weeds and thorns.

So many things I never understood that now make sense, so many things that have crystallized as I've gotten older. For instance: weeds and thorns.

Jesus talked about how there are many ways a person could receive (or fail to receive) understanding of the kingdom of God. He tells the parable of the soil - how many seeds were sown, but the result of the laying of seed was varied: some of the seeds never took root, some of the baby plants were scorched under the hot sun, some plants got wrapped up in the thorns, which choked them to death, and only a small group actually sunk into the soil, began to grow roots, sprouted out of the earth, and grew to produce a crop.

I have heard that parable many times and over the course of my short life, I have related to every one of those seeds.

This morning I went out to my herb garden. I have an unhealthy affection for this garden that produces copious basil and flat leaf parsley, beautiful rosemary, mint and chives. The sage plant never really did well - guess it was a lemon. The cilantro was the tallest one for a while until the ground temperature got (and stayed) to high, which killed it. The mint is not looking too good these days and I haven't been able to figure out why. Anyway, some of the losses are disappointing, but for my first herb garden I've been pleased with the fruits of my labor.

Anyway, I've been noticing some weeds growing in and around the bed, which is enclosed in a wooden rectangle frame built by my father in law. I decided, as I was already sweaty, that I'd pull up some of the weeds. They grow all around the beds surrounding the house, and even into the yard, but I've sort of let them go because they're not so bad. In fact, they look more healthy and lush than my grass, so why bother?

When I started pulling up this very grass-like weed, I found that underneath the grassyness was this long snake-like vine. Very thin, but strong and a little bit sharp at points. This "vine" or whatever it is (green thumbs, feel free to comment) was growing in one long stretch around my garden with fingers and legs extending down and around. I pulled it up, following it into another bed and out toward the grass. I was shocked! This little devil is choking my plants by the neck and I've been walking by for the past month letting it grow, thinking that the weeds weren't "so bad."

As I was sweating in the 90-degree pulsing sun, hunched over my exquisite little patch yanking weeds up and replacing the dirt, I suddenly thought of the parable and had abrupt comprehension. The sneaky way of that sharp vine, traveling underneath the benign green, choking my plants before my very eyes, suddenly registered. I started to think about two things: fear and jealousy. The way they choke and strangle me, and how oblivious I am. And the occasional combination of the two? Have mercy. I need to be weeded. Big time.

Surprised at the perfection of the analogy for a minute, I thought about how precisely accurate Jesus was when he tried to get his disciples to understand this principle of the kingdom and its movement, how universal were his explanations. But why should I be surprised?