Showers of Blessing

Good morning again, Encouragers. This morning is the Fifth Sunday after Easter, commonly called Rogation Sunday. It’s also Mother’s Day. And by God’s good providence, the two fall on the same day.

Rogation Sunday turns our attention to the earth, to seedtime and harvest, to fields and rain, to work and provision. Mother’s Day turns our attention to mothers and grandmothers, to homes and children, to love given quietly and often without much notice.

At first glance, the connection may not be obvious. But both teach us the same thing.

Life is received before it’s managed. Blessing is given before it’s earned. And the good things that sustain us don’t finally come from our cleverness, our effort, or our control. They come from God.

That’s where the Collect begins. “O Lord, from whom all good things do come.”

That’s a simple sentence, but it corrects a great deal in us. We’re tempted to think good things come from planning, from strength, from money, from work, from good weather, from family stability. Those things may be instruments of God’s mercy. But they’re not the source.

The source is God. The rain is His. The earth is His. The harvest is His. The home is His. The child is His. The mother is His. The good work we do is His gift before it’s ever our achievement.

So, the Collect doesn’t just ask God to bless the crops, or bless the weather, or bless the year. It goes deeper than that. It asks that “by thy holy inspiration we may think those things that be good, and by thy merciful guiding may perform the same.”

In other words, Lord, teach us to desire the good, and then guide us to do it.

That’s a very honest prayer. Because it’s one thing to admire goodness. It’s another thing to do it. It’s one thing to love the idea of a faithful home, a fruitful life, a peaceful heart, and a holy Church. It’s another thing to live that faithfully when we’re tired, annoyed, worried, disappointed, or stretched thin.

And St. James presses us there in the Epistle. “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only.”

That’s not complicated. It’s just hard. We can hear the Word and admire it. We can hear the Word and even be moved by it. But then comes Monday morning. Then comes the kitchen table. Then comes the phone call. Then comes the family tension. Then comes the person who needs mercy when we’d rather be left alone.

And James says, don’t just hear. Do.

That’s where Rogation Sunday comes home to us. We’re not simply asking God to bless the land somewhere out there. We’re asking Him to bless the soil of our own lives.

The heart has soil. The home has soil. A parish has soil. And what’s planted there will grow. If bitterness is planted, it grows. If patience is planted, it grows. If faithfulness is planted, it grows.

That’s why this day speaks so tenderly to Mother’s Day. A mother knows, perhaps better than anyone, that life is cultivated in small, repeated acts. Feeding. Washing. Listening. Correcting. Praying. Waiting. Forgiving. Getting up again. Showing up again. Loving again.

Most of it isn’t glamorous. Much of it is unseen. Some of it is exhausting. And when it’s being done, it often doesn’t feel very spiritual. But it is. A home is one of the first little fields God gives us to tend.

I want to be careful here, because Mother’s Day can be a sore subject for many reasons. For some, it’s joyful. For some, it’s painful. Some miss their mothers. Some grieve children. Some carry regrets. Some wanted children and didn’t have them. Some are praying for children or grandchildren who’ve wandered. Some women have been spiritual mothers in ways that never show up on a family tree, but are known perfectly well in heaven.

So, the Church doesn’t come this morning with shallow sentiment. We come with prayer. We give thanks for faithful mothers and grandmothers. We thank God for spiritual mothers, for women who’ve prayed, taught, encouraged, corrected, and loved. And we also bring the sorrow, the grief, the strain, and the unfinished stories to the Lord. Because all good things come from Him, and all wounded things must be brought to Him.

In Ezekiel, the Lord speaks to His people as a Shepherd. “I will make with them a covenant of peace.” He says He’ll cause the evil beasts to cease. He says, “there shall be showers of blessing.” The tree shall yield her fruit. The earth shall yield her increase. His people shall know that He is the Lord.

That’s more than agricultural language. It’s salvation language. The Lord isn’t merely promising better conditions. He’s promising His presence. He’s promising deliverance. He’s promising that His flock shall no longer be prey, no longer be consumed, no longer be afraid.

