I climbed up on the boulders that revealed a stunning view of mountain ranges and valleys that stretched for miles around. I could hear the low, distant hum of logging machinery in the distance. The trees were in transition – some of them celebrating Spring already with their bright green foliage but many still stood barren and naked, the memory of Winter still gripping them.

I had started my hike wanting answers to situations weighing on my heart. I wanted clear guidance and resolution but instead I found my own self-absorbed thoughts lost in God’s creation and suddenly it was clear to me that there were no answers – only God sustaining me. I needed to lay my frantic unbelief down. I sat, with notebook and pen as I fell into a kind of song or prophecy or word that comes silently up on a mountain – a word I needed, to remember humility before God, and to renew trust in His care – and to ultimately have a perspective that sees eternal purpose beyond my own time:

===============================

Go up on a tall mountain,
like where your ancestors
once sacrificed to idols
and learn that you are nothing.

Rip out your pride
like a discarded garment
and sacrifice it there.

Learn that you are nothing
and that God, your Creator,
holds you and all creation
in a firm grasp.

Come down from that mountain
knowing even giant trees fall.
Even massive boulders split.
It is the small persistent things
that have power:
microscopic bacteria, the tiny bug,
they bring down tall trees.
The rain drop that becomes a stream,
that finds it’s way into a crevice
and is heated by the sun within a rock
– that breaks the rock in two.

Learn that you are hemmed in by God.
Like a tree or rock – you too have limits.
What seems permanent is not eternal.
And yet, learn as well,
that soil forms in the carcass of a fallen tree.
There is no despair in knowing
how death and decay have become
the servants of God.

We cannot despair in knowing
that though we will fall,
we will shape the foundation
of those who come after us.

The day she originally came, she was being dropped off with another cow from a friend’s dairy farm. They were downscaling their operation and the cows needed a new home. After talking with our friends who own the farm we live on – it was decided that they would purchase two cows – both pregnant. We would be the primary milkers eventually – but at the start we had no experience with cows…at all.

Being a late convert to rural and farm life I had grown up in the asphalt and concrete of suburbia. The closest I had come to experiencing farm life was visiting my Dad during the summers as I was growing up. My Dad was a Church of the Brethren pastor and always lived in rural areas with Amish communities also usually nearby. Fields of corn and mysterious, black-clad, bearded men in suspenders and straw hats, women in bonnets, and their attending children, served as a fascinating contrast to my hyper modern life of TV watching and latchkey kid isolation. The Amish became a part of the mythos of my inner narrative – a kind of revolutionary group that I always considered as a radical way out if I ever lost myself, entangled hopelessly in the satiation or collapse of my electrified world. I would become Amish – or something like it. Little did I know that the themes of intentional community and rural living would become central to my understanding of life and faith – both things I saw modeled from afar in the Amish.

On that first day that Lucy came – I stood aghast, wondering if the Amish ever had so much trouble with their milk cows. She was wild and unruly – and had no interest in being near or cooperating with us. My friend who owned the farm and I had watched Lucy rip apart a small corral we had built from metal farm gates. It could not contain her. She was tied to one of the gates – but would have none of it. In a show of force that bordered on suicidal, we had to untie the gate which laid on the ground still attached to her – one false move and the metal gate could have knocked us out as she went running. She might as well had been a wild stallion – fresh from the wilderness. I don’t remember if our neighbor just stopped by on his own – glancing towards the ‘cow gone wild’ as he drove by and then slamming on the breaks, or if we called on the phone in a pitiful voice saying: “Good morning neighbor. I was wondering – you have cows, do you perchance have any skills in cow whispering or even cow wrestling or taming?” He showed up with the positive force of his neighborly kindness and extensive experience with cattle. Lucy, unwilling to settle down, was only slightly persuaded after our neighbor ran alongside her – putting her in a headlock as she ran full speed down a grassy hill. He bent the beast to his will – and went to town for us to fetch a collar for her.

