Sermonstudio

"We will hear citizens' comments now," the Mayor announced. It was Monday night, and the weekly City Council meeting had just been called to order by his honor, Mayor Leland R. Steadman. The Council chambers became quiet as the aldermen and the one newly elected alderwoman settled into their high-backed, black leather swivel chairs for what most of them viewed as a wasted half-hour of citizen criticisms and complaints. It was always the same people with the same axes to grind, week after week. They had heard it all before ... or so they thought.

"Who's up first tonight?" the Mayor asked, looking at the secretary.

"Mrs. Gertrude Sommers of 1905 Marsh Lane," the secretary intoned.

A very old woman got up from a seat in the back of the chamber and hobbled toward the microphone. She was less than five feet tall; her back was bent and her shoulders rounded from osteoporosis. She was carrying a cane in one hand, which she wielded like a club, and she had a large shopping bag in the other. From the shopping bag she took a small, portable tape recorder, which she placed on the lectern under the microphone. Her large head, covered with curly, white hair and framed in pearl-rimmed glasses, was barely visible above the lectern. The cameraman had to raise his tripod and zoom down, so the citizens watching on the city cable channel at home could see all of her face. She reached up, pulled the microphone down to her level, and then boomed into it in a gruff voice that startled everyone in the Council chambers.

"Gentlemen ... and Lady," she began, nodding to the Council's only woman member, "I want you to hear something." She switched on the tape recorder and the Council chamber was filled with the sounds of hundreds of frogs, singing at the tops of their voices. Mrs. Sommers let the tape go on for a couple of minutes. The Council members exchanged amused glances. This was something new! "That was five years ago," Mrs. Sommers said as she stopped the tape. "It was recorded in the marshland, along the lake, across the road from my house. This is what it sounds like today." She switched the tape recorder on again. This time there was a long silence, interrupted occasionally by the call of a whipporwill and the faint sound of a dog barking in the distance - but there were no frog sounds. Mrs. Sommers let the tape play on and on until she could see that the Council members were becoming annoyed. Then she turned it off, pulled herself up to her full height, and speaking in a measured tone, as she moved her eyes slowly from one Council member to another, she said, "Gentlemen ... and Lady, what has happened to the frogs? Where have they gone? That's all I want to know. What has happened to our frogs?" The Council members' amused glances became surprised and confused as the old woman turned abruptly and hobbled back to her seat without another word.

The next citizen up that night was Carson Peters. He was a tall, stringy man about the same age as Mrs. Sommers. He had to bend over to speak into the microphone. "I'm a neighbor of Mrs. Sommers," he announced, and the Council quickly understood that this was the second wave of the frog assault. "I've been living near the marsh on the lake for over seventy years. I grew up there, and me and the wife, we raised our kids there. The frogs have always been a part of our lives. We watched for the tadpoles first thing in the spring, and we went to sleep listening to the frogs sing every summer night. A few years ago, we noticed that there weren't as many frogs singing as there used to be. Gradually, they have disappeared altogether. We haven't heard any frogs singing for over a year. I miss the frogs. I don't sleep well anymore." He sat down, and the Council members were relieved when the rest of the comments continued in the normal vein.

But the next week they were back again, Mrs. Sommers and Mr. Peters. This time they had photographs of frogs in the marshland along the lake as they appeared five years ago - eight by ten blow-ups of big frogs, little frogs, tadpoles, pollywogs, and frog spawn. Mr. Peters passed the pictures around for the Council members to examine while Mrs. Sommers narrated. Then, taking out another set of photographs, she said, "This is what the marshland looks like today." The Council members could see that the photographs showed the same landmarks, the same languid pools of water, accented here and there by cattails and swamp grasses, but no frogs. "I challenge you," said Mrs. Sommers, "to find one frog anywhere in that marsh. Gentlemen, and Lady, what has happened to the frogs?"

Mr. Peters collected the photographs and the two were about to return to their seats when Councilwoman Mary Ellen Perry said, "Mrs. Sommers, Mr. Peters, we all share your concern about the frogs. Their disappearance from our marshlands is, indeed, very disturbing. But, honestly, what do you want us to do?"

