC Ministries, Grand Rapids, MI Printed in USA

HP001 God's Good Earth pp 10/10/05 11:31 AM Page 1

© RBC Ministries. All rights reserved.

IntroductionThe Lord God formed the man from thedust of the ground and breathed into hisnostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being (Gen. 2:7).Dust you are and to dust you will return(Gen. 3:19).

I remember sitting with my mother on the stepsof the guest house at a leprosy hospital in

India. We were facing east and the sun was risingover the mountains opposite us, flooding us withearly light. I was soon to leave India, and Motherhad a prophetic sense that she would not see meagain. At 95, Mother knew she would not livemuch longer and was giving me instructionsabout the way she wanted to be buried: “Don’tlet them make a coffin for me,” she pleaded.“Too many trees are being cut down on the hills.There’s no sense in making a box for me to beburied in. It is just a waste of wood. Tell them towrap me in an old sheet—not a new one—andlet them scatter flowers over my body beforethey lower me into the ground.

“I know they will want to cry, because theylove me. But tell them to choose joyful hymns tosing, and hymns of victory. It’s not me that theywill be burying, but just my old body. I am goingto be with my Lord. I may even be able to seethem singing. I shall not be crying, and will notregret to see my body return to the earth. It hasbeen a good body, but it has been getting weakand stiff lately, and it is time to put it away.”

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I couldn’t reply. We just sat together, holdinghands, until the sun became too hot for comfort.We went indoors and had breakfast, and I left thehospital, never to see her again. A month or twolater she died. It fell to my beloved student andfellow worker Dr. Ernest Fritschi to fulfill thefunctions of a son by taking my mother’s bodyup to the mountains and to preside over thearrangements for her burial.

There is something triumphant about thedeath of a saint. Dust to dust, yes, but it’s alsothe spirit leaping up to report to God about thecompletion of the great adventure by which oneor two hundred pounds of mud have beeninspired—inbreathed—to be active and creativein God’s service. That transformed mud and clayhas been the messenger of God and theinstrument of His love for many years.

Hallelujah! God has done it again! He hasallowed a mass of lifeless earth to come to lifeand live and breathe and think and love for yearsand years of creative activity.

I have returned to the churchmy father and mother built onthose mountains. And I haveseen their tombstones whichmark the places where, side byside, they returned to dust. Icry because I cannot help it,but I thank God that their life goes on. It goes onin me and in my sister, and in our children whoinherited their seed. It also goes on in the livesof those who came to know and love God as aresult of their ministry.

3

“I will not regret to

see my body return to

the earth.”



The Wonder Of Soil And Seed

The soil and the seed. The substance and thespirit. The two go together, yet each has its

own cycle. The seed carries the life encoded inits nucleus and it must be passed on to the newgeneration while the old generation is still alive.The flame must not die.

Soil has its own kind of continuity. Soilmay rest as mud, inert and lifeless,

for centuries. Then at thetouch of a seed it becomes

something new and alive. It maybecome part of a fruit and then

be eaten and absorbed intothe flesh of another livingbeing. A few years later itreturns as dust to wait in theground for the stimulus of anew seed to wake it up so it

can share in life again. Earth and soil are so wonderful in concept

and design that it is not surprising that thosewho live close to the earth, and farm it for food,sometimes develop a mystical sense that soil islife.

When, as a scientist, I begin to feel proud ofwhat has been accomplished by men, I go outinto the night and gaze up at the heavens. If it’sdaytime I go into the old-growth forests of ourPacific Northwest, and look up at the trees.When I tire of bigness, I like to take a hand lensand lie face down exploring a single square yardof garden soil.

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I encourage you todo the same. If youwant to open up a newhorizon of delight, buya lens and a children’sguide on soil. Get to knowthe worms; they are working foryou, helping to grow your food.You may think of termites asenemies. Learn that for everyone that eats the wood in ahouse, there are a thousandthat work, patiently reducingfallen trees and twigs to makenew soil. Every grain of topsoilhas in course of time beenenriched by generations of tinycreatures, bacteria, plants, andinsects. They have used the soilas a means of life, and thenhave died, leaving the soil richer than before.Living soil is a community; billions of units oflife, preparing soil for growing all the fruits welove to eat.

