TENDING THE VILLAGE GARDEN
Mother’s Day 5/11/08 Summit UU Fellowship
Rev. Kathleen A. Green
Imagine with me a glorious flower garden that winds its way, street by street, through the entire village. The garden is filled with gorgeous flowers popping up along the stony path and at every turn there is a glimpse of color. Along the garden fence there are signs of life stretching and reaching for the sky. Observe the splendor of this magical garden where flowers bloom all year round, no matter the season. I invite you to take inventory of the sensational sights and smells.
The tulips are the one of the early bloomers, with their friends the crocus and daffodil. Tulips can’t wait to stand proudly on their sturdy stems. They have a theatrical flair with their vivid colors and graceful leaves. The old fashioned Tiger Lilies are like a good friend - you can always count on them to show up with their beautiful wide curving petals sprinkled with black dots. And, of course, there are the roses; considered one of the most beautiful and fragrant in the garden, yet their thorns may be dangerous, and pruning is a must.
The village garden is filled with ramblers and climbers, delicate and hardy, miniature and colossal, hybrids and classics. As diverse as the flowers are in color, shape, and fragrance, there is one thing all the flowers have in common – a need to be tended. The flowers need sunlight and they need to be watered, and pruned, and fertilized, and even encouraged. It’s as if those flowers want to change the world with their beauty and strength, daring sense of adventure, and dreams for the future. Those flowers are our children. The young people who live in our village; life stretching and reaching for the sky.
I remember leading a worship service several years ago when I asked for a show of hands from those in the congregation who felt they were in some way ‘responsible’ for children. There were several hands raised, by the usual suspects: teachers, day care providers, scout leaders, parents. I shared the idea that everyone should raise their hands, as we are all responsible for tending the village garden. Parents prepare the soil and plant the seeds, but then there is the need for warmth, water and nourishment, pruning and encouragement. Whether we are grandparents, neighbors, coaches, fellow congregants, fellow shoppers at the mall, or even a recluse, we all impact the garden. Without saying a word, our very presence has the potential, positively or negatively, to affect the children.
Make no mistake about it, children are religious, spiritual beings. Children are deeply religious beings on every level. Children consider and question the profound issues of life. Our own Coming of Age class – 12, 13, and 14 year olds, have been spending time thinking about and creating their own individual faith statements. How many of us have done that? They will be standing in front of you, their Beloved Community, on June 1st, sharing their faith statements. How many of us would be willing to do such a thing? And how many of us realize how this community has played, and continues to play a part in those young people’s lives?
When you ask adults what they remember of their own childhood experiences in church or temple it is rarely the content of particular lessons that is mentioned. Sometimes there are specific rituals or especially sacred occasions that are remembered. But almost always it is particular people that are remembered – ministers, Sunday school teachers, choir directors, other adults with whom they interacted in some way. One-on-one human connections occurring in religious community.
The first minister that I can remember in my life was Brother Charles, from Vassar Road Baptist Church in New York. I was six years old and, truth be told, I had quite a crush on Brother Charles. I knew in my heart that he cared about the members of that congregation, and about me. He didn’t do anything extraordinary. He simply smiled at me and showed interest both tenderly and with a deep respect. His very presence impacted me. One of my favorite hymns at that time was based on cornerstone Christian scripture that said, “Whosoever believeth in him,…”. I loved belting out the song, “Whosoever Surely Meaneth Me”, on Sunday mornings. The problem was that I thought I heard the grownups singing something else, so I belted out “Whosoever Surely Beaneth Me”. Here I was, singing my little six-year-old heart out to one of the most important hymns in that church, and yet singing the wrong message! My parents were mortified, but Brother Charles didn’t seem to mind one bit.
For some children, beyond the family, the religious community may feel like the only safe and appropriate place for personal concerns and significant life passages to be shared. One of Meadville-Lombard Theological School’s professors, Rev. David Bumbaugh, wrote in a sermon that how as a minister he listened to the voices of children and “was constantly reminded that one of the duties of the church and its ministers is to speak for the children and for the future they represent, lest they and the future be destroyed in our grasping for the main chance, in our scrambling for immediate gratification.”