Lucy gave birth before the other cow and the once bovine hurricane became a calm, but protective mother. It was a miracle, both motherhood and the birth itself. I crouched in the pasture watching – camera in hand, as the calf entered the world. It was the circle of life. Then I watched her eat the amniotic sac and almost everything else that came out with the calf. I obviously was in uncharted territory. The romance of this farm-life moment burst in the stark light of animal instinct. Who knew that dry heaving and wonder could coincide in a single moment?

For me, growing up in suburban America – a cow was a mythological beast, especially a milk cow. And after Lucy’s calf was born, learning how to milk was like befriending a dragon. This once imaginary creature was in my memories as a kid – through fairy-tale-like books with cartoons of farm life, and plastic toys. It was fantastical though I knew somewhere it was real – just not in my world. In real life she was massive in size and could kill you at any moment – just like a dragon. But if you won her affection – she would share her golden treasure with you and you would be rich.

We learned how to share the milk with the calf – separating the mother and baby at night so we had first shot at the milk in the morning. Over the course of year’s we would eventually move to every other day milking. But in the first go around it was a crash course that we weren’t sure we were ready for. At the very beginning our friend and farm owner, who had grown up on a farm in Texas, handled the milking. I was an apprentice. And then the milking was left up to us completely. They were going out of town. It was up to my wife and I.

In those first milkings and for a long time – it was a race to see who would finish first – us or the milk cow. She stood in a simple milking stall in the barn eating alfalfa pellets. My wife on one side of the udder, and I on the other. Our kids were little at the time, so instead of leaving them alone in our cabin, which was just a little too far away and across the creek, we piled the kids into our van and parked them outside the barn. We frantically milked, weak hands and fearful hearts. As soon as Lucy was done eating her pellets she we would back up and walk away. If you weren’t watching close enough, the milk bucket would be spilled, the cow would be freaked out, and your pride would be bruised sufficiently.

Over time I milked Lucy all by myself. My hands were strengthened by muscle memory and constant use. My heart was less fearful as Lucy learned to tolerate me – and, dare I say, appreciate the milking – only occasionally putting me in my place with a disapproving kick or a swift exit. As my two oldest boys approached their teen years they became my milking companions – switching off so there was always two of us. The rhythms of milking persisted through the freezing temperatures of winter, the greening of spring, the humid heat of summer, and the barrenness of autumn. Each time we came to the end of milking, her milk supply would dry up, and inevitably she would find her way, sometimes by what seemed like magic, through fences or gates – and make her way to the neighbors’ bull. And the cycle of pregnancy, birth, and coming into milk would begin again. All of this was inspired by our farming friends who made a life of farming. They themselves kept a small herd of Jersey cows. Fortunately we were able to lean on them for best practices, advice and consolation.

Lucy was my introduction into a life I never thought I could pass into. Having a garden was one thing, having chickens was another thing, but milking a cow somehow meant to some people that I was a farmer. Full time, large scale farmers would likely disagree. Having a family milk cow is a hobby they would say. For me it was not a hobby. It was a conversion – a learning of humility of heart. And an introduction into the Biblical concept of the ‘priesthood of all believers’ – but in this case it is the ‘farmerhood of all humans’. I do not claim the title farmer – possibly new agrarian – but farm life cannot be lived for the claim of any title. It is continual learning, and the unfolding vision of a life lived in an interlocking web of relationships – a cultivated interaction among humans, animals, pastures, trees – of field and forest – weather and human effort. This nesting of forms and functions cannot be controlled, only cultivated at various levels of intention. From the harvesting of milk to the slow making of rich, dark compost from straw and cow pies that enriched our garden, we were the beneficiaries, not the masters, of a beautiful ecology that proceeds from the heart and mind of our Creator.

