What do you want to be called to do?
When you think about your purpose on this earth, what do you hope it will be?
Maybe you don’t have an answer for this question. Or maybe the answer for what you want and what you see as reality are different.
When God created the first ever humans and put them in Eden, their purpose was to tend the land. Together, God gave Adam and Eve mutual dominion over the earth, and pleasure in the work of keeping the garden.[1] This was His original design for us, that we would have joy in creating, cultivating, multiplying, and stewarding. The earth He gave us was meant to be taken care of, in a life-giving process that is mutually beneficial to the land and to the human race. We tend the earth, it gives us nourishment, so we can tend it more. This beautiful, cyclical design was holy and pure, there was no shame or torment in it.
When tended properly, the earth yields us endless provision of everything we could want and need. First, physically: food from the ground, warmth and light from the sun, refreshment and cleanliness from water, shade and oxygen from trees, on and on. There are nutrients in almost everything around us. Next, mentally and emotionally: the garden was meant to give us work to do, sacred and dignifying work, that provided purpose and fulfillment. Not drudgery or stress, but satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. And finally, spiritually: there is joy and wonder in the beauty of nature. The power and mystery of the natural world is designed to reflect God to us[2], and fill us with spiritual nourishment. It’s a way we can commune with Him, come close to Him, and physically see a glimpse of His beauty.
When not tended, the earth aches in pain and we ache with it. After the fall, the state of the earth changed, and now all creation is groaning.[3] Nature has the ability to destroy us instead of providing for us. Since sin entered, food no longer just nourishes us, but instead can poison us. Work no longer just satisfies us, but instead can exhaust us. Where there are breathtaking displays of God’s majesty in nature, people destroy them to industrialize the land out of a love of money.[4] There’s a broken version of everything that God originally created for our joy. Looking at the world today, it’s difficult to picture what Eden would have been like, because sin has been running rampant here for so long. Corruption and greed have created a society where countless forms of oppression are now normal and common. Justice issues rage all around us and we wonder how God could be present amidst such darkness and pain.
Enter the cry of a warrior.
If you’re anything like me, you see these justice issues in the world, and a righteous anger rises in you, knowing how far things are from God’s original design. Human beings who were made in His image [5] were never meant to be used and abused for the purposes of sin. The earth and animals given to us for joy were never meant to be harmed and destroyed.[6] Humankind, animals, nature— they were all meant to display God’s glory. When we see these things being misused for perverted purposes, we want to fight back against the schemes of sin. We want to take up arms in the battle against what seeks to kill and destroy the goodness God gave us.
But… the cry of a warrior wasn’t part of God’s original design, because there was never supposed to be war. We were made to be gardeners, not warriors. The cry of a warrior is a temporary experience we have in this life, because of the state of a fallen world. In heaven, there will be no war, because there will be no enemy.
The chapter of the story we’re in now, in between the first and second coming of Jesus, leaves us torn between the purpose we want and the purpose we have.
Often we want to take up arms and fight against the injustices of this world; and believe me, I am the first to do so. I want to slay giants in the natural so I can see tangible results that make it feel like I’m getting closer to how things are supposed to be— to that pure, perfect state of Eden. True rest becomes a challenge, because there’s so much evil that needs to be fought, there’s so much work to do, there are so many people suffering unfairly. There are all kinds of battles I want to fight in my own strength; I see a war cry all around me, in the hearts of people who ache for change in an unjust world. Sometimes it can feel as if we’d be more productive if we stopped praying and took matters into our own hands.
Often I’m trying to be a warrior when God is asking me to be a gardener.
It’s hard for me to imagine entering into His rest when there is so much work to do, and therein lies the very importance of rest. Therein lies the scandal of Jesus sleeping in the middle of the storm, so unwaveringly confident in His Father’s unshakeable plan.
Don’t get me wrong, there is very real battle we are in while we’re in this age— but “our battle is not against flesh and blood,” it’s against the powers and principalities of the air.[7] It’s not that there’s never a time to be a warrior, it’s a matter of which war we’re fighting. The war on flesh and blood will leave us battered and exhausted, wondering if we’re even getting anywhere or putting a dent in all the evil out there. But the war on the spiritual darkness of this age will remind us of our purpose and our coming King.
I want to suggest that being a gardener is far more of a war cry than we might think. In our carnal nature, we see the gardener’s efforts as less powerful or impactful than the efforts of a soldier. But then we look at our Jesus, sleeping in the boat on a sea full of storms, perfectly at peace.[8] His peace might even offend those of us who’ve been spinning our wheels. We look at the carpenter from Nazareth who was building with His hands, building with His words, building with His love. He healed the wounds of His enemy when His friend wanted to fight on His behalf. His hands literally resealed the flesh of the priest’s servant that was cut by the sword of His own disciple.[9] His own people did not recognize Him as Messiah, because they wanted Him to come as a warrior, but He came as a servant.[10] Then, His method in winning the battle over sin and death was to give Himself up to be crucified. The strongest human to ever walk the planet waged war in very different ways than we expected Him to.
I believe there are ways we can tend, nurture, create, and give life to things that act as a powerful “weapon” against forces of darkness. There are gardens we can create to welcome in the hurting, the lonely, the oppressed, the weary, the lost. There is a rest for the people of God, [11] there is no place more healing than His presence. Tending an environment where rest can flourish and His presence can dwell is a powerful act of peacemaking in the face of grave warfare. Furthermore, we then have a haven to invite the lost who desperately need respite from the battles of this world. “Tending a garden” might look different for each of us, according to how God has gifted us and the different paths on which He’s set us— but there is most certainly a role for everyone.[12]
The tension between farmers and soldiers is subtly laced into scripture, and I believe there’s great significance to it in regards to our destiny between the fall and the kingdom to come.
Jesus is indeed coming back for us, He’s coming to make everything right, He’s coming to judge the righteous and the wicked with perfect justice. On that day, swords will be beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks, nation will not lift up sword against nation, and the ways of war will be unlearned.[13] What once was used as weapons of war will be melted into tools of agriculture. Terror and battle will cease, and we’ll return to our original purpose of tending the land. We’ll use the hands of our restored bodies to create and not to destroy, to build up instead of to tear down.
Until then, we live in the tension— the tension of having to channel our war cries into active peacemaking, for “blessed are the peacemakers.”[14] The tension of resisting the urge to fight futile battles while still fighting worthy ones— and asking God for the discernment to know the difference. The tension of being gardeners when it really seems like the world needs more soldiers. We live in the tension of seeing spiritual darkness all around us, and choosing to participate in the staggering honor that “through the church, the manifold wisdom of God might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.”[15]
Autumn Crew is the Managing Editor of FAI Publishing. She lives in the Middle East and serves a number of disciple-making initiatives. She can be reached at autumncrew@faimission.org.
[1] Genesis 1:28-31, Genesis 2:15
[2] Romans 1:20, Isaiah 40:26, Psalm 8:1-4, Psalm 95:3-5
[3] Romans 8:20-23
[4] 1 Timothy 6:9-10
[5] Genesis 1:26-27
[6] Genesis 1:28-31
[7] Ephesians 6:12
[8] Mark 4:37-41
[9] Luke 22:49-51, Matthew 26:51-53
[10] Mark 10:45
[11] Hebrews 4:9-10
[12] 1 Corinthians 3:5-9, 1 Corinthians 12
[13] Isaiah 2:4
[14] Matthew 5:9
[15] Ephesians 3:10