Where are you planted?

Scripture: Psalm 1

Where are you planted?

            That’s the question this first Psalm is asking, setting the stage for all the Psalms to follow. Where are you planted?

            Jesus uses a similar analogy once upon a time, talking about scattering seed—some in the good soil, others in the rocks and amidst the thorny brambles. It’s a parable that leaves you with that same questions: Where are you planted?

            This has to be one of the best questions to ask that special someone whom your daughter or son brings home for supper. You sit down at the table and before you get into what sports the kid plays, or what his parents do for a living, or what kind of shoes she wears, or any of that silly stuff, just start with this: “Where are you planted?”

And if they run away then you’ve done your job.

            But it’s also the perfect question because it’s not just asking where it is that you live but also where are you most comfortable, where do you feel most alive, and, then, are you in good soil or not? Is the place where you live safe?

            Of course, you’re not going to do this to anyone, because you’re all much more sane than me. But I might. Where are you planted? I might just ask you at any time. This is your warning.

            When reading the Psalms, “Where are you planted?” can also be a question of your emotional state. Are you feeling thankful? Angry? Sad? Happy? Various Psalms speak to all of those emotions and many more—these 150 prayer songs run the full gamut of human emotion—but that doesn’t mean we’re reading the one you feel particularly attuned to this day.

            In sadness it’s hard to read about joy. In thankfulness it’s jarring to hear of sorrow. Here we are, in this mix of emotion, and without knowing what you are feeling you can hardly begin to know what words of the Psalms can function as your prayer, so again you must ask yourself: “Where are you planted?”

            This sounds all very much in your head, but where your head is your heart will follow, and where your heart leads your life will go. Where we are planted determines more about the kind of person we will be than our hard work or innate character, because the place where we live and find nourishment will determine the boundaries of our growth, as well as the limitations of our hard work.

            Most of us have won the genetic lottery, having been born in America in the 20^th century. There aren’t many better times or places to be born in the history of the world. You could have been born in a slum in Darfur, a drug-lord run town in Mexico, or you could have been born in the middle of Bubonic plague ravaged Europe in the Middle Ages, and you had no control over any of that. This is not to say you haven’t had challenges in your lives; just that for most of us we were planted in pretty good soil; gumbo-type stuff. And we continue to reap the rewards of advantages—your gender, your height, your ethnicity, your race, your sexual orientation, even your religion—all of these may be advantages. In fact, I think a good part of the decline in Christianity in America has everything to do with the fact that it’s no longer a huge cultural advantage to be Christian, so the people who were Christian just because it helped their standing in society have begun drifting away, and probably that will continue for some time.

            But on the topic of advantages, we should be clear: It’s not our fault where we start out planted, and neither is it to our credit. Then, what happens from there is interesting, because where we are planted is about more than the initial advantages and disadvantages we are given; it’s also about the myriad factors that shape us from there—some we can control and some we can’t.

            When the Psalms talk about being in good soil they’re talking about the kind of place you find yourself in life. You could have every advantage in the world but decide that the key to happiness is sex, drugs, and Youtube, and what will happen is that your roots will never go deeper, satisfied as you are with a world of simple pleasures that will leave you always dehydrated, hungry, and empty.

            “Where are you planted?” is a question about things you can’t control and things you can. There are always going to be things that can starve you, or beat you down, and there is no guarantee that you will persevere, but being planted in the right soil means that nothing is ultimately lost. Even death leads to new life; in fact, new life requires it; so that, whether you live and produce fruit or whether you die and fertilize the fruit of the next generation, you will have done what you were created to do.

            The Psalms understand this. They cry out in despair. How long must we suffer? How many must die in vain? And then they respond with trust and obedience. And then they end in praise. Sometimes they even cry out for vengeance. All of this is done from a careful observation of where they stand. First you must know where you are before you can find the words to pray for what you are lacking.

            So, as we consider the Psalms all summer long this is really the question for you to consider along the way: “Where are you planted?” and, therefore, “What are you lacking?” A tree might lack sun, rain, nutrients in the soil, or shelter from the wind. We might lack physical, spiritual, mental, or emotional well-being. We might be in need of peace or silence, we might feel dread or joy; we might be hopeless or we might be ecstatic. The Psalms have something for you in all of those. These are our guides of how to pray. May they be that to you, so that you may know where you are planted and, better still, gain the words to express what it is that you are lacking.