Till and Keep
Genesis 2:4-15
4 These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.
Another Account of the Creation:
In the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, 5when no plant of the field was yet in the earth and no herb of the field had yet sprung up—for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was no one to till the ground; 6but a stream would rise from the earth, and water the whole face of the ground— 7then the Lord God formed an earth creature from the dust of the ground, and breathed into its nostrils the breath of life; and the earth creature became a living being. 8And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there God put the earth creature whom had been formed. 9Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
10 A river flows out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it divides and becomes four branches. 11The name of the first is Pishon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; 12and the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. 13The name of the second river is Gihon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Cush. 14The name of the third river is Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.
15 The Lord God took the earth creature and put them in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it.
Over the past many months we have learned that, in terms of respiratory epidemiology, one of the safest places to be is outdoors. While there is still reason for caution and care, bright sunlight and open air have shown to be powerful liberators in the midst of pandemic. It is a place of life in the midst of death and perhaps holds healing for our souls and our communities. Since home and outside are the safest place to be (and, for quite some time have been the ONLY place to be), I’ve been doing a lot in my garden. I’ve dug several new garden beds, reconfigured old ones, moving things from one to the other. When I start working in the garden, I usually have a vision of what the end is to be and try to order my steps to get there. But then I’ll see a pathway covered in weeds and think, “oh, I’ll just grab a few of those while the ground is soft from rain.” And then I’ll notice a far corner that’s looking a little wilty and so stop everything to go pick up some mulch. And then, our chickens will come along after me and scratch all the mulch away in order to get those good good bugs I just dug up, so I need to grab the rake. And then, there are all the new plants I bought and was excited about, still sitting in their containers, unplanted.
Cleaning out the guest closet this weekend felt a bit like this too – in order to clear out some space, I would need to move all the games out, but then that would mean I need to sort through all our camping gear to make room for the games in our old wardrobe, which means I’ll need to organize the cabinet with all the various cleaning supplies and spare parts, and boxes of light bulbs that probably don’t even fit anything we own anymore.
Listen, I doooooo love a good project, but often find myself at the end of it exhausted from over-extension and wondering what I’ve even accomplished. These days it’s even easier to find myself in this place that feels so little like a garden of abundance. Even the basic work of waking, cooking, navigating technology and relationships, and even speaking and breathing…seem to quickly consume every resource of energy and willpower.
In this account of creation, God gives humankind place and purpose, we are set in the garden to till it and keep it. To till & keep. Sometimes I confess that sometimes I hear these words, especially when I’m already tired, as a resignation that this is just the way the world works – endless sweat and toil, a divine sort of death and taxes, and it does not land in my body and soul as good news. I am aware that good news does not always mean easy news, but when my reading of scripture is getting me down that’s usually a red flag that there’s something I’m missing about it.
To till and keep.
The process of tilling land is indeed an involved and disruptive one. It uproots and overturns, but in so doing…allows new oxygen into the ground. To till is to cultivate, to use what’s there and to stir it up, so that it is enriched. It is to tend to and care for, but particularly, to address what needs addressing - to water what seems parched, to feed and foster what has room to grow, to clear what has becomes overgrown and cluttered, to work it, to work at it – not frantically but diligently. Rest, too, is an essential part of the rhythm.
When I think of what it means to keep, I think of Hagrid – the loveable gamekeeper of Hogwarts. It is to be a caretaker of life. In the bible, God says that our love of God is reflected by keeping the commandments – a sense of holding onto and holding dear…to hold but not possess, to be faithful to, to keep a covenant. Jesus reminds us that we are our brother’s keeper; we are keepers of creation and of one another. To keep is to remember and reflect our connectedness. If we are rooted in connection, and we are, the result is care. Indeed, the Hebrew word translated as “to till” also means “to serve.”
We often associate giving and generosity as material, as visible, measurable. For the longest time, I thought of service this way too – as something coordinated and orchestrated…project-based trips, workdays, and campaigns. These things are needed to be sure. I know that impact often takes organization, energy, and stuff. Hurricane response requires leaders, water, generators, and supplies. Bringing about systemic change takes organization, wisdom, and money. The hand sanitizer and meals and prayer beads we’re able to share on Sunday evenings from the church porch…it matters and I truly believe contributes to the wellness of our community and cultivates the flourishing of creation. This week, some of you have been working in the name of “God’s Work, Our Hands” to compile various kits, or give blood, or write letters to the isolated, or engage civic justice. This is part of our being to till and to keep.
But I also heard about what it means to harvest and give of your heart, something perhaps even more precious to us than anything else, and often with surprising capacity when everything seems wilt-y in the corners - acts of service that are really more a way of being, certainly imperfect but still good. Some of you talked to me about being committed to patient listening toward coworkers or family, practicing compassion to teachers struggling with technology, or connecting with a neighbor through conversations over the back fence. In recent weeks as my extended family has been navigating various health diagnoses, I was kept by the prayers of community alongside the sharing of helpful resources and clinic info and offers to commiserate whenever needed. This kind of tilling and keeping, this simple nourishment that arrives amidst our simple rhythms of waking, cooking, feeding the cat…it doesn’t always show up well in a photograph or project report, but it still feels stunningly sacred.
Sometimes we read this commission to till and keep and it gets warped by the part of creation where God gives humankind dominion as well. We get sucked into the idea of dominion as power over and against rather than with and for. I think that’s what’s truly exhausting – the misunderstanding that we are expected to manage it all, conquer and control the mess in an orderly fashion in order to be worthy of the gift God has given us. But throughout the whole of scripture, God demonstrates it as a way of simply being, a way of dwelling, abiding with and among.
This waters me as good news in days when it feels like I have nothing left to give. The generosity and service of tilling and keeping isn’t about a glorification of toil. It is not a giving tree situation – destroying ourselves in ways that are unsustainable, always actively tilling until we collapse. Is it work? Yes. A slog? You know, sometimes…it can be. But it is also as simple and natural as breathing in and out, as waking and sleeping, speaking and listening, so ingrained in how we are created.
Our roots, our origin story, the genesis of our being as children of God… reminds us that suffering in service is not the point – but care and connection are. We don’t do this single-handed. We are not alone in this. We till and keep, nurture and connect – because God first creates and nurtures our being, hold us close, and never lets go. God cultivates and keeps us from beginning to end.
When I think again to the tilling and keeping of my garden, I am reminded that it doesn’t mean overhauling the whole garden every day or even particularly often, but looking to the place that most needs care in order to flourish, and focusing whatever it is that I have in terms of energy and being there. And sometimes I need a time of just sitting in the garden, looking around and being still to know what that is.
I want to invite you into a two –part reflection. Grab a piece of paper and something to write with or just meditate along.
You are a garden, how are you tending to and keeping yourself? How are you caring for and nourishing your being so that you can grow? What place in your life most pressingly needs your attention in order to be well, not perfect, but well, for it to be well with your soul?
You are a part of a larger garden, what is nearby that calls to you for care and attention so that you might flourish together? “Nearby” is relative – it might be in your own home, it might be down the block, it might be a nearness of heart. Don’t think about what you think it should be, but what seems nearby as if it is low-hanging fruit, ripened just for this moment. What is nearby that calls to you for care and attention so that you might flourish together?
May God continue to till and keep you as the Spirit moves and grows in us all, now and forever. Amen.