The farm lay between the two forks of the Shenandoah River, just outside of Front Royal and towards the northern end of the valley. It had belonged to Baruch’s great-great-grandfather. Passed down to each successive generation, his uncle now worked the land with the middle of his four boys.
Pink buds opened into white five-petaled flowers as an orchard of apple trees gave birth to the upcoming harvest. A small herd of cows and seven proud thoroughbreds scavenged the ground beyond the fence protecting the family vineyard. Baruch twisted the bottle to read the label better. Two Forks Vineyards. He would enjoy a glass or two that evening before heading back to the city.
Each one of his uncle’s sixty-two years showed. Wrinkles, human tree rings, etched his weathered face, especially around his eyes. The fresh air and hard work and done him good, but age had finally caught up to him. His hands curled into permanent hooks, arthritis crippling the once ageless man.
“I called your dad last week,” his uncle said. “Told me you were writing a book.”
Baruch nodded. “A real-time biography.”
“Of who?”
“Jeremiah.”
“Oh.”
His uncle kept his words few and his opinions reserved. How different from his dad. Baruch often wondered if the two were actually siblings. On the other hand, on those rare occasions when the uncle got going, no one could match the stories he told. As though all his experiences, all he witnessed, grew in the soil along with his crops and bore fruit at just the right moment.
“You know him?” his Aunt Margaret asked.
“Sort of,” Baruch answered. “Better than most, I suppose. He kind of keeps to himself.”
“I saw him preach once in person,” Uncle Joseph said. “On one of my visits to see Neriah.”
“What did you think?” Baruch asked.
“Seemed like a nice, young man.” Joseph’s standard answer which could lie anywhere on the spectrum between respect and contempt.
“He looks to me like he doesn’t eat enough,” Margaret said as she cleaned the stack of leftover pancakes off the table.
Thomas and Robbie watched without offering to help. They learned long ago she wouldn’t accept it. She ran the house. They labored outside. The way of Two Forks Farm and Vineyard.
“You either,” she said to Baruch. “You sure you don’t want more?”
“I’m fine, Aunt Meg.”
“Look at you. There’s barely enough meat to cover your bones. Here, have another serving.” Two pancakes and a sausage patty larger than many steaks landed on his plate.
“Aunt Meg!”
“Eat,” she ordered. “You’ll never make it to summer looking like that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Baruch said.
“Just like your grandmother,” she muttered as she headed into the kitchen.
Baruch turned in time to see the last trace of worry disappear from his uncle’s face. His hands rubbed each other as if that could reduce the pain.
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” Joseph said.
“And make Aunt Meg mad? I don’t think so.”
Joseph feigned a smile. The two cousins glanced at each other.
“What’s going on, Uncle Joe?” Baruch said, cutting through the sausage with the edge of his fork.
“Nothing.”
Another glance between Thomas and Robbie. Baruch put the fork down.
“Seriously, Uncle Joe. I can tell something’s on your mind.”
Joseph tried to straighten out the index finger on his left hand. A grimace crossed his lips.
“You should get that checked,” Baruch said. “I know a guy in Washington you could go to. They say he’s one of the best.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Aunt Margaret came back with empty hands ready to take another load. “What’re you all talking about? You’ve got the dourest expressions I’ve ever seen.”
“I was telling Uncle Joe about a rheumatoid expert I know in the city.”
“Ah, he won’t go. Stubborn old man.” She said it with the sweetness of one who knew nagging wouldn’t do any good. “Besides with all that needs to be done, you’ll never get him off the farm. Especially with the troubles we’re having.”
Uncle Joseph cleared his throat. Thomas and Robbie shifted in their seats. Baruch pushed the glasses up his nose.
“What troubles?” Baruch asked.
“Nothing we haven’t dealt with before,” Margaret said. “It’s just one of those years where the rains don’t fall as much as we’d like. They’ll come eventually. We might not have the best harvest, but we’ll make it through. God will sustain us as he always has.” The fresh load ambled off to the kitchen.
“Is that right, Uncle Joe?”
“Rain has been a bit scarce,” he answered. “It wouldn’t bother me either, but ….”
“But what?”
Thomas looked at his father, waiting for an answer he knew wouldn’t come. After a bit, he spoke up. “You know Jeremiah. You must’ve heard what he said.”
