Little Rivers

I apologize for the paucity of posts this week, but I have had my nose buried in the aforementioned surveys we conducted at our church on Sunday. The idea of a church survey is becoming increasingly strange to me, and I have more to say about that (including a an insight from Barbara Kingsolver's beautiful novel, The Poisonwood Bible). Today, however, I pause to remind myself not to take myself too seriously.

I came across the following paragraphs in a collection of Henry van Dyke's essays, Who Owns the Mountains? Classic Selections Celebrating the Joys of Nature. Van Dyke was a Protestant pastor at the turn of the twentieth century who produced theological works, poems, hymns, and essays. The book I have been reading is a collection of his nature essays. I know next to nothing about van Dyke, but the title of the book resonated with me.

In "Little Rivers," an essay celebrating the unique beauties of little, local streams, he closes with the following meditation.

"It is not required of every man and woman to be, or to do, something great; most of us must content ourselves with taking small parts in the chorus, as far as possible without discord. Shall we have no little lyrics because Homer and Dante have written epics? Even those who have greatness thrust upon them will do well to lay the burden down now and then and congratulate themselves that they are not altogether answerable for the conduct of the universe. 'I reckon,' said a cowboy to me one day, as we were riding through the Badlands of Dakota, 'there's someone bigger than me running this outfit. He can 'tend to it well enough while I smoke my pipe after the round-up.'

"There is such a thing as taking ourselves and the world too seriously, or at any rate too anxiously. Half of the secular unrest and dismal sadness of modern society comes from the vain idea that every man is bound to be a critic of life and to let no day pass without finding some fault with the general order of things or projecting some plan for its improvement. And the other half comes from the greedy notion that a man's life does consist, after all, in the abundance of the things that he possesses and that it is somehow or other more respectable and pious to be always at work making a larger living than it is to lie on your back in the green pastures and beside the still waters and thank God that you are alive."

I don't think that I typically fall into the trap of taking myself too seriously, but I have of late. I needed to hear van Dyke's poignant reminder. May we all be protected from the twin sources of dismal sadness: being a critic of life and greedily accumulating possessions. May we also enjoy the remedy for such sadness: resting in the green pastures beside the still waters in the care of the Good Shepherd.