"The Flaw of the Excluded Middle"

When I woke up this morning, it was sunny—and 5 degrees outside. As Phil bundled up to do the chores, he said, “I bet you’re glad I couldn’t fly out yesterday.” Yup. (Though morning comfort was not the only reason; I still had to head out to bake today’s bread.)

With church canceled for the day, we just hung around the house. I spent some time outside with the sheep. Tsarina, one of the babydoll ewes, cannot get enough attention, which I really appreciate, among so many skittish sheep.

I also continued to look at buying a milk cow; it’s proving more challenging (and disappointing) than I expected. The idea that we may be another year without a good milk cow is both the reality and the disappointment of the moment. But as I think about it every few minutes, I’m trying to just remind God that we are really ready for a slightly wider diet, really ready for the manure and the butter, the whey for animal feed and the milk to drink. May he grant us the right animal in his time. (And may his time be soon.)

Totally off topic: I’ve been meaning to write about “The Flaw of the Excluded Middle,” an article I read about in The Celtic Way of Evangelism. Western Christianity deals with the bottom level, the empirical, the things we can see and touch. If our senses can sense it, we’re good. Western Christianity also deals with the top level, the big questions of God and good and evil, the sacred.

What it doesn’t deal with is the middle: the immediate future, the recent past, the present, and all the little non-guarantees there are. As a fledgling farmer, I recognize such middles every day: once we plant the tree, will it grow? What about these seeds? I know that, in general, a carrot seed produces a carrot, but what about THIS carrot seed? Or these ingredients? Will they form a good loaf of bread? Or will it burn, or dry too quickly? Will Phil safely reach his destination or meet with misfortune? What about this little sore throat I’m fighting? Will it get better, or worse?

These questions all seem to be the realm of the medicine man, or shaman. I found that interesting; it made sense to me that traditional societies would try to integrate Christianity with their tribal religions. If Christianity can’t offer anything for that middle, the old ways would be appealing, I suppose.

The Celtic Christians solved this by praying over everything. When they fed the animals: thank God for the feed, bless these animals in my care. For the bread: thank him for the bread of life, give us this day our daily bread. And the list goes on.

Elegant, don’t you think? I incorporated such prayers in my daily life for a few days last fall, but then forgot about them. Maybe February will be my chance to make the Middle a new habit of prayer.

Starting with the cow. May the Lord grant our land be a place of milk and honey.