“He’s said a lot of things.”
“About the rain,” Thomas said. “The drought. You must’ve heard it.”
The nation mourns, her people lament, a cry goes up. Her nobles send their servants for water; they come to the cisterns and return with their vessels empty. They are ashamed and confounded and cover their heads, because of the ground that is dismayed, since there is no rain on the land. The farmers are ashamed; they cover their heads.
“I did,” Baruch said. “He was speaking figuratively. At least, I thought so.”
“I hope you’re right,” Joseph said as he stared out the window towards the vineyard. He slapped the table. “Anyway, it’s time to get going. Boys, help your momma finish the table. I don’t care what she says, or we’re going to be late.”
The entire ride, Baruch pondered the landscape through the window. Had the scenery turned browner than normal, or was he seeing what he expected to see? The passing trees and the hum of the wheels mesmerized him so that he didn’t see the steeple until they pulled into the parking lot.
No less than a dozen people greeted him and asked about his parents. Ten years since he last stepped inside the doors. The rows of pews, the odor of musty hymnals, the simple stage with a podium in front and a cross hanging in the back, replaced by individual padded chairs and the latest in audio-visual technology. A countdown on the main screen indicated how long until the opening chords began. The drummer entered her plexiglass booth while the rest of the worship team milled around.
Three songs later, followed by a quick prayer and offering during which an upbeat tune played, the sermon started. Baruch settled into the soft cushion and listened as best he could.
“Reading from Deuteronomy 11.”
“Go in and take possession of the land that you are going over to possess that you may live long in the land that the Lord swore to your fathers to give to them and to their offspring, a land flowing with milk and honey.”
“My friends, this is the word that the Lord gave to us. And has his hand not rested on this nation? He has seen our works, how we follow him with our heart, and given us his blessing. The writer continues.”
“But the land that you are going over to possess is a land of hills and valleys, which drinks water by the rain from heaven, a land that the Lord your God cares for. The eyes of the Lord your God are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year.”
“I chose this passage today to speak to something that is weighing on the hearts of a number of members of the conversation. I hear talk from some of you about the start of a drought, that the spring rains won’t come. You say Jeremiah has predicted this. Who is this Jeremiah? Does he have exclusive access to the mind of God? Does he even know the mind of God? Have the rains ever not come for us? You watch the news. What have the weathermen predicted? Rain next week. Showers the week after. Why then do you fear?”
Cursed is the man who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the Lord. He is like a shrub in the desert and shall not see any good come. He shall dwell in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land.
“Let me continue reading in the same passage.”
“And if you will indeed obey my commandments that I command you today, to love each other, I will give the rain for your land in its season, the early rain and the later rain, that you may gather in your grain and your wine and your oil. And I will give grass in your fields for your livestock, and you shall eat and be full.”
“Does that sound like a reason to fear? Absolutely not. Unless, of course, we don’t love each other. Besides, God has not given us a heart of fear. Instead, he has placed a strong spirit inside us so that, through determination and dedication and devotion, we can serve the Lord and experience his blessings.”
Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream and does not fear when heat comes, for its leaves remain green and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.
‘Blessed is the man who trusts the Lord will do what he says. Do you trust the Lord to bring rain, o ye of little faith? Go out and plow your fields. Irrigate your crops. The Lord will look down from heaven and see your faith, and he will reward you. A little later it says the following.”
“Take care lest your heart be deceived, and you turn aside and serve other gods and worship them; then the anger of the Lord will be kindled against you, and he will shut up the heavens, so that there will be no rain, and the land will yield no fruit.”
The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?
“Do you see any idols here? Do we not bow before the cross of Christ only? Will God shut off the heavens to those who worship him in truth as we do? Pay no attention to Jeremiah, my friends. His words are meant for those who do not love the Lord. May his curses fall on them. As for us, we will trust that the Lord will see our good works and our faith and continue to bless us.”
Baruch’s mind wandered. The preacher’s words came directly from the Bible, didn’t they? Yet they seemed to contradict what Jeremiah said. God did say he would bless those who love and follow him. He did say he would bring the rain. Jeremiah couldn’t overrule God’s own words!
The heart is deceitful above all things.
A few sprinkles dusted the windows as if to confirm the preacher’s words. Baruch shoved his doubt aside and settled further into the comfortable chair.