Against All Odds

My daughter Estelle and her husband andfamily live on the Big Island of Hawaii. They

have a few acres of fruit trees and macadamia nuttrees. Their home is in the shadow of Kilauea, themost continuously active volcano in the world. Ihave looked into the boiling crater of Kilauea andhave walked over recent lava flows on the coast.

5

When I tireof bigness, I

like to take ahand lens andlie face down

exploring asingle square

yard of garden soil.



The ground is hot and cracks reveal the red glowof molten rock flowing on its way to the sea. Youcan’t get close to the actual meeting point of lavaand sea, but the clouds of steam from boiling

water and the red glowunder the sea at theshore can be seen

from a distance. Therewas a bay where I used

to swim that is today astretch of new land. The island is growing.

Millions of tons of molten rockare pouring out, having beenforced up from deep below theocean floor. Much of it isactively boiling as it emerges,and some is aerated as it isthrown up before it falls tobecome part of the new earth.Some of it will float, because itis full of air, a kind of foam orsponge of rock.

All these islands have been formed that way.Estelle’s house and garden stand on lava rock,and fruit trees grow in cracks. I was a skepticwhen I saw the kind of “soil” in which theyplanned to grow their fruit and nuts; but nolonger. The spongy textured rock holds water,and the roots go deep through cracks andreach to layers of soil that were built up 200years ago by trees and ferns that grew beforethe last lava flow destroyed the growth, but keptthe soil. They tell me that drill-hole samples

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We know thatit is God whocreated it and who made allthings in it to harmonizefor good.



show that layers of soil and layers of spongyrock lie atop each other like chocolate layercake. Those layers tell the story of how thefertile rocks hold water in their cracks andopen textured sponge. They show how rootsreach layers of soil protected from drying whenthe sun is hot.

It seems as if all of life is working together tosustain the means of life. It’s not surprising thatthose who don’t know God often see the earthitself as a living thing, perhaps a god, becausethey see every aspect working together forgood. We know that it is God who created it andwho made all things in it to harmonize forgood. He left us a self-sustaining system.

Looking south from Seattle, where we live, Ican see Mount Rainier floating above the clouds.I know that it must be standing on the ground,but those foundations often are shrouded inmist. The towering 14,000 feet of mountainchallenge the climber, and delightthe people who commute to work,who tell each other “Look! Rainieris out today!”

When I was young I would havefound it hard to resist the chal-lenge of a climb to the top ofRainier. Today I am content toview the floating peaks, and climbaround the lower slopes. I find the most excitingpart of the mountain halfway up, or a little high-er. There the great trees around the base giveway to the smaller scrubby trees of the timber-line, and then to flower meadows, and then a

7

All of life is working

together tosustain the

means of life.



little higher to that final battleground where lifestruggles to maintain a foothold in little pocketsof soil fighting against the winter blizzards and

avalanches, against wind-chill tem-peratures too low for life.

Against all the odds, when thesnow line recedes in early sum-mer, there they are! The exquis-ite alpine flowers, nodding in

triumph that they have survivedthe chilling frost and wind. Theyhave been buried beneath thesnow but are ready to delight all

who appreciate them, and invite the sum-mer bees to pollinate. The bees who winter onthe lower slopes come up and fertilize the seedsthat will be scattered. Most of the seeds will diebecause few will find one of the few islands ofsoil that remain.

At such altitudes the cycle of life movesrapidly. There are not many days of sunshineand warmth for all the business of budding,flowering, fruiting, and seeding that must becompleted before the first frosts of winter forcethe plants to withdraw from the chilling winds.

Alpine plants grow on rocks, and the plantsthat survive do so by clinging to fragments of soiland lichens and by forming anchors that bindthe mat of roots to the rough surface of the rock.

Keepers Of The Field

So life goes on, the cycle continues. As God’sservants, we have responsibility to assist in

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the care of His good earth. We can have an activepart in making sure that we—and others—don’tinterfere with God’s plan for sustaining life.

I have a vivid childhood memory of someonewho did just that. I was playing with a group ofIndian boys in one of the rice paddies near ourhome in the mountains. Rice needs floodedfields for certain stages of its cultivation, andthere was no level ground in the mountains. Thehill tribes had developed a method of terracingtheir fields into the course of a stream so thateach field was about a foot higher than the fieldbelow, and was quite level, being bordered at itslower edge by a grass-covered dam to hold itswater. Little channels were cut atintervals along the dams to allowa trickle of the stream into thefield below.

