A strange thing just happened.
Reading for 5/28/23 — click to enlarge
It began with some purple asparagus…
Much of New England – in particular the Pioneer Valley of Massachusetts where I live, is well known for having the ideal conditions for growing asparagus, and so, being an aspiring gardener, I have a long held ambition to start my own patch. As each year goes by, though, I’ve found excuses not to do it. Asparagus is a bit finicky to establish – at least that’s what I’ve heard.
A couple weeks ago, when I bought a bunch of purple asparagus at a local farm stand, grilled them up and ate them, I was so taken with their super-ultra-delishy-osity, (I think that is the correct culinary terminology) that all my reservations disappeared and I decided, then and there, that I must overcome my timidness and try my hand (come what may) at growing myself a patch of the purple asparagus.
I asked around at the farmers market and a kind hippie gave me directions of how to get to a local farm where I could buy the coveted purple asparagus crowns in packs of 25. When I got them home, I opened the box and examined the funny looking asparagus crowns – a great tangle of thin ropey roots that radiate out from a central knot, they have the look of a parasitic science fiction creature that you would not want to meet if you landed on a distant asteroid). The box contained a booklet that explained how to sow asparagus – it was more complex than I thought – a procedure that involved digging deep trenches with internal mounds of phosphorus amended soil.
Oh my.
The trenches were to be gradually filled in over time as the asparagus crowns took to their new home.
The PH of the soil has to be just right.
And the soil underneath the trench should be loosened up so the roots can get established.
Well, if you know me, you know that I’m no scientist – so things like phosphorus amendment and correct PH levels, scare me. Luckily I soon discovered that “phosphorus amendment” is just a fancy word for “cow manure,” and the PH in the soil could be corrected over time after the crowns were already in. This was all do-able. Now I just had to figure out how to loosen the soil way down deep, beneath the trenches.
I didn’t like the idea of using a spade and a hoe to loosen the ground that far down. I would do it, but it seemed to me there ought to be a tool for that purpose…
**
Every once in a while, there will occur a Sunday in which the church’s liturgical calendar and the annual calendar that governs American society at large, converge in a strange and interesting way.
Today is one of those Sundays.
In the church calendar, today is Pentecost Sunday – the day that we Christians celebrate the appearance, and the miraculous influence, of the Holy Spirit among the disciples.
According to the the annual calendar – the one that you might have on the front of your refrigerator, or swimming around in your purse with your checkbook and wayward cough drops – today, of course, is the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend – a three day weekend that signals the beginning of the growing season, and, more importantly, honors the memory of American servicemen and women who have fought and fallen in military conflicts all over the world.
When the convergence of two calendars – two worlds, if you will – offers up an opportunity like this, we might as well take a moment to consider how the meeting of these two observances – Pentecost and Memorial Day – might give our moral imaginations something to chew on.
This was the puzzle that was on my mind when I decided to take a strategic break from writing my sermon.
Strategic breaks from sermon writing almost always involve the garden, because I can do something that I love, and also get my blood flowing a little bit, as I think over a problem. I had already dug the trenches for the asparagus in my raised bed, and now it remained for me to use a broadfork to loosen the dirt deep beneath the trenches. The lady at the Farmer’s cooperative had told me that this was the tool I needed to use, and I’d remembered that one of my neighbors had one that I could borrow.
A broadfork – I put a drawing of one being in the bulletin insert – is a massive pitchfork that is wide and hefty enough so that you can get up on it and push it into the ground with all your weight. It has a half dozen or so thick metal tines that are widely spaced and extend a full foot in length so that when you drive it down with your weight, the long tines penetrate deep into the earth, allowing you to effectively loosen the dirt quickly and deeply.
One of the similarities between Pentecost and Memorial day is that both concern international relations! Only a couple hours earlier I’d sent the reading to Deb Weissman so that she could take an advance look at all the unfamiliar nationalities represented in the reading:
Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Mesopotamians, Judeans and Cappadocians, people from Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, visitors from Rome, Cretans and Arabs.
