The goodness of God
They start as tiny buds breaking through the bark of thin branches growing from the limbs of deciduous trees. Scientist and fifth-graders understand that as the amount and warmth of sunlight increases in the season we call spring, these small buds emerge as barely visible, green leaves, attached to the branches by stems.
Their essential veins are clearly perceptible as they strengthen and grow in breezes gentle and not. Soon they develop into broad leaves that serve as factories delivering and receiving nutrients, a two-way highway to and from the tree. In the mountains of North Carolina, they are oak, elm, dogwood, walnut, birch, and maple trees.
The green coloring agent is the chlorophyll that makes photosynthesis possible as the leaves absorb carbon dioxide and emit oxygen, thus sustaining life on our planet. As daylight shortens and temperatures cool, the green chlorophyll recedes. The leaves turn red, orange, and yellow before falling to the ground nearby.
On a recent October afternoon, I sat fidgeting in the passenger’s seat of my wife’s giant sports utility vehicle. My car was in the shop. I am uncomfortable driving hers. Built like a box truck, it sits high above the ground. It bounces and sways as Carla grips the steering wheel.
Just 5 feet, 6 inches tall and 107 pounds, she is remarkably strong with arms and shoulders formed and strengthened by generations of red dirt farmers with hoes and pickaxes toiling in the fields of nearby farms.
I fasten my seat belt tightly as I pray for fellow travelers and for the airbag sitting just 3 feet away. Soon we are leaving our neighborhood and heading north toward the beauty and grandeur of the Blue Ridge mountains and the colors of fall. We are a bit early, but the promise of beauty is developing, and we enjoy three days of mountain air and incredible landscapes.
Sometime later I am sitting in a Sunday school class taught by my daughter, Anna Houser. We are studying the 23rd Psalm:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Perhaps written by King David as he was being hunted by King Saul’s oldest son, Absalom, the psalm is about the protection and the goodness of God. There are two metaphors describing what God is like. The first is a shepherd. The second is the host of a banquet.
Our study mixes the metaphors inappropriately, in my opinion. It focuses on who is at the table, rather than why the table is prepared and who is invited to enjoy it. The psalm is about the goodness of God, not the undeniable flaws of humans. Anna teaches the material well, but I respectfully disagree with the perspective of the author.
In the beauty of the earth; in its bounty; in its remarkable complexity that defies our minds but delights our hearts, we see the goodness of God. He is the Good Shepherd who reveals himself with love and compassion for his sheep. He is the generous host who provides all our needs in the great banquet of life.
In the simple function of broad leaves, born in spring and dead in winter, we see the intricate balance of nature provided to us, to God’s children. All of nature is the banquet, and we are all invited.
Enjoy the fall colors and know that the Lord is good.
Michael K. McMahan is a resident of Gastonia.
