On January 6, 2025, I posted a thought or two generated by my box of ivy on my blog. I put it in my heated shop so it wouldn’t freeze over the winter. I am sorry to report the demise of my cherished ivy. It appears that the dehumidifier function of the split air conditioner unit I installed last summer is working very well. I watered the plant once, three weeks ago, when I noticed it was looking a little environmentally stressed. But, alas, it was too much, too late.
In the planter box where my ivy happily prospered, it had plenty of fertilizer to munch on, soil to grow in, and sunlight to bathe in. Of the four things a plant needs to thrive, it had three out of four. The fourth need it did not have was water, which brought the other three together.
When I walked past the deceased plant this morning, I encountered a wonderment. Was my ivy dead because it stopped growing? Or did it stop growing because it was dead?
Today is a bright, sunny day with a moderate temperature but leaning toward cool. I am aware of a hidden application of my ivy grief. It followed on the heels of the wonderment that is now compelling me to reboot my laptop. So, here I sit with my laptop, trying to untangle why the wonderment has altered my day’s agenda.
As I consider how best to pursue this question, my heart is filled with thankfulness for retirement. I can readjust my day to accept and explore a line of thought without leaving any commitment dangling on my mental to-do list.
I have a whole lot more “fore” days than I have “forth” days. It’s not a pleasant feeling, but it comes with some hindsight wisdom. (Maybe I should use “pseudo-wisdom.”)
Over the years, I have heard fellow Christians decry the condition of the Church in general, and often specifically their church. They usually refer to the particular church they had attended at one time, but that church experience somehow became life-sucking rather than life-giving for them. Attendance costs outweighed value-added.
I once had a young father, mind you, not young in the Faith, who was at once very involved in our church but had stopped attending. He was driving through the parking lot while I was nearby, and he pulled up and rolled down his window to chat; we were friends. Near the end of our conversation, I asked him why he was no longer attending. He told me, “I don’t get anything out of your sermons anymore.” That was painful. In the pain of my failure to be what he needed, I also realized that if he came because of my sermons, he was there for the wrong reason. And that brought the second wave of pain: “Why had I not been able to disciple him more deeply?”
That happened more than twenty-five years ago, and it still bothers me, but not for the same reasons. Why was his church attendance valued on how the worship service made him feel? Then, why did I make his evaluation all about me?
My dead-ivy conclusion is that churches are dead because individual members are dead. I have been on mission trips all over the world; I can assure you that the Church is not dead. When going to church becomes more of a lifestyle habit than a Life-giving expression, the death rattle will be heard if you listen. Resist the Holy Spirit in His continuous flow; it will not matter how much of the other three ingredients (fertilizer, soil, sun) may be nearby.
Withhold the Holy Spirit’s moistening influence, and the soil becomes dust, the nutrients become irritants, and the sun becomes distressing.
Is my spiritual life dead because it stopped growing? Or did my spiritual life stop growing because it was dead?
I suppose it doesn’t ultimately matter; dead is, in the end, dead.
God is not like me! He never neglects the sending of His rain to His planted seeds. Take a long and regular drink and feel the Life surge.
People of Zion, shout with joy
and happiness in the Eternal, your God;
The drought is over; He has sent the early autumn rain as a sign of His faithfulness.
He has poured down heavy rain, autumn and spring, as before.
The threshing floors will be covered in grain;
the vats will spill over with new wine and fresh oil. (Joel 2:23-24, The Voice)
Baldwin Heirlooms 