I learned from Lucy that domesticated animals – and cattle in particular, are given to us to help us cultivate the earth, to make the land thrive, to help feed us, and we in turn are given to them – to protect them, care for them – and to learn from them – to learn that machines cannot replace their good work, that we (as humans) are not unaccountable sovereigns over God’s creation – but we are an integral player, a dependent leader, a humble servant steward, accountable in all things – who needs other creatures to make our Eden’s thrive. Lucy also taught me that I cannot out run a Jersey cow – but I can keep up on a mountain bike. More times than I can count – did she take advantage of poor fencing, to find a neighbor’s bull, other cows – or to go gallivanting in search of greener pastures. Reluctant to come home, my boys and I would have to chase her (and sometimes one of her calves) on foot and by bicycle across open pastures at the neighbor’s farm until she was carefully coaxed into returning through an open gate.

And now – I know, though she is gone, she will not return here. This time we do not have to chase her down. She is with a new family, with other cows and animals – exactly what she had been looking for all along. Hopefully she will balance her sass with grace a little more generously then she did with us at first. And hopefully, one day when we have our own farm, we’ll return again to the rhythms of milking.

=================
Some final thoughts: Animals, and specifically I am thinking of farm animals are increasingly becoming somewhat of a mythology because they are disappearing from our lives. And while wild animals may disappear because of migration or extinction – farm animals disappear because we abandon our farms and agrarian ways that have sustained us through every human generation. A family milk cow becomes a novelty or a hobby or a children’s book fairy tale – when once they were a necessity. But is that necessity really in the past? No – it is true even in the modern, industrialized present. Still we depend on these farm animals – but like our dependence on the land and those who work the land on our behalf, our consciousness of them has been pushed to the margins – out of sight, out of mind. The proxies by which we live are invisible and we dwell in certain forms of ignorance because we choose this to be so. With every generation, farming is more and more mechanized – even automated, breathtaking in scale and scope, and more and more entangled within the hands of corporate monopolies. But no CEO, new machine, or scientific method can ever replace the good work of farm animals. A family milk cow is still the best way to turn grass into real, golden butter. And no level of effortless comfort or convenience can separate us from our dependence on land and animals alike.  May we relearn the God-given wisdom hidden in the trials and virtues of keeping a family milk cow – and may we relearn our place in all that God has given.

Wisdom calls from the deep foundations of the morning,
Before dawn, when the first bird begins her song:
“O’ Foolish Ones wake! Wake from slumber! Turn your eyes toward your Creator!
Learn wisdom. Gain understanding.
Walk among tall trees – lay down on grassy hills.
Let the garden and flocks you keep
and the untouched forest be your university.
Let these proverbs that proceed from earth
be your textbook and curriculum.

Come learn O’ Foolish Ones!
You who fear and tremble
at the death of comfort, who leverage pain or power,
come learn to follow, die, and be reborn.
Come learn the ways of soil and sky,
of river and creek, of earthworm and mountain.
Come learn that you must deconstruct
the fortress of your own mind, unlearn the twisted path
of that which you pave and build.
Come down into your place – and sit in silence
before a master you have hated and have not known.
The debt for this school cannot be paid
except through mixing sacrifice of tears and prayer.”

I turn like a great beast, with dullness of mind
to find Wisdom, feathered and winged
Sitting expectantly on branch or post,
not speaking as I heard or dreamed –
but singing, am I called to learn or dance?

The cloudless sky was a tranquil blue above the small town of Babylon, North Carolina. Locals went about their normal routines. The cafe on the corner was busy with the lunch crowd. The old post office had a steady stream of the usual foot traffic. A weathered American flag swayed above the entrance.

The pastor of the Baptist church on the corner of Main Street sat quietly eating a sandwich in his office, overlooking the activity of the town. The subtly warped view through the aged window bore the distinct marks of historic glass.

Out on the street below there was a small commotion. The pastor quickly set his sandwich aside and watched as the scene unfolded. A large, dark SUV had just screeched to a halt within a few feet of several startled pedestrians who had been walking in the crosswalk. The man in the SUV yelled a few choice words out his window at the pedestrians. They stood aside with shocked and worried expressions as they muttered to one another and pointed.

The pastor said a prayer of thanks that no one was bodily hurt, and on realizing that the man in the dark SUV was turning into the church parking lot, he proceeded to break into a sweat, panicking briefly and then calming himself, turned from his anxiety again to prayer.

