Church Leaders and Pruning Vines

The other weekend, I discovered that while I had been out of town, my tomato vines had gotten completely out of control. Instead of neat and tidy plants producing lots of delicious fruit, they had turned into raging green monsters that were producing more and more out-of-control raging green vines.

I picked up my pruning shears and went to town. Before I was done, I had hauled away two large garbage cans full of unfruitful (or barely fruitful) vines. I reflected on a couple of things.

First, I realized that by not pruning the tomatoes gently and regularly, now I had to prune them fairly harshly, and the result showed: instead of a well-balanced fruitful plant, when I was done, I had plants with great gaps in their branches, but at least they had the potential for growing some fruit now.

Second, I remembered our Lord's promise: “Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit.” John 15:2. The promise of his care for me (more consistent than my care for my tomatoes, I assume) in order that I might bear fruit.

Then this week, I saw that while I had been tending my tomatoes and weeding my garden and harvesting my garlic, my grapevine had gotten completely out of control as well. Another raging green monster, oh boy.

I picked up my pruning shears (and a stepladder this time) and went to work. And I thought about the lessons of pruning the tomatoes, and realized that those lessons applied here, too.

But I learned another lesson with the grapes. Unlike with the tomatoes, I really didn't know what I was doing with pruning the grapes. This was beyond my training, beyond my experience, and I knew it. Furthermore, I realized that while I was doing the best I knew how to do, the reality was that the pruning was harsh and probably excessive. And I knew it was my fault, but the grapevine paid the price for my ignorance.

It was at that point that I heard Father whisper, “You’ve just described a very large number of pastors, Son.” I can tell you I paused to think about that one for a good while.

And as I considered it, I realized that pastors are a lot like gardeners: their values are for the nurture and development of the garden entrusted to them. But occasionally, someone in their care gets excited and starts growing out of control. In my own history, I remember a staid little Presbyterian congregation with a dozen individuals stepping out of the pastor’s influence to participate in the Jesus People Movement.

We discovered intimate relationship with Jesus; we discovered the Holy Spirit; we discovered that the Bible really is interesting and practical. We got terribly excited.

And the pastors didn’t know what to do with this revival. This was beyond their training, beyond their experience, and they knew it. And as a result, their responses to our untidy, out-of-control enthusiasm was harsh and probably excessive.

And Father pointed out to me that they actually realized their limitations, they regretted the damage they were doing, but they had to do something! We really were turning into out-of-control, raging monsters (the fact that we were teenagers didn’t help matters any).

But suddenly I was more sympathetic for those pastors, and for pastors today that are dealing with congregants who get excited and start growing much faster, maybe even irresponsibly.

Some of them are panicking, dealing with situations beyond the training of their seminary or Bible school. They feel (whether rightly or wrongly) that they need to bring that raging, out-of-control enthusiasm under control, and they respond more harshly, more damagingly than they would if they had more experience (or better training).

Some of the church leaders you and I have encountered (and it’s not all pastors, is it?) have been threatened by our excitement, our enthusiasm, our vigorous change. That doesn’t mean we quit growing, of course. And it doesn't mean we get angry, take our ball and go away, either.

Some of these leaders will never understand. Some will, like the leaders of Jesus' time, declare, “If we let Him alone like this, everyone will believe in Him, and the Romans will come and take away both our place and nation.” [John 11:48] Some will wish they could throw it all away and join us.

But a whole lot of leaders will be open to learning more, even if we scare them, even if it’s difficult. I’m encouraged to work on building bridges, so the whole Body can grow.

Fall Harvest begins in Spring

Last fall, I had a revelation about my garden, and it’s impacting how I prepare for this spring’s planting.

I was wandering through my garden last fall, cleaning out some of the plants that had finished: the tomatoes were winding down, the broccoli, cauliflower & cabbages were composting, the first crop of lettuce has gone and the second crop is winding down. The zucchini (there’s always too much zucchini) was feeding the chickens.

And I was inspecting the peppers and winter squashes and such that were still working on completing the produce that they’re working on. They were ripening nicely, getting ready for their own harvest shortly.

But there’s something of a problem, and this requires a bit of confession, and something of a backstory.

In the spring, I plant starts into my garden, but nearly all of the young plant starts come from my own greenhouse. In fact, I plant the pepper seeds around Christmas every year, and I plant the tomatoes and squashes later in the winter. I label them and nurture them as the seedlings grow into strong plants so they’re ready for a running start in my garden when the weather warms up enough for them.

End of backstory.

As I was wandering through my garden last fall, inspecting the results of my spring starts, and that’s where I discovered a couple of problems. I'm trying to learn from that lesson this spring.

One of the problems was pretty evident, and had been for a while: I hadn’t labeled the starts all that well. (And actually, the seed company that provided me with seeds also failed in this.)

I had a number of pepper plants that were labeled “bell peppers” that were producing a variety of other kinds of strange peppers. (That one is at least partly on the seed packager.) And I had a large number of tomato plants labeled as slicing tomatoes (my favorites are Brandywine and Cherokee Purple) that were producing thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of cherry tomatoes.

