A scarecrow is like a surrogate farmer, erected in a field to guard the crop when the farmer is away. Deceptively similar in appearance to its flesh-and-bone counterpart, it is an adequate deterrent for dim-witted pests. But in truth, it is an impotent protector. Its limbs hang lifeless, and its mouth is silent. It is dependent on a pole to keep it erect. Its work amounts to idle passivity. It is an illusion of substance. In truth, it can do no harm — or good. It can do nothing but hang limp from a stand. Imagine crows perched on the outstretched arms of a scarecrow in the field, undeterred by this supposed guardian. Such were the idols of the nations surrounding ancient Israel.

But the rebuke carries across the generations into my own day. It's a suitable depiction of the idols in my own life, the things I trust in place of God. They are surrogates that may, for a time, hold pests at bay. I may, for example, place my confidence in a steady paycheck because it offers me a feeling of security, at least on the surface. I trust in that weekly deposit to meet my needs for food, clothing, and shelter. But my misplaced confidence is shaken by an unexpected expense, a downturn in the economy, a round of layoffs at my company. What I thought to be of substance turns out to be full of hay.

Instead of a surrogate, I'm invited to trust the true farmer, whose work is not idle passivity, but mighty protection. He will feed me like the birds and clothe me like the flowers. He will cultivate my life toward fruitfulness.

Prayer: Lord, reveal the idols in our hearts and help us to renounce them. May we trust You as the true farmer, cultivating our souls. Amen.

When spring arrives in upstate New York and the blanket of snow finally recedes, it reveals a landscape of bare trees and matted vegetation. The harsh effects of a punishing winter are evident. But as the weather warms and the days lengthen, the plants come back to life. Brown turns to green, bare branches are once again clothed, and new growth bursts forth. It would be a mistake to predict the potential for recovery from the wilted remains. Instead, life springs from a root system, hidden from sight, but undeterred by the long cold.

In Christ, the roots of my faith reach down into the soil of my Saviour. A strong root system is one in which the tendrils run deep, where I continue to live in him. I root my life in a growing relationship with the Saviour. Meditating on the Word, communing with God in prayer, using my gifts to serve the body of Christ, fellowshipping with other believers, and numerous other spiritual disciplines strengthen my roots. Then, even when the seasonal circumstances of life look barren, there will be life beneath the surface. My faith can carry me through winter into spring.

Prayer: Lord, help us to develop roots that run deep in You. Amen.