That’s what every faithful home longs for. That’s what every mother longs for. That’s what every parish longs for. Peace. Safety. Provision. Fruitfulness. A life no longer ruled by fear.

And yet our Lord tells us plainly in the Gospel, “In the world ye shall have tribulation.” He doesn’t hide that from us. Christian homes have tribulation. Christian mothers have tribulation. Christian parishes have tribulation. Bodies weaken. Families struggle. Money gets tight. Fields dry up. People disappoint us. We disappoint ourselves.

Our Lord doesn’t say, “In the world ye shall have everything arranged as you hoped.” He says, “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

That’s the peace He gives. Not the peace of a trouble-free life. Not the peace of perfect children. Not the peace of a painless family. But the peace of belonging to Christ, who has overcome the world.

And because He’s overcome the world, we can ask. That’s also in the Gospel. “Ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full.”

That’s a Rogation word if ever there was one. Ask. Ask for rain. Ask for daily bread. Ask for homes to be healed. Ask for mothers to be strengthened. Ask for prodigals to come home. Ask for this parish to be fruitful. Ask for grace not only to hear, but to do.

But ask in the Name of Jesus. To ask in His Name doesn’t mean we put a holy phrase on demands. It’s to come to the Father through the Son, trusting His mercy, submitting to His will, and seeking the good He Himself teaches us to desire.

And what does that good look like? St. James tells us. It looks like bridling the tongue. Many homes would be more peaceful if the tongue were brought under the mercy of God. Many relationships would be less wounded. Many regrets would be fewer.

James also says pure religion is “to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.” That’s embodied religion. It has hands and feet. It notices the vulnerable. It visits. It serves.

And again, this fits Mother’s Day more deeply than sentiment does. The best motherhood, and the best spiritual motherhood, isn’t only affection. It’s faithful love in action. Love that prays. Love that teaches. Love that serves. Love that keeps showing up.

And that’s not only for mothers. That’s for the whole Church. St. Barnabas must be that kind of parish. A place where the fatherless and widows aren’t forgotten. A place where children are welcomed. A place where older saints encourage younger saints. A place where the lonely are remembered. A place where our faith isn’t merely heard on Sunday, but lived in the week.

That’s how the earth brings forth her increase. Not only in fields and gardens, but in souls.

Psalm 65 says, “Thou visitest the earth, and blessest it.” God visits what He has made, and His visitation brings life. And Psalm 67 carries the blessing outward: “God be merciful unto us, and bless us… that thy way may be known upon earth, thy saving health among all nations.”

God blesses His people so that His saving health may be known. So we don’t ask blessing only so that we may be comfortable. We ask blessing so that we may become a blessing. A blessed home should become a blessing. A blessed mother should become a blessing. A blessed parish should become a blessing.

That’s the pattern of the Kingdom. Good things come from God, and then they’re offered back to God in faithfulness.

That’s what we do at this altar. We bring bread and wine, the fruit of the earth and the work of human hands. We don’t pretend that we created the gift. We receive it. We offer it. And Christ gives Himself to us.

That’s the deepest blessing of all. Not rain only. Not crops only. Not family only. But Christ Himself. Christ, who came forth from the Father. Christ, who has overcome the world. Christ, who makes us not hearers only, but doers by His grace.

So on this Rogation Sunday, we ask the Lord to bless the earth and the work of our hands, to bless our homes and this town, to bless our mothers and grandmothers, to bless those who grieve, those who wait, and those who serve unseen. We ask Him to bless this parish and make us fruitful in faith, hope, and charity.

But above all, Encouragers, may the Lord make us good soil. May He, by His holy inspiration, teach us to think those things that be good, and by His merciful guiding, lead us to perform the same. May He make us doers of the Word. May He give us His peace in the midst of tribulation. May He send showers of blessing on this place. And may His saving health be known, beginning here, in this little corner of Bellville, and reaching as far as His mercy intends.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.