Thus, where the valley wassteep, the fields were narrow.They were wide where the slopewas shallow. The water from theone stream watered each field inturn, and kept the mud moistenough for rice cultivation.The constant wetness wasattractive to frogs and smallfish and also to herons whocame after the frogs. Not onlyherons but small boys enjoyedthe mud and the frogs, so ithappened that my friends and Iwere having a game of whowould be the first to catch three

9

As God’s servants, wehave respon-

sibility to assist in thecare of His

good earth.



frogs. This involved a lot of plunging about in themud in the corner of one of the fields.

Suddenly the oldest boy called out, “Tata iscoming!” and we all scrambled out of the mud.Tata means grandfather, and is used by young-sters as a term of respect to any elderly man.The particular Tata we had seen coming our waywas the owner of one of the fields, and wasrecognized as the keeper of the dams. He wasthe one who saw to it that nobody got more thanhis fair share of water when the stream wasrunning dry. We all knew that we had not beencareful with the rice seedlings, and we deservedand expected a rebuke.

Tata was very old and stooped over. He foundit difficult to look straight forward. He walkedslowly and with a cane, but none of us thoughtof running away or of avoiding his stern words.Old age really carries respect in India. He asked

us what we were doing, and thebiggest boy, acting as ourspokesman, told him wehad been catching frogs.

Tata looked at the churned upmud, then stooped over and

scooped up a double handful of it.“What is this?” he asked.

“That is mud, Tata,” we replied. “And whose mud is it?” “It is your mud, Tata, and we havebroken your seedlings. We are very sorry,

and we will never do it again.” But Tata had more to say. “There

is enough mud in my hands to grow10



a whole meal of rice for one person. This samemud will grow a meal of rice every year. It hasbeen doing it for my parents and grandparentslong before I was born. It will go on growing ricefor my grandchildren and their children for manygenerations.”

“Yes, Tata.”Then the old man moved

over to the nearest of the waterchannels across the earthendam. He pointed to it. “Whatdo you see there?” he asked.

“That is water,” replied ourspokesman.

For the first time the oldman showed his anger. “I’llshow you water,” he growled,and limped on a few steps tothe next channel, where clearwater was flowing over the grass. “That is water,”he said, and returned to the first channel. “Nowtell me what you see there.”

“That is mud, Tata,” the boy said humbly, “Itis muddy water.” Then he hurried on to tell Tatawhat he knew would come next, for he had beenexposed to this before. “This is your mud that isrunning down to the lower field, and it will nevergrow food for you again, because mud neverruns uphill. Once it has gone, it is gone forever.”

Tata wanted to make sure we all got the mes-sage. Leaning on his staff, he straightened hisback as far as he could, so he could look at eachone of us. “When you see mud running in thestreams of water you know that life is running

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“When you seemud running

in the streamsof water you

know that life is running

out of themountains.

It will nevercome back.”



out of the mountains. It will never come back.”He turned and began to limp away, softlyrepeating to himself, “It will never come back.”

That was 70 years ago, but I have neverforgotten the lesson I learned that day. It is auniversal truth. Even in America, mud neverruns uphill. When we see erosion taking awayour topsoil, life is flowing away from ourhomeland. It will never come back . . . it willnever come back.

A Losing Battle?

I have also learned to respect the way folk wis-dom is passed from generation to generation

in lands that have no schools. One of the boys Iwas playing with that day isprobably called Tata today,and he is patrolling thepaddy fields, striking fearinto the hearts of small boys,and making sure that themud of life stays in themountains to bear fruitrather than being washedaway. We all could use somefolk wisdom about how tocare for the earth God hasgiven us.

I once went along thecrest of the Rocky Mountain National Park withone of the park botanists, who knew every plantby name. He pointed to a clump of tiny flowersgrowing from a mat of roots and soil that clung

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Even in America, mudnever runs uphill. When we see erosiontaking away our topsoil,life is flowingaway from ourhomeland.



to a rocky face beside the path. The clump wasperhaps 18 inches across. “It has probablytaken 200 years for that mat of plants to grow tothat size,” he told us. “Some years they hardlygrow at all, or even recede a bit. In a good yearit may grow a quarter of an inch.”He adjusted a steel post thatcarried a strand or two of wirefence that ran beside the path.“We always hope for early snow,”he said, “because that keepsthem warm and there is achance to grow. But it is not theblizzards that are their greatestdanger; it’s people.”

