Rooting around in dirt often leads me to theological musings.
I spent several hours today out in front of the house, trying to clear weeds from the flowerbeds. Let me just say that there were a lot of weeds, and while most of them were not deeply rooted, as a whole, they contributed to a monumental task. (Thankfully, I enjoy playing in the dirt when I have time for it, so it was all good.)
As I ripped everything up from the earth, I realized something that perhaps I had known all along but never focused on: the dirt in the flowerbeds was predominantly clay.
Now the funny thing about clay, particularly when it's wet, is that it clumps together. Firmly. Even if it hasn't solidified, you can't crumble it apart like ordinary dirt. And I imagine it's hard to grow anything in clay--at least, not something that requires deep roots.
As I worked with the clay, I began to wonder about the curse of the ground in Genesis 3. I realize that God didn't say anything to Adam about clay--just toil and thistles and such. But maybe He meant to.
In the Talmud and the Old Testament, we see clay as a frequent image of humanity. We were formed from clay. Clay vessels are considered "clean" and worthy vessels in the OT because they are not formed in the same manner as idols. We even see imagery of God as the potter and us as the clay. Even Paul likens the life of Christ inside of us to a treasure in earthen vessels, which, I think you could speculate from historical/cultural context, are probably made of clay.
Did God give us soil of clay in order that we might see it constantly before us and wonder at our own hearts? When I look at the clay in the flower bed, cold and compacted together, I see a mirror image of what my heart so often is. Inpenetrable.
And looking at the clay, feeling the clay in my hands, I want to be different. I want to be that topsoil rich with nutrients where plants are free to grow. I want to crumble in His hands. I want to be more than malleable; I want for Him to penetrate my heart.
Yet I think also of what clay can become, when masterfully crafted and forged in fire to become a worthy vessel. There is such hope for this clay when it is used for a purpose that it is designed to accomplish.
Perhaps I mix metaphors here. But I think there is so much that I still have to learn just from observing this simple substance.
Such stuff, this clay.
3 comments:
I can't help but think that I also want my heart to be a place of refuge for others; my heart not closed or sheilded or constantly guarded, but open to love, even if it also is vulnerable to hurt as well.
Another thing about clay pots, they are very easily broken. I'm not thinking of theological implications, but some could show up. Very thoughtful essay--but do get yourself some peat moss when you plant posies!
I really should weed my yard, too. But we don't have clay here; it's sand. Equally unhelpful for growing desirable plants, and equally metaphoric. The man who built his house upon the sand, and such.
Post a Comment