"We want to know what has happened to the frogs," Mrs. Sommers said. "What has caused them to disappear? It's not just that we love the frogs and miss their songs; we want to know what has happened to the frogs, lest what happened to them should also happen to us."

Two weeks passed, and neither Mrs. Sommers nor Mr. Peters appeared during citizens' comments time to ask about the frogs. The Council members thought they had seen the last of them, but on the third week they were back again, and with them was a youngish-looking fellow wearing a navy blue blazer and a red silk tie. Several sarcastic comments could be heard as the Council members watched them come in and take their seats.

"Here come the frog people again!"

"Oh, no! What are they going to do this time?"

"Wonder who the new guy is? Looks like he dressed for the camera."

When their turn came, Mrs. Sommers wasted no time in introducing their guest. "This is Dr. David Bradfort," she said, addressing the Council members. "He is Professor of Environmental Studies at the University. He is going to tell you what has happened to the frogs, and what you ought to be doing about it."

Professor Bradfort stepped up to the microphone, opened a black folder, glanced down at his notes, then gazed resolutely at the Council members as he spoke. "What Mrs. Sommers and Mr. Peters have been telling you about the disappearance of the frogs is true, and it's not just happening here in our community; it is happening all around the world. I attended a workshop in Irvine, California, in February of 1990, in which the decline of amphibians was discussed by forty different scientists from all over the world. They all agreed that amphibian species are declining at an alarming rate, some, apparently, to the point of extinction.

"Although scientists usually prefer to wait until all of the data is in before reaching any conclusions, there has been a sense of urgency in scientific journals during the past several months. One quoted Dr. David Wake, the organizer of the conference, as saying:

Amphibians were here when the dinosaurs were here, and they survived the age of the mammals. They are tough survivors. If they are checking out now I think it is significant.


Dr. Bradfort looked up from his notes and said, "It gets worse. Other articles suggest that this trend may point to greater environmental problems. Amphibians could be an early warning system, signalling imbalances or advanced breakdowns in the environment. There isn't much evidence that there is a single, global cause for the decline, but the conference panelists suggested potential localized causes may include destruction of the natural habitat, pesticide pollution, and acid rain. Increases in ultraviolet rays and higher temperatures due to global warming through holes in the ozone layer might also explain the global effect. Both believers and skeptics agreed that immediate, long-term studies are needed, but they might be a luxury we can't afford. The results may come too late. One scientist has suggested short-term experiments, like reintroducing the species and conducting intensive studies of its fate.

"That's what I think we should do here in our community: introduce some frogs of the same species as those that used to live in the marsh, then observe them closely to determine what it is that now prevents frogs from surviving in that environment. I warn you, though, that if we undertake such a study, you may find the results disturbing."

With that Dr. Bradfort closed his black book and sat down. No one said anything for several moments. The Mayor, the Council members, and everyone else in the Council chambers looked stunned. Finally, Alderwoman Mary Ellen Perry broke the silence. "Your honor, I move that we authorize Professor Bradfort to begin an immediate study of environmental conditions in the marshland near the lake, and that we allocate $10,000.00 to pay for it." The resolution passed without debate.

The following morning, Professor David Bradfort appeared at the marsh with a University van loaded with frogs, cameras, microscopes, a variety of scientific measuring equipment, and a tent in which he intended to live until the study was complete. He let the frogs loose and settled in for a long stay. Night and day he observed the frogs, often forgetting to eat and sleep. His dissecting, testing, measuring, and the recording of his findings in his journal became an obsession. He would not let up until he knew what was killing the frogs and what might be done to save them from extinction.

Just after dusk on the fortieth day, he was lying on a sleeping bag by the fire in front of his tent, exhausted from the long hours of work and lack of proper nourishment. Some of his scientist friends would say later that what happened next was an hallucination: the result of an hypoglycemic episode brought on by his hunger. But David insists to this day that what he experienced was a true vision.

He says that she appeared to him rising on the mist that filled the night air: a Great Mother frog, her spotted green coat glistening in the moonlight. Her large, unblinking amphibian eyes seemed to be filled with fire and light. He felt as if she were looking straight through him, deep into his soul. And then she addressed him in his own language.