One could easily make a similar list of peoples that America has fought wars with:
The British, the Spanish, Germans and Italians. People from Japan and Korea and Vietnam. Haitians and Grenadians, Philipinos, Mexicans, Afghanis, Somali’s, Guatemalans, Salvadorans, and Iraqis and Lybians.
In the story of Pentecost – and in the story of American history a hard reality must forever be confronted – the reality that this is story of the world is not just our story. The world is populated by many different kinds of people, and each of these people’s have their own interests that they work hard to protect. For reasons to numerous to count, all these people — Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Mesopotamians – probably will not understand a word you are saying!
But… into this eternal conundrum, the Holy Spirit briefly intervenes – in the story of the Pentecost, miraculously changing the rules of the game. All of a sudden, Cappadocians and Egyptians can understand what the Galiliean disciples are saying – even though they are not speaking their languages!
It is very strange.
What is going on here?
All were amazed and perplexed… the text says…. saying to one another, “What does this mean?”
Even though this incredible thing has happened… some of the people remain stubbornly suspicious. The text tells us that…
Others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”
I was thinking about this – about how human beings manage to somehow misunderstand, even when God intervenes and gives us the gift of understanding… when the strange thing happened.
The broadfork hit something, deep down in the earth.
When I pulled up the broadfork, there was something in its teeth – a dirt encrusted thing about the size of my hand..
What the!
As I picked the thing up, I recognized what it was…
It was the butt end of a pistol.
I brought it over to the hose and hosed it off.
It was small. The barrel was broken off, and the handle, once the mud was washed off, revealed itself to be made of cheap plastic. The handle was emblazoned with a sheriff’s star.
With a rush of relief, I realized that the gun was a child’s toy.
“Oh, thank God,” I said to myself.
Still…
It felt like an ironic little message.
To think that, for years, in this corner of my garden, this quiet peaceful little haven from the world – I’d been walking around on top of this thing – this small nod to the tragic human urge to exert power.
I had rotated my tomatoes and cucumbers and green peppers in this raised bed – each vegetable, in its season, reaching with its roots toward this little symbol of violence…
this child’s toy.
Here was a toy, fashioned in the likeness of the tool that was responsible for so many of those lost in war – those we honor on Memorial day.
According to the story of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit descended and gave us the ability to communicate across difference – and in that moment we had a choice – recognize the divine gift of unity, or surrender to cynicism and sneer at it.
Will there always be those who sneer?
Will diplomacy inevitably fail?
Will we always need to go to war?
It seems, from this story, that God is determined to give us the necessary tools for diplomacy. God wants us to breathe deeply of the spirit, and know that, ultimately, we are one, and that if we try we can understand each other.
And yet we seem unwilling to transcend difference.
If I dig up any artifact in the garden, it is, inevitably, one that separates us – one that exerts power. A little sneer – a little object that puts down the “other” with a dismissive shrug:
“They are filled with new wine.”
Today, as it turns out, is significant on yet another calendar!
The Academic calendar.
Last week and this upcoming week – this is graduation time!
High School seniors and College students all around the country are celebrating this rite of passage.
I was thinking about this too, as I was preparing my Asparagus bed.
A good Asparagus bed takes three years to mature – so I won’t be eating well out of this bed for quite some time. In the words of “the Spruce” website quoted on the back of the bulletin, “For healthy, well-established asparagus plants, patience is key.”
“For healthy, well-established children too, patience is key.”
It takes 12 years – even more – maybe 24 years – to establish a healthy, well-established child.
Communication –actually connecting with other people across difference – this takes time.
It takes patience.
It is not easy, but it is the answer.
A good education humanizes the other.
The story of the Pentecost gives us this promise – we can connect across difference.
God wants us to.
And maybe– just maybe if we do, we can avoid losing our children in foreign wars.
But it takes real effort.
And patience.
Amen