The other problem is where the real confession happens. We put pepper and tomato and squash plants out into the garden in May (we're getting close to planting season now!), but I'd been tending these little plants for many months, sometimes five or six months! These were my babies!

Here’s a secret I learned: some varieties of peppers apparently germinate at a higher rate than others. So I had a modest number of the bell peppers, particularly the baby-bell peppers that I value more highly (and many of those, thanks to mislabeling, weren’t actually bell peppers, but I’ve already groused about that one). Ghost peppers were particularly difficult to germinate (I use dried super-hot peppers as a pesticide: it keeps the squirrels off the bird-feeders pretty well!).

It turned out that fairly hot varieties, Lemon Drop peppers, Scotch Bonnet peppers and especially Sugar Rush peppers germinate really well. They also survive the first several weeks in a greenhouse at a better rate than baby bell peppers or ghost peppers.

So when it came to be time to transplant young peppers into the garden in the spring, I had a few bell pepper plants (far fewer than I thought I did, thanks to mislabeling), fewer baby bell plants, and only one ghost pepper plant (that turned out to be something else entirely). But I had dozens and dozens of the varieties that I only wanted one or two plants.

I had the same problem with tomato starts and squash starts: too many starts, and not the starts I really wanted.

But they were my babies. I’d already given away as many as I could find homes for. I couldn’t just toss my babies, whom I’d been caring for for so long into the compost. They’re like my children.

So I planted them in my garden, of course.

That was last spring. In the fall, I saw the error of my ways. It turns out that those fairly hot varieties (that I only wanted one or two plants of) are incredibly prolific. So I have dozens of huge plants bearing hundreds of fruits I’m not all that interested in that are crowding out the fewer (and smaller) plants whose fruit I really value.

And I realized that my choices to be “merciful” to those plants last spring had doomed my pepper harvest (and my tomato harvest, and my winter squash harvest).

And as I grumbled to myself, I heard Father clear his throat. “Ahem…..”

And suddenly I realized this is a life lesson. 

Somebody – and it wasn’t a gardener – once said, “Don’t plant seeds that you don’t want to harvest,” and a famous guy once said. “If you don’t like your harvest, change the seeds you’re planting.”

I need to change the seeds I’ve been planting.

But I can’t do that. Not now, anyway. That’s a change I need to make before I start planting my starts in the dead of winter. That’s a change I need to make when I’m getting ready to plant seeds in the dead of winter.

Fortunately, with the wrong peppers and wrong tomatoes and wrong squashes bearing fruit in my garden, that’s not a complete disaster. I can harvest them when they’re ripe and feed them to the chickens (chickens eat all sorts of things!) and then the chickens will give me good eggs all this year and great compost next spring.

But choices in my life, that’s a bigger issue. I’m still limping through the harvest of poor choices in previous seasons. I can’t change those choices back then, but I can learn the lessons and make better choices today and through this transition season that’s upon us.

If I don’t like my harvest, I need to change the seeds I’m planting.

Maintaining the Garden

I had an interesting train of thought this morning in the … er… Library.

I have some plants and some starts that will go into the garden when the weather stabilizes (around here, that’s traditionally Mother’s Day). I had already brought many of those out of the greenhouse into what may actually be sunshine at some point in the day; it’s a good idea (in my view) to get plants ready for their new environment before I plant them there permanently.

I’m really looking forward to the growing season. I’ve got a fair number of plants ready to go, the garden beds are ready to go. The soil has been turned and amended with fresh compost. The weeds are gone (except for one: I want to know what it will turn into), and I know where each plant will be going. I have a few seeds in the ground (mostly salad things), and I know where more will be going.

And Father ambushed me on that topic. “You keep your garden up-to-date, don’t you?” and he reminded me how I try to keep it weed free all year, how I add plants and fertilize plants and how I water it regularly.

“Yeah, I do. It is a better garden if I take care of it.” I’ve had gardens in the past that I haven’t taken care of very well. They had been overtaken by weeds and grass and their produce was small and scarce.

Then he shifted gears on me; he reminded me of the investment I make in my marriage. “A good marriage takes the same kind of work that a good garden does, doesn’t it?” He reminded me that a marriage needs fertilizer and needs weeds removed just as much as a garden does.

I am (we are) pretty intentional about keeping the relationship healthy. We talk things out, we regularly express our love with words and touches and time together and such. We have maintained a delightful discipline of taking date nights, just for our relationship, every week (or more often) for more than 30 years.  

I reflected on the different joys that my marriage and my garden bring me.

“A relationship with me takes similar investment, you know. And it will bring you similar joy.”

He’s right, you know. (I say that kind of a lot. I’m not going to change that. He is. :) ) A relationship with another person – a marriage relationship, a friendship, a family relationship, a relationship with my creator – takes maintenance. Since we’d started with the metaphor of the garden, I’ll stick with it: it takes adding things (seeds, young plants, fertilizer, water) and taking things away (weeds, birds who want to dig up the seeds and eat the young fruits, cats who are thankful for a clean sandbox) to make the relationship thrive.

I think I’ll be meditating on this for a bit. How can I best invest into my relations with God and with the people around me?