I found myself on my hands and knees in the backyard this afternoon after noticing, through the loving reminders from my wife, that the yard had begun to be overrun with weeds and thorns. I’m not a fan of yard work and it didn’t help that I decided to cease any such work a few weeks early before the beginning of winter last year. On top of this, my family lives in a city that has seen better days. Scattered throughout the downtown area are houses abandoned either due to unpaid debts or drug and alcohol abuse. One such house is right next door to us, and our backyards are only separated by a small fence. This doesn’t help our weed and thorn situation.
As I was walking throughout the yard scanning for trash, broken bottles, and needles (as is my habit after a winter season in an opioid ravaged area), I noticed that I couldn’t call this a yard anymore. It seemed to me that any remaining grass had been dwarfed by the weeds and thorny plants that have crept in from that other yard. It couldn’t be my fault! Of course, it was my fault. My lack of effort to prepare the yard for the winter season meant I’d inherit a plot of land in need of extra attention come spring time. Now, I’m reaping what I sowed.
After about an hour or so, I began to find myself crawling about through the yard yanking and pulling up weeds, chopping down some overgrown brush along the fence line, and picking up the trash of those weary travelers who loiter in the alley behind my property. As my hands combed through the soil, I couldn’t help but think of our father Adam formed from the dust of the ground. I thought of the original garden free from thorn and thistle, from sin and death. I thought of Adam’s job to have dominion over the earth and subdue it, and of our Lord Jesus who had come to complete what the first Adam could not. It is no accident that our Lord was mistaken for a gardener after His resurrection (John 20:15).
Adam wasn’t formed by dust alone, but by the mist that covered the ground and the Spirit breathed into his nostrils. Adam was formed by fertile ground. Like a tree planted by streams of water, Adam was formed from the fertile and watered soil of God’s pristine creation. This land had not yet sprouted thorns or weeds. Ironically, the very good creation of Man ended up becoming the one by whom sin and death entered into the world.
“Cursed is the ground because of you… thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you.” (Gen. 3:7b, 8a ESV)
I remember seeing a photo, which I can’t seem to find now, of a Catholic priest lifting a boulder with the quote, “So many rocks, just like my sins,” below it. I felt that way, though not nearly as strong, as I was on my knees pulling weeds out of my yard. “So many weeds, just like my sins.” The garden that is my life is often filled with weeds in need of plucking and brush for burning. After all, if we say we have no sin in us, we deceive ourselves.
But plucking weeds and thorn-covered plants isn’t easy or painless work. If your hands aren’t used to the job, you get blisters; your non-calloused hands can’t handle the rough plants and sharp thorns. In a similar fashion, if we have no routine of pulling up the roots of sin in our own lives, when we eventually get around to it our hands are no match for the strength and roughness of the plant, and it hurts far greater than it would if we had just dealt with the sapling rather than the tree.
Though gardens (or yards) are not meant to be neglected, they also shouldn’t be closed off to those around you. The real tragedy of my yard full of thorns and weeds is not that it looks bad or that I may get bad looks from neighbors. The real tragedy is that it can’t be shared with others. Our Lord Jesus often used the imagery of wheat and tares. The tares were to be plucked up and burned while the wheat was to be reaped and gather into barns. This imagery was to give us a picture of the righteous and unrighteous, but who is that wheat for? The seeds sown by the Son of Man in Matthew 13 are the sons of the kingdom (Christians) and the field is the world, but seeds grow into wheat and wheat into bread. And that bread is for whom? Just as Jesus gave His life for the world, those who are united to Him must give up their lives for others. Ultimately, our lives, our gardens, are not our own.
Those weeds may not be choking a row of wheat in my backyard, but they are most certainly stifling the giggles and imagination of my children. They are silencing the wonderful conversations with friends and family that could be shared around a grill or fire pit during long summer evenings. True gardening is harsh and laborious work. True gardening is getting on your hands and knees in order to sow blood, sweat, and tears for the life of others around you. Following the True Gardener, we too must do the hard work of dying to ourselves for the joy of everyone else.
So, as I pull on these weeds and fight these thorns, I’m reminded that this garden reflects what my life often can and does look like. A life that is inhospitable to others, full of touchy subjects and overgrown sins. Instead of letting that sin grow, it is my responsibility to uproot it. My hands may bleed and my knees may get sore, but that work is for a far more important purpose than just a clean yard; it’s for the joy of others. And though killing sin humbles me and pains me, it must be done. For our Lord Jesus took upon His head the thorny crown of sin for the joy of the world. If He did that for us, what’s a little gardening for others?