He pointed to a family that had climbed overthe fence, and were sitting on rocks, eating apicnic lunch. He sighed. “They are not real badfolks, I’m sure,” he said. “They just don’tunderstand. They think these fences spoil theview or are just to stop people from pickingflowers. One single step by one heavy shoe candestroy 200 years of growth. That one step mayalso scrape the mat of soil from off the rock, andthat place may never grow another plant. Inparks like this, with thousands of visitors, we arefighting a losing battle.”

What we see in miniature with alpine flowersand on Mount Rainier we see on a massive andtragic scale in Nepal on the slopes of the Hi-malayan mountains. For thousands of years asturdy simple people have lived high on thosemountain slopes. Most of them live in well-watered valleys between mountain ranges. Over

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the centuries the Nepalesehave farmed the valleys andhave grown crops on the littleledges where trees have heldthe soil wherever the slopewas shallow enough for theirroots to cling.

Today the population hasincreased, and farming hasbecome more aggressive.There are more cattle andgoats to provide milk, and

they have to go furtherafield to graze. Moretrees are cut for firewoodand for homes. The wood-

ed slopes are becomingbare. The soil is suddenly

free to move, and it is mov-ing. The rivers that once were

clear are now full of mud. Bangladesh, a country of fertile plains, has al-

ways been subject to flooding when the snowsare melting on the Himalayas. The monsoonrains and melted snow fill the great rivers of theGanges and Brahmaputra. In the past few years,and especially last year, the problem reached anew scale. Not only did the rivers overflow, butthe flood was mud, not just water. Homes inBangladesh were filled with mud. Peopledrowned in mud. That mud was Nepali soil. Ithad grown crops for generations of mountainpeople, and now it was gone forever. It will nevercome back, and more is being lost every year.

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We who claimto serve theCreator shouldbe asking ourselveswhether weare being goodstewards of Hisgreat gifts.



And there are more people every year dependingon the crops that have less soil to grow on. Soilis eroding all over the world, and most of theproblem is man-made and preventable. It is oneof the great tragedies of all time, and little isbeing done to halt the loss. It is part of a patternof mindless disregard for God’s earth. We whoclaim to serve the Creator should be asking our-selves whether we are being good stewards ofHis great gifts.

Sower Of Spiritual Seed

I feel a bit like Tata. I do not have a farm, but Itry to pass on to others the lessons I have

learned about soil and water and about our dutyto God who left us as stewards of His earth.

I see myself as a farmer of spiritual soil, asower of spiritual seed. Jesus spoke about mak-ing His disciples to become fishers of men, butmore often He used the picture ofsowers of seed, and talked aboutgood soil and farmers.

Even as God the Creator broughtlife and the soil together in makingthe first man, so in the continuity ofspiritual life, the seed and the soilhave to come together to createnew life, and then to continue lifeand growth by drawing nourish-ment from the soil as long as life continues. Toillustrate these truths, Jesus told the parable of“The Sower and the Seed.” It could be titled “TheParable of the Seed and the Soil” because the

15

I see myselfas a farmerof spiritual

soil, asower ofspiritual

seed.



only variable in the parable was the soil. Theseed was the same in each example, and thesower was the same. The fruitfulness resultedfrom where and into what kind of soil the seedwas sown.

A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path; it was trampled on, andthe birds of the air ate it up (Lk. 8:5).

A pathway is never a good placeto plant seed. People’s feet beatdown the soil, smoothing out

any crevices into which the seedcan fall and germinate. The soil be-

comes hardened and any seed that fallsthere will not find that openness neces-

sary for life and growth. In such situations the devil is quick to snatch

the seed away. In a spiritual sense, such peoplehave their hearts hardened. The author of He-brews pleaded with his readers, “Today, if youhear His voice, do not harden your hearts as youdid in the rebellion” (Heb. 3:7-8). He was refer-ring to the time when the Israelites were offereda chance to enter the Promised Land but turnedback because they did not believe God could orwould see them through. The prospect of diffi-culties and battles ahead made them close theirminds and harden their hearts to all God had instore for them.