Just three years ago I took part I my first organized protest. I guess I could be called a “late bloomer”! I was joining with others in support of the village garden, just outside a McDonald’s restaurant on Chicago’s south side. A situation was created when a young high school girl refused to give up her seat in a section of the fast food restaurant that had been declared by the management as “off limits” to her and her colleagues. The assigned student section was elsewhere with too few seats to even accommodate the lunching students. She had paid for her lunch that day just like all the other days she patronized the establishment. But when the section she was supposed to sit in was full that day, she made the decision to sit where there were plenty of empty seats, where she desired, just like any other paying customer. The 15-year-old was handcuffed and removed from the McDonald’s for refusing to give up her seat. A protest was then planned and I made the decision to participate.
When my seminary friends and I returned from the protest I sheepishly admitted that I had gotten choked up while standing on the side of the busy street chanting “Support Our Youth”. I have to admit that I had a hard time at first, accepting the fact that I got so emotional standing under the golden arches. “It’s just McDonald’s. This is just about high school students”, I told myself. Someone else suggested that my being choked up was probably the result of this being my first protest. No, that wasn’t it. Another friend suggested that my being choked up was because of the injustice that precipitated the protest. No. That wasn’t it either. I finally realized that I had tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat because I was standing in protest with an interracial, interfaith, intergenerational crowd who knew with all of their minds, bodies, and spirits that tending the garden is everyone’s responsibility. I saw, and heard, and felt, in those moments of protest, not despair but hope.
If we view some of those garden flowers as nothing more than annoying weeds, or as insignificant, and not worth the effort; leaving them to their own tending, many will wither and die before their time, or run wild; aimlessly searching for… what they won’t even know. Part of tending is the painstaking work of training, living by example, pruning the garden. It’s a difficult job; leaving no room for neglect or complacency. Pruning requires speaking the truth in love. Saying both “that behavior is not acceptable” and “I believe in you and I’m willing to do my part to mark your way”. Whether we are actively involved with children on a daily basis or not, we all impact the garden.
Author and psychologist, Mary Pipher, relays a childhood memory that has impacted her life. “As a child I stole lilacs from Mrs. Williams. She must have been watching form the window because immediately after I picked them, she was by my side in her robe and slippers. She made me return the flowers and said that I should be ashamed of myself. Then she waddled off to call my mother at work and tell her about my crime. That’s the point really – she knew my name and how to find my parents. When I arrived home, my parents lectured me and made me write a letter of apology. To this day I think Mrs. Williams was crabby and overreacted, but I have never stolen anything, not even a lilac, since our encounter.”
Our country has moved from small, isolated communities to one big company town. Wal-marts have replaced the small stores and Pizza Hut and Taco Bell have replaced the city cafes. We are united by our media and by what we consume. But money-driven corporate culture does not support the village. Villages – communities – this religious community can teach good behavior, compassion, and values. They can give families a sense of history, of place, and they offer them a complex weave of people from whom to learn how to be more fully human.
We are all a part of the village that provides children with good stories, with cautionary tales and moral fables. Since the beginning of time, humans have shared their lives with those around them. We have watched out for each other. While the world has changed and many of us, and many of our children, feel alone and unconnected to groups, we have not changed. We still want a safe, stimulating world for ourselves and our children.
You don’t have to be biological or adoptive parent to ‘mother’ or ‘father’. You don’t have to have planted the garden seeds to help in tending the flowers that blossom there. We were all children once. We were all flowers in the garden, if you will. Which garden flower were you? Were you a bold and proud tulip? A dependable tiger lily? Or were you a shy and delicate violet? As flowers in the village garden some of us were blessed with gardeners who mothered us with tender care and fathered us with words of wisdom