Within minutes the church secretary knocked gently on the pastor’s office door and plainly announced that he had a visitor – it was the businessman, who had been buying up commercial real estate around town. Rumors abounded about his intentions, but it was no mistake that he had certainly made up his mind to run in the upcoming election for a new town mayor. The pastor paused at the door for a moment as the church secretary went to fetch this visitor, the businessman – the man in the SUV, who moments ago almost mowed down a handful of pedestrians.

The businessman was not originally from the area but now lived on the edge of town in an oversized house on a farm that seemed to gain land each year as he bought out neighboring farms, one by one. He grazed cattle and kept a sizeable vineyard with the help of a dedicated team of farm managers and a rotating cast of cheap laborers. He was a tall man and as the pastor greeted him at the office door he had to look up to him as they locked hands in a long and awkward handshake. They exchanged pleasantries and finally continued into the office.

The pastor closed the creaking wooden door as the businessman stood at the pastor’s bookshelves, thumbing through the dusty collection of theology and American history books.

“I’m an avid reader…” the businessman forcefully exclaimed. His words, came across as a demand – though he was not outwardly demanding anything. “…And you have quite the extensive library here!”

The businessman slapped the pastor on the back as he grinned and pulled out a couple of imported cigars. Offering the pastor a cigar and a light, the businessman boasted about how he was going to bring the town’s economy back to life. Before he could refuse, the pastor found himself standing with a lit cigar in hand. The businessman puffed away as the pastor sat down at his desk – cluttered with sermon notes and various Bible commentaries.

The pastor sat in his seat letting the smoke rise from the cigar, like the prayers of forgiveness he whispered under his breathe. What would his congregation think if they saw him smoking? He cringed inwardly but held the gaze of the businessman as he began to monologue.

“Pastor, I have alot of plans for this town – to bring it back to the glory days, when this was really a destination. I know that our local economy has been struggling, farmers have been trading in their farms for cash, small businesses are barely staying afloat, manufacturing is long gone. I hear the Main Street Hotel may not make it through the year! We need real vision, pastor. No politician is going to turn this town around. We need real bricks and mortar folks, like yourself. And with my business mind, there’s no telling what we can accomplish together!”

Seemingly pleased with the words coming out of his own mouth, the businessman paused, as if to visualized the grand future that lay before them.

It was hard to deny the truth of what the businessman was saying. The pastor, though unsettled, found himself agreeing with the businessman’s assessment. If church attendance and tithing didn’t pickup soon, he was going to find himself without a job and without a home. Something needed to change.

“Can I count on your support in the upcoming election for mayor? If you are willing to lend your voice to the cause, I promise to make sure that you get what you need to fix this old building up – maybe some kind of historic restoration grant from the town – or hell, I’d make a sizeable donation myself!”

The businessman stood up, took his cigar out of his mouth, leaned in close and continued, “Pastor, I know your old bell tower has been empty for years. That’s no way to run a church! What about a new bell to ring out the new year?”

Sunlight streamed through the window. A clock ticked in time to the pastor’s heartbeat. Standing to his feet the pastor verbally confirmed his support as he shook the smiling businessman’s hand. The pastor, for a brief moment felt a strange tinge of regret – unsure if he was shaking hands with the devil or an angel. The feeling was swept away as he glanced at the water damage on the wall in the corner of the room. He came back into the moment and smiled.

The businessman, smoke still rising from his cigar, looked him in the eyes and said, “You won’t regret this! I’ll have my campaign manager and media guy come by tomorrow to interview you. All you need to do is smile on camera and give me a good word.”

Later that day, the smell of cigar smoke still hanging in the air, the pastor again looked out his window. Could this businessman really turn this town around? Having a church bell again after all these years would be a historic moment in the life of the congregation. And if building repairs could be made without having to launch a protracted fundraising campaign, he could spend more time on what really matters – pastoring. He neatly folded all these thoughts into the back of his mind.