Living seed and sprouting wheat are not will-ing to share their piece of earth with booted feet.

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If the earth is to be a path, it may as well bepaved. If it is to be soil, it must allow the seed totake over and draw nourishment and supportfrom it. To accept the seed, soil has to becomeinvolved.

In a physical sense there is a choice that hasto be made in the use of the land. It may be usedas a farm to grow food or it may become a roadand be paved for buildings and travel. The prior-ities of a community are revealed by the choicesit makes. Today in America prime farmland isbeing paved over to make way for roads andcities at a record rate. Two and a half millionhectares of crop land were lost to paving andbuilding in the United States in an 8-year periodin the 1970s.

Perhaps a similar change is taking place inour mental and spiritual outlooks. Mechanicaland commercial development thrives on hardsurfaces. Spiritual and personal prioritiesneed a softer soil, one that is vulnerable andopen to suggestions andideas that may require per-sonal involvement.

Jesus looks for openhearts and minds in which tosow His seed. He looks tous, His messengers, to pre-pare soil by taking time toplow and hoe and soften itbefore we plant the seed. Agood gardener does nottrample over the soil he hasjust planted, and God’s gar-

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Spiritual andpersonal

priorities need a softer soil, onethat is vulnera-ble and open tosuggestions andideas that may

require personalinvolvement.



deners know to be gentle and loving with thosewho have received a seed.

Used Or Used Up? Some fell on rocky places, where it did nothave much soil. It sprang up quickly, becausethe soil was shallow. But when the sun cameup, the plants were scorched, and they with-ered because they had no root (Mt. 13:5-6).

A farm is often defined by itssize or extent. “For sale: 500-acre farm in southern Iowa.Has been used for corn andsoybeans.” I would not buy thatfarm until I knew a lot moreabout it. The words “has beenused” may have many implica-tions. Good soil, farmed bygood farmers, can grow foodfor many generations, as Tataknew well. Iowa had deep, richtopsoil when serious farmingstarted in the last century.

Today more than 50 percent of that topsoil hasbeen lost. Much of it has been carried down theriver into the Gulf of Mexico.

As topsoil becomes thinner, crops becomemore and more dependent on frequent rainfalland on fertilizers. Good farmers today practicethe no-till method, which leaves the roots andstalks behind at harvest. They hold the soil thatmight be lost by plowing and enrich the soil as

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Jesus pointedout howplants grownin shallow soilare dependenton changes inthe weatherand cannotstand muchstress.



they decay, actually building it up year by year. Jesus pointed out how plants grown in shal-

low soil are dependent on changes in the weath-er and cannot stand much stress. He left it to usto interpret this according to our observations.If “shallow soil” means the person who has littlebackground knowledge of Scripture or scant ex-perience of Christian fellowship, then we shouldbe careful to follow the planting of the seed withfellowship and instruction in Scripture.

Roots In Competition Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. . . . The one whoreceived the seed that fell among the thornsis the man who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke it, making it unfruitful (Mt. 13:7,22).

This parable doesn’t suggest thatthe thorny soil was bad soil. It mayhave been excellent—deep andrich and moist. But it was alreadyoccupied. It had been colonized bywild thorn bushes. Their roots hadpenetrated deep into the soil andwere consuming the nourishmentthat the wheat needed. Nowthey challenged the farmer: “Pullus out at your peril! You willhave to grasp us by our thorns. Itwill be painful!”

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In another parable Jesussaid, “You cannot serveboth God and Money”

(Mt. 6:24). The farmer mightsay to this piece of soil,“Choose you this day whatyou will grow: thorns or

wheat.” Jesus is specificabout the nature of the thorns;

they take over and choke the goodseed. Matthew said that wealth is athorn. Luke added “worries, rich-

es, and pleasures.” Note thatJesus didn’t say that thegood seed couldn’t survivewith that kind of thornbush. What He said is that

the growth didn’t mature andwas unfruitful.

I’ve already pointed out thatseed is not passive in soil. Thesoil becomes its servant. Theroots from the seed take holdof the grains of soil and usethem as anchors. They extractchemical elements from thesoil; they draw water from thesoil to nourish the plant andto produce fruit. These de-mands are likely to conflictwith similar demands fromweeds and thorns, and a goodfarmer sees to it that there isno real competition.