"O Human One," she croaked in her deep, frog voice, "you are hungry. My legs are tender and sweet. Take and eat. I give them to you."

"Oh, no," he said, "I couldn't hurt you. And besides, how would you live without your legs?"

"The Most High will take care of me. We have an understanding. Take and eat. You must eat or you will die."

So David took the legs of the Great Mother frog. He roasted them over the fire and ate of the tender, sweet meat until he was full and his strength had returned. Then he cut strips of cloth from his shirt and bound up the Great Mother's wounds. "Now," he said, "you must allow me to give something of myself to you. O Great Mother frog, what do you need that I can give?"

The Great Mother thought for a moment, and then she said, "If you will listen to my song and promise to sing it wherever you go, I will count it as a blessing and call you friend for as long as I live."

"I will listen," David said, "and I promise to sing your song wherever I go."

Then the Great Mother frog opened her mouth and began to sing:

We who live in the shelter of the Most High,
creatures of both land and sea,
we do not fear the poison falling in the rain,
or the two-legged ones who drain our marshes and ponds,
we sing for the Great One, our refuge and our strength,
we remember the promise and we sing.

Chorus:
You who love me, I will deliver,


I will save all those who know my name,


when you call to me I will answer,


sing your songs, sing your songs,


live long and free.


When she had finished her song the Great Mother looked up toward the sky and croaked loud and deep, "Come for me." In the blink of an eye a golden eagle swooped down from the sky, grasped the Great Mother frog in his talons, and winged off with her held gently, but firmly, in his grasp. As they flew off together through the night, the Great Mother called out, "Human One, remember my song."

The following Monday night, Professor David Bradfort was back in the City Council chambers to give a preliminary report on his study of environmental conditions in the marshland along the lake. The Mayor and the Council members greeted him warmly and waited eagerly to hear what he had to say. He told them in precise scientific terms the nature of the poisons that had killed the frogs. He named the factories in the community that were dumping pollutants into the lake and emitting toxins. He reminded them of the number of automobiles and trucks that were spewing exhaust fumes into the air and the enormous amounts of toxic chemicals being sprayed on fields and lawns to kill weeds and insects.

"It's not surprising," he told them, "that the frogs have all died. It is amazing that they survived as long as they did. What is surprising is that it has taken us so long to notice, because the same poisons that killed the frogs are killing us, too. The passing of the frogs is a sign for us - a warning before it is too late."

And then, right there in front of the Mayor and the City Council members, and live and in color for the citizens watching the city cable channel at home, Professor Bradfort told about his vision. And he opened his mouth wide - as wide as the big-mouthed Great Mother frog - and began to sing her song.

____________

Author's note:

"Frog Song" was inspired by an article which appeared in The New York Times, February 20, 1990. "Scientists Confront An Alarming Mystery: The Vanishing Frog" by Sandra Blakeslee tells of a panel of 22 experts convened by the National Research Council, a non-profit organization that advises the government on scientific matters. Dr. David Bradford, Professor of Environmental Studies at the University of California at Los Angeles, said the group drafted an emergency letter to the world's scientists calling their attention to the immediacy of the problem. Dr. Bradford referred us to several articles which were a further basis for the story. These included, "Where Have All The Froggies Gone," from the March 2, 1990, edition of Science; the Bulletin of the Ecological Society of America, June, 1990, Volume 71, No. 2; "Where Have All the Frogs and Toads Gone?" by Kathryn Phillips in BioScience, Volume 40 No. 6, June, 1990. An editorial in the same volume recommended "... the immediate marshalling of a major biodiversity project, on the scale of the Human Genome Project or even larger. The survival of our planet as we know it may be in the balance." For more information write to the Environmental Science and Emergency Program, School of Public Health, 10833 Le Conte Avenue, UCLA, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1772. Phone 213-825-0998.

John told this story in the closing worship of The Fellowship of United Methodists in Worship, Music and Other Arts Convocation at Lake Junaluska, NC, July 19, 1991.

The music for "Frog Song" was composed by Kerri Sherwood, Director of Music at First United Methodist Church in Kenosha, WI. Ms. Sherwood's new CD of original solo piano music, Released From The Heart, is available from Sisu music, PO Box 1945, Kenosha, WI 53141.