2025.08.03 | Desert Discipline
“Desert Discipline”
Reflection on the Fruit of the Spirit
Self-Control
Ezekiel 47:1-12
Reflection by
Rev. Dr. Marvin Lance Wiser
Eden United Church of Christ
Hayward, CA
03 August 2025
Thank you, Jan. In Ezekiel’s vision, water flows abundantly from the temple—life-giving water that turns the desert into a garden. It deepens from a trickle at the threshold into a river teeming with life, transforming even the salty, stagnant waters of the Dead Sea, the lowest point on earth above water. Fisherfolks will be spreading their nets even in the Dead Sea! Imagine that. Trees grow along its banks, bearing fruit each month. “Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing.” It’s a breathtaking picture of divine abundance—of fruitfulness rooted in sacred flow.
All the while, Ezekiel was a prophet in some of the worst times in ancient Jerusalem, during a reign of Neo-Babylonian siege, mass deportations, and the end of autonomous indigenous rule.
And so it is today, many of us, especially those on the margins, don’t live at the center or the navel of the world where springs flow from temples. Many live in the fringes, in deserts, and ruled by demagogues.
In the Central Valley, California—or Palestine, or Northern Africa, or El Alto, Bolivia—water doesn't always pour out from temple doors. It doesn’t run in the streets. It must be waited for, collected, preserved. And yet, life finds a way even while waiting, even in oppressive conditions.
En la visión de Ezequiel, agua abundante fluye del templo, transformando el desierto en jardín, dando vida incluso al Mar Muerto, donde un día los pescadores echarán sus redes y los árboles darán frutos curativos todo el año: una poderosa imagen de la abundancia divina. Sin embargo, Ezequiel profetizó durante una época de asedio, desplazamiento y dominio imperial. Hoy en día muchos no viven cerca de manantiales sagrados, sino en lugares áridos y hostiles bajo sistemas injustos. Ya sea en el Valle Central de California o en Palestina el agua debe esperarse, recolectarse y conservarse, y aun así, la vida persiste, resiliente incluso en el desierto. Así somos nosotros.
Consider the agave. With sword-like leaves and a heart deep enough to store the little it receives, it lives not through abundance but through discipline. It drinks slowly, carefully, storing its gifts for the long haul. While other crops wilt with the seasons, the agave endures for years, even decades. Agaves consume water up to 8 times more efficiently than herbaceous annual crops. And in that long, sometimes slow process, it becomes a source of strength, sustenance, and—in time—joy. The maguey doesn’t chug what it’s given; it sips and stores. While its leaves may look like weapons, they are not for offensive attacks—they are for survival, funneling even the morning dew inward.
This, beloved, is self-control and self-preservation: not repression, not scarcity thinking, but disciplined stewardship of our God-given lives.
Paul names self-control as the final fruit of the Spirit—not because it’s least, but perhaps because it is hardest. It’s not flashy. It’s not performative. It doesn’t always feel good. But it is what allows us to survive droughts and still bear fruit: a reasoned discipline.
El agave, con sus hojas afiladas y sus profundas reservas, sobrevive no gracias a la abundancia, sino a un autocontrol disciplinado: bebe y almacena agua con silenciosa fuerza, dando fruto incluso en la sequía. Este es el tipo de autocontrol del que habla Pablo: no represión, sino resiliencia fiel que nos permite soportar las dificultades y aun así nutrir a otros. Muchos en nuestras comunidades inmigrantes encarnan esta fortaleza a diario, navegando sistemas injustos mientras continúan cuidando, creando y prosperando. Como iglesia, estamos llamados a esta misma disciplina en el desierto: a estar arraigados, ser pacientes y estar preparados para responder con amor y justicia, como en el entrenamiento de respuesta rápida del próximo domingo aquí con Fe en Acción. En el Espíritu, aprendamos del agave y del nopal, y confiemos en que el río de Dios aún fluye, silencioso y profundo, en nuestro interior.
I think about many of you in our congregation—especially our immigrant families—living in a kind of wilderness. You know what it means to live under pressure. You know how to stretch the resources you have, how to move through systems not designed for your thriving, how to keep loving and creating and feeding your children even when the policies of the land make it difficult to simply breathe freely. You have embodied self-control—not just as restraint, but as faithful resilience. And still, you bear fruit. Still, you nourish others.
There is an opportunity for us to nourish others while instilling a sense of self-control or self-preservation. Eden Church and Eden Area Interfaith Council, in May, held a meet your immigrant neighbor panel, and introduced our work with ACILEP. Next Sunday we will have a follow-up with our partners Faith in Action and others. Next Sunday at 4pm we will hold a volunteer rapid response training on how to respond in the event of ICE abductions within our communities. Scan the QR code with your phone to register, and see Yuliana for more information.
There is a discipline to desert life. There is a quiet strength that comes from not giving in to fear, or bitterness, or rage. It is the strength of the agave, maguey, the cactus, nopal—the plants that give of themselves even when the rains are few and the sun is relentless. And when the nopal is cut, guess what? It grows even more, and keeps giving fruit.
So, church, let us be people of the Spirit. Let us learn from the desert. Let us drink deeply from Living Water, and store it up—not to hoard it, but to sustain ourselves and others when the dry times come. And may we trust that the river of God is not gone—it is just deeper than we thought, welling up slowly, quietly, patiently—within. Amen.