Glancing down at his neglected sermon notes he sat down as the late afternoon light threw shadows around him. He turned on his desk lamp just as the phone beeped. It was the secretary at the front desk. There was a phone call for him. It was the businessman.

“Ah! Pastor! So glad I caught you! Look, my daughter is getting married next Spring out at our farm. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding with lots of guests I am sure you would want to meet. I’m trying to convince the young lovebirds to move to the area and help me with my real estate business. Anyway, I was wondering if you would be willing to do the wedding ceremony? You would?? That’s fantastic! I have a feeling we’re going to make a great team!”

The pastor hung up the phone and sat, dazed. How quickly his fortunes had changed. He turned back to his sermon preparation as the light of dusk settled over the town. As the pastor worked in his office, hammering out words in the silence of the empty church building, most of the town residents ended the day around dinner tables with family – talking of the upcoming election for mayor and other news of the day. Rumors were flying that the hotel was soon for sale and that the businessman was going to buy it, and it would be the beginning of revitalizing tourism in the town.

The faint sound of a clear bell was ringing in the pastor’s tired but churning mind as he locked the church door and made his way home in the quickly fading light as day turned to night.

Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness; and let them rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over the cattle and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. God blessed them; and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”

In its overall plan, the Sabbath year was to be a replication of God’s provisions for humankind in the Garden of Eden. When God created human beings and put them into the Garden, they were not to work for their livelihood but were to worship . . . So also in the Sabbath year, each person was to share equally in all the good of God’s provision (Lev 25:6). In the Garden, God provided for the man and woman an eternal rest (cf. Gen 2:9, the Tree of Life; 3:22b) and time of worship, the Sabbath (Gen 2:3). The Sabbath year was a foretaste of that time of rest and worship. Here, as on many other occasions, the writer has envisioned Israel’s possession of the ‘good land’ promised to them as a return to the Garden of Eden.[4]

• First, there was the Godhead
• The Godhead created the structures of creation including the Earth
• The Godhead vegetated the Earth
• The Godhead gave day and night their place
• The Godhead then populated the water and the air with creatures
• The Godhead populated the land with creatures
• The Godhead made man in Their image and gave man reign over other creatures
• The Godhead established reproductive relationships to populate the Earth
• The Godhead commanded man to subdue and reign over every creature
• The Godhead announced plants as food for man and other creatures
• The Godhead viewed it all as very good

God does indeed call men and women to exercise רָדָה, or dominion, over creation. But the real question is: What sort of dominion? According to verse 27, the answer is clear: a dominion that is in the image, or likeness, of God. Humans, in other words, are to rule over creation in a way that is consistent with the way God rules.[5]

Moreover, because man is created in the image of God, we may say that he has the revelation of God’s presence built into his constitution. His knowledge of God is innate, in the sense that his own constitution reflects to himself the presence of God. And this innate knowledge as revelation of God is correlative to the revelation of God in man’s environment. Thus man’s knowledge of God never operates independently of the knowledge he acquires from observation of his environment. Still further, man’s knowledge of God through observation of his own constitution and his knowledge of God through his study of his environment do not function independently of God’s direct person-to-person covenantal communication. Thus the whole of man’s relation to God, and indirectly the whole of man’s relation to his created environment, is a person-to-person, a covenantal affair. Man is he who as God’s image bearer answers to God. He answers to God. He answers to God always and everywhere.

To live, we must daily break the body and shed the blood of Creation. When we do this knowingly, lovingly, skillfully, reverently, it is a sacrament. When we do it ignorantly, greedily, clumsily, destructively, it is a desecration. In such desecration we condemn ourselves to spiritual and moral loneliness, and others to want.

When all my endeavor is turned toward Thee because all Thy endeavor is turned toward me; when I look unto Thee alone with all my attention, nor ever turn aside the eyes of my mind, because Thou dost enfold me with Thy constant regard; when I direct my love toward Thee alone because Thou, who art Love’s self, has turned Thee toward me alone. And what, Lord, is my life, save that embrace wherein Thy delightsome sweetness doth so lovingly enfold me?