Creek’s Gleaming

(c) Katherine E. Brown

Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, and the LORD will be his trust.
He will be as a tree transplanted upon water, and upon a stream he will stretch out his roots. He will not fear [see] when heat comes in; his leaf will be green. And in the year of drought, he will not be anxious, and he will not leave off making his fruit.

Jeremiah 17:7-8. See 17:5-10 NRSVUE

Light stays later these days but even so is fading when Paul and I set out for our walk. We go down to Sligo, needing the solace of water. We have the path nearly to ourselves this weekday evening. Walking. Some talking. More looking. The ground beside the path is soft; the grass is winter-bleached and strewn with last season’s leaves. Trees grow near the creek, some fallen across it. We stand a while on the bridge, watching the water slip between banks tangled with brush and vines.

I look at the water and listen to Jeremiah in my head. Jeremiah 17 pairs, and contrasts, the one who is cursed and the one who is blessed. The term used for each is the same, “champion” or “strong man.” They are not distinguished in innate vigor or prowess but in where they place their trust: whether in flesh or in the LORD. The one whose trust is the LORD will not cease making his fruit, Jeremiah says. Despite the drought, the heat, the salt of news in print or online or email inbox, there is fruit to be borne. Fruit specific to that one’s making, as there is fruit specific to mine.

This text has been to me as a drink of clear water when I have felt parched these last weeks. Lift it to my lips and tip the bowl of it. Sip its promise; let it fill my mouth, soothe the dry tissues. Swallow the words and feel the refreshment of them running down my throat. Then, revived by that first effect, drink of the text more deeply still. Plod my way through the Hebrew, word by word. Let the awkwardness of my translation catch my attention, focus my thought, in the same way that uneven ground makes me more aware of my step as I walk.

The one who trusts in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD, that one does not “fear” when heat comes in. That is what is written in the Hebrew: “he will not fear.” But in the margin is an ancient alternative: “he will not see.”** The NRSVUE reads the word as “fear”; the JPS reads it as “see” (JPS “sense”). Surely “fear” is the right translation, I think. It is the better choice for not denying the reality of drought, the risk of desiccation. It does not ignore the trouble but states the LORD is water regardless: roots stretch out; leaves green, fruit is made.

Then, thinking on, I see the symmetry in the alternate translation, the balance in its opposition: the one whose trust is flesh will not “see” when good comes” (17:6); the one whose trust is God will not “see” the heat (17:8).

Read the double-possibilities as deliberate wordplay: expressing the inversion of attitudes and outcomes as well as the relationship between vision and fear. Translating “see” reminds that the bases of trust — flesh vs. the LORD — oppose each other, reverse outcomes: as the one will not see good; so the other will not see heat. Yet translating “fear” keeps also in view that the difference in their vision is the right trust, including the right fear. Because the blessed one trusts in the LORD — has the LORD as trust — because that one does not fear the heat, he will see the good that comes in, he is able to see the good that comes in. Fear narrows vision, limits and misleads sight. Trust restores it. The scorching heat, desert drought, trouble looming over, these are real and terrible, but these are not entire. Good comes in its own and awesome glory. The one whose trust is the LORD will see it. And in the meanwhile makes the fruit that is peculiar to that one’s making.

Paul and I are walking by Sligo Creek. Sky fades to softness and even so, the creek gleams. Flowing water reflects the darkening tangle of trees and brush, yes, and also the faint pink cast of the setting sun, and the pale-water blue of the sky. Dusk draws in, and still the creek shows light, flows liquid silver, even amid the darkening.

Drink deep of the LORD, the living water. Stretch out roots to see the good, green your leaves, make the fruit that is yours to make.

**The two words are close in the Hebrew. The “Ketiv/Qere” notes reflect ancient reading tradition.