Excuses for not being better at weeding

I gave myself a holiday today. Isn’t it sad that I feel a need to confess and explain this? I woke up feeling like I’d been run over by a truck (it’s been a big week even if not a bad one on a personal level). I had a coffee but I still felt wilted so I went back to bed at about 6:30 or 7. I said “Godde I may miss church if I fall asleep so I promise I will write my blog this week” – since I saw that people had been reading last weeks.

I slept like the dead. I woke up at 11:30 to see people uploading the sermon from church on Facebook. So I read it. And I thought “that’s better than what I was going to write” and I tried to saunter casually away with that comment. Because what faith do I have? I am full of an inner sort of desperation and confusion and now Deleuze and Guattari too (as if I was not bad enough before).

But “like a little child” she pesters us sometimes “you promised, you said we were going to do this together”. And I said “I’ve got nothing to give” so Godde reminded me that I am not here to get things right or lead people but only to play. So I tried to ignore that annoying voice, I said “mate, you’ve got me confused with Jonah” and Godde said “now you are on the right track” and laughed.

And here I am. But it is just play. Like it. Hate it. Ignore it. Or write your own better one. Or play with the ideas in my words or in the readings themselves.

The first reading tells us Godde gave us “good ground for hope”.

What shall we plant in our good ground?

I am still thinking about tubers and rhizomes, covering and uncovering,

having to touch the sweet rain-dark soil

but my hands are cold

everything is cold in July.

“Godde is good and forgiving”

says the psalm but we are fearful

about all the wrong things

and take all the wrong liberties.

We should be bolder, we should be more true.

I feel heavy and it is hard to hope.

“we do not know how to pray as we ought”,

write as we ought,

sing as we ought,

go to sleep as we ought,

stay asleep as we ought,

get up in time for church as we ought,

garden as we ought,

weed and plant as we ought,

we do not know how to work as we ought,

love as we ought,

live as we ought.

Holy Spirit,

you might put in a good word for us, as you do

but teach us,

draw us in

there is no joy unless we pray

as we were called.

But even the Spirit

searching our hearts

summons up only groans.

Is this what we have planted? Cold bones and deepest groans?

I do not know.

The good news tells us

that “an enemy” is responsible

for all the parts we do not like.

As a weed of a person all my life

bringing the not-wanted, the unproductive, the uncomfortable

into the nicely plown fields of life

yes I am a weed but it wasn’t an enemy

Godde, you yourself planted me

spiky as I am.

Tying them into bundles

faggots

for burning like a witch

like a woman who does not fit in

who speaks her terrible mind

out loud

(all women are secretly witches

but some have forgotten).

Jesus spoke in parables

but that is witch-talk also,

weed-talk,

unproductive,

takes root like a mustard seed

and you’ll never be free of it.

“birds of the sky” ha ha

Google what a mustard plant looks like

it’s a weed,

it’s a tenacious, incredibly persistent weed.

But the kindom of Godde will surely not burn

however little we look after

this dear, blue globe of ours.

The kindom of heaven is like yeast

because people don’t go for long

without their minds coming back to food

(and I wish all bellies on the planet

were filled).

My sister, like Godde

takes flour and yeast and throws it all

into a machine

in the dead of night

loving to work

alone.

Baking happens in the darkness

like sowing weeds in the wheat

“an enemy indeed!” it was the wind,

it was the dark

it was the same birds from the mustard bush

yeast in the whole batch of dough

you can’t unmix it once it’s in there.

What do you think of that explanation though

very convenient for a controlling church

very simple, very narrow

no longer parabolic.

I mean no longer a parable

not a parabola (I think).

What shape is a parable?

Not ever the shape

of the status quo

the kindom of Godde is “great and mighty” like a mustard plant,

it is pure as yeast,

it is grains and weeds and we cannot unpick it

the kindom of Godde may be ecosystem, family, dance, festival,

rather than an ordered thing in lines

with hierarchies and progressions

rhizomes not roots

an organism can only grow

(say my old friends D and G)

if it deterritorializes itself

otherwise

a fixed crystal

it cannot reproduce.

But what can reproduce?

weeds and yeast and mustard

the kindom of Godde

and the forbidden wisdom of witches

I poured menstrual blood on the pine needles

and a mushroom grew

and I ate it with spinach leaves

and a glass of wine.

Matthew redacted on that explanation

of the parable

but really

the kindom of heaven is messy,

unsolvable,

living, growing, admixture

“masters” and “barns” came later.

No grain here perhaps

but we are back to our

good, Godde-given ground

for hope.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s