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Jesus requiresthat we uprootthe thorns andweeds thathave laid claimto the soil ofour lives, soonly good soilis available forthe new lifethat is to takeover and colo-nize our lives.



Jesus is a demanding Lord. His coming intoour hearts requires the removal of all competi-tion. He requires that we uproot the thorns andweeds that have laid claim to the soil of our lives,so only good soil is available for the new life thatis to take over and colonize our lives. Then, andonly then, we shall experience the joy of fruitful-ness in His service.

Rich And Fertile Soil The one who received the seed that fell on good soil is the man who hears theWord and understands it. He produces acrop, yielding a hundred, sixty, or thirtytimes what was sown (Mt. 13:23).

When Jesus mentioned the threekinds of soil that were not productive,He told us why. He didn’t define thenature of the good soil except tosay that it produced bountifulcrops. Jesus hinted that some soilwas better than others when Hetold the people that some seedproduced a hundredfold, somesixty, and some thirty. The differ-ence must have been in the soil.

Since the Bible does not give any clues aboutgrading good soil, I feel free to broaden the para-ble to include one aspect of soil goodness thathas meaning both in farming and in spiritual life.In botany the term colonize refers to the way agroup of plants or grasses take over a piece of

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land. A good example is when sand dunes havebeen built up by the action of tides and winds.They shift and change shape from year to year.Then seeds of some hardy type of grass may beblown into the area and begin to take root. If rainfalls at the right time, and roots have a chance togrow, the grasses may form a colony, and beginto hold the sand together by their interlockingroot systems. After a few years the plants changethe very nature of the sand and turn it into thebeginnings of real soil. At a later stage other lesshardy plants may come and take root. What wasonce poor soil has been transformed into good

and fertile soil. Eventually the original pio-neer grasses may be forgotten as the

plants and trees thrive. What has been added to

the original sand to turn itinto soil? The simplified an-swer is that it is the life and

then the death of the pio-neer plants. When you studya handful of good, rich soil,

you will note the numeroustiny live creatures there. They

are busy breaking down fragments of leaves anddecaying wood, turning them into still smallerfragments that can be a source of nitrogen andphosphorus and other good things for new livingplants.

My home is near the Olympic National Parkand the rain forest that clothes the lower slopesof the western mountains. We love to take ourgrandchildren to see the wonder of the living for-

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est. Near the Hoh riverthere is a row of trees in astraight line. Each one ofthose giant trees seems tobe standing astride, with itslegs apart. Each trunk is sin-gle, but only from maybe 7feet above ground. At thatpoint it is supported by twohuge root systems, like legs, thatspread apart and curve down toreach the ground about 7 feetapart, leaving a tunnel be-tween them. If one looksthrough the tunnel in the firsttree, you can see through theother tunnels in the other treesbecause they are in a straightline. That clue explains it all.

A hundred years ago ormore a giant tree fell in the for-est. It died, and lay dead anddecaying for many years.Seeds, falling from other gianttrees, fell into the cracks of thebark and rooted there, usingthe dead tree as rich soil. Allthe materials the old tree hadcollected over the years, and which had formedthe basis of its strength and vitality, were nowbeing made available to the young seedlingsgrowing on what we now call a “nursery log.” Asthe young trees grew, they needed support fortheir great size, while the dead tree was weak-

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When we diewe not onlyleave seed,

but we alsoleave an effecton the soil inwhich future

children growand future

spiritual seed will benourished.



ened by decay. So the young trees sent out rootsaround the old trunk to reach the ground on ei-ther side. Those roots gradually became thewhole support of the young trees, while the oldtree disintegrated and finally disappeared, be-coming one with the soil around it.

Our children and grandchildrenhave stood quietly lookingthrough the space where that oldtree lay. We cannot see the tree it-self, but we can see the way it hashelped to shape and give nour-ishment to the new generation ofgiant trees, forming a “colon-nade” in memory of the nurserylog whose substance continuesin them.

I look through that space too,but with a different perspective.My active life is mostly behind

me. Soon I will no longer occupy space.But I pray that my life and the principlesthat God has helped me to live by willcontinue to influence young lives.When we die we not only leave seed,but we also leave an effect on the soilin which future children grow and fu-ture spiritual seed will be nourished.

That’s one reason the psalmist says,“Precious in the sight of the Lordis the death of His saints” (Ps. 116:15).

Good soil is the legacy of pio-neer grasses and plants now long

24

I pray thatmy life andthe principlesthat God hashelped me tolive by willcontinue toinfluenceyoung lives.



gone. It has been said that the blood of themartyrs is the seed of the church. Perhaps itwould be more accurate to say that it’s the soil ofthe church. The seed is the living Word of God. Iam thankful that I grew up surrounded by a godlyfamily who told me stories of Christian pioneersand martyrs. My heroes were those who had giventheir lives for Christ and the gospel. Thus whenthe living seed fell into my heart, the soil was wellprepared.

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A Good Fish Story

The evening newspaper in Baton Rouge,Louisiana, has a weekend magazine that ran a

feature for several months titled “The Best Meal IEver Had.” Each week the editor asked a Louisiana

celebrity from politics or sports orentertainment to write a column

about the best meal they hadever eaten, concluding with

the recipes of the maincourses. Eventually heran out of celebritiesand broadened his au-

thor pool to include doc-tors—and picked on me.This is the story I told:

We were in the Kundah moun-tains of South India on holiday with four childrenand the Webbs, another family with fourchildren. We vacationed together every year. Weloved to hike over the hills and along the rivers,even though the youngest often needed to becarried most of the way. Both fathers enjoyedfishing, and the Billitadahalla river was full oftrout. The country was wild and desolate; theonly other humans were a boy or two keeping aneye on peaceful herds of buffalo.

For food we carried only dry bread, and forcooking only a piece of chicken wire and a knifeor two. After a stiff morning walk, we arrived at

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the river, and the children scattered to collectdry bits of driftwood or dead branches from theforest, while the fathers selected just the rightflies to bait their hooks and began to fish. Every-one knew the meal could not begin until eight ornine trout had been caught, but we didn’t worrybecause few knew about the river, and it was fullof trout waiting to be caught. Except that day.

The sky was clear and the air still. The sun washigh and only the mosquitoes were active. Thefish had breakfasted well and were not ready forlunch. We could see them clearly through the un-ruffled surface of the water, and it was obviousthat they could see us. Wewent to our favorite poolswhere we usually caught ourbest and biggest fish. Wecrouched behind rocks andcast our lines until our mus-cles were sore. Our hooksgot caught in overhangingbranches, and when wereached out to catch thetwigs and release the lines,we fell into the river, bruisingour shins. We fished a mileor two up-river and then asfar down-river. Hourspassed, and the childrencame to inquire about theprobability that lunch might benear, only to be sent back withthe appalling news that not asingle fish had been caught.

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We didn’t worrybecause fewknew about

the river, and itwas full of

trout waiting to be caught.

Except thatday.



Lunchtime came and went. The fire burnedout. The older children tried to comfort theyounger ones, and the youngest was crying andchewing on the dry bread. The fathers tried tolook confident but knew that their reputation asproviders was rapidly being lost. This was crisis.

A cloud drifted over the sun. A breeze cameup and ruffled the water. Suddenly both our fish-ing poles bent and lines became taut. We caughtfish after fish and landed them on the grass. Ex-cited, our children gathered them up and ranwith them to their mothers. Relieved, the moth-ers split the trout and laid them on the chickenwire over the revived embers of the fire.

Wonderful smells began to drift up the river.Grilled trout were laid on slices of bread, theirnatural oils serving as butter. The children couldscarcely wait to sing grace before biting down on

the food they had doubtedwould ever come.

Finally we fathers arrived,carrying the last trout thatwould complete the meal. Wewere sunburned and wearywith aching muscles. We weremosquito bitten, bruised, andhungry. But we were wel-comed with cheers. We rested

beside our families on a greatrock under the shade of a

twisted old tree and beganto eat. We all agreed it

was the best meal wehad ever tasted. I, for

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Fresh grilledtrout on drybread tastesgood beside any river,anywhere.



one, still declare that it has never been bettered;not in the most expensive restaurant nor by themost famous chef.

Many times since, when I’ve been to finerestaurants, I have ordered trout, and I’m almostalways disappointed. I’ve wanted to tell the chefI know trout can be more exciting. I even con-sidered offering to demonstrate how to cook itmyself.

It was a while before I realizedthat my expectations were un-realistic. What my subcon-scious memory was seekingcould never be reproducedin a kitchen. No chef has ac-cess to the essential saucethat made my special mealunique: hunger, bruises, sun-burn, aching muscles, and a sense of near fail-ure transformed into success. Mix thoseingredients with the happy faces of family mem-bers enjoying each other and contributing to-ward the shared ecstasy of grilled trout, and youhave a memorable meal! (I must add that freshgrilled trout on dry bread tastes good beside anyriver, anywhere.)

I mentioned that the children could hardlywait to sing grace before biting down on theirtrout on dry bread; but wait they did, and if weparents had forgotten, the little ones would havereminded us to sing. We had a series of musicalgraces that each of our families used to sing be-fore every meal. It seemed to us that they hadspecial meaning on picnics in the open country-

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side. There we were surrounded with the evi-dence of God’s bounty. On that special day weprobably sang Johnny Appleseed’s grace:

The Lord is good to me,And so I thank the Lord,

Who giveth meThe things I need:

The sun and the rainAnd the apple seed . . . .The Lord is good to me.

We sometimes substitutedour own words in place of“apple seed.” We may havesung “The sun and the rainand the fish and the bread.”Whatever the words, themusic rang out from 12 voic-es, across the river, andechoed back from the hills,“and so we thank the Lord.”The singing postponed theeating by just a few minutes,but I have no doubt that it en-hanced the flavor of what weate. It brought wholeness into

each meal. The fare at our meals was not only anarray of wholesome foods for our nourishment,it gave us a chance to be together. And it was aninvitation to our Lord to take His place at thehead of the table.

My family and I sang another grace beforemeals:

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This grace gently remindsus that God isthe source ofall we need. Heis the one whosustains andnourishes us,both physically and spiritually.



Back of the loaf, the snowy flour. Back of the flour, the mill.

Back of the mill, the grain and the shower, The sun, and the Father’s will.

This grace gently reminds us that God is thesource of all we need. He is the one who sustainsand nourishes us, both physically and spiritually.

Biographical note about Dr. Paul Brand:Paul Brand was born in 1914 in the mountains of India, where his parents weremissionaries. He went to London, England, for his education and had his medical and surgical training at London University.

In 1946 Paul and his wife, Margaret, who isalso a doctor, went to India, where Paul taughtsurgery at the Christian Medical College andHospital in Vellore. Dr. Brand became the firstsurgeon in the world to use reconstructivesurgery to correct the deformities from leprosy in the hands and feet. His pioneeringwork led to many honors. He was electedHuntarian Professor of the Royal College ofSurgeons of England in 1952. In 1961 he washonored by Queen Elizabeth with appointmentas “Commander of the Order of the British Empire.” He was also the recipient of the Distinguished Service Award from the Department of Health and Human Services,United States Public Health Service.

Dr. Brand, 89, died on July 8, 2003, from abrain injury following a fall. He is survived byhis wife, 6 children, and 12 grandchildren.

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This booklet, God’s Good Earth, is an excerpt fromthe book by Dr. Paul Brand, God’s Forever Feast.Philip Yancey, who collaborated with Dr. Brand onthree books, writes this in his introduction to God’sForever Feast:

If I had to choose one lesson I have learned from Dr. Brand, it would center on the underlyingunity of life. So often in this modern world wecompartmentalize. Scientists study the materialworld; priests and preachers study the spiritualworld. Dr. Brand brings those worlds together.He sees the cosmos in a microbe, the Creator ina nerve cell. To him the world reveals God andGod illuminates the world. For him, whether as ascientist in a laboratory, a surgeon tending to apatient, or a speaker addressing eight leprosy patients—half of whom are deaf—life is an act of worship. I know that he has only one goal forthis book: to give glory to the God he loves andserves.

The book God’s Forever Feast can be purchasedfrom Discovery House Publishers, a nonprofitaffiliate ministry of RBC Ministries. For moreinformation about Discovery House or for a catalogof their biblical resources (books, music, andvideotapes), visit them on the Internet atwww.dhp.org or write to:

Discovery House PublishersPO Box 3566

Grand Rapids, MI 49501-356632



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Gods Good Earthweb001.rbc.org/pdf/discovery-series/gods-good-earth.… · · 2015-03-04HP001 God's Good Earth pp 10/10/05 11:31 AM Page 2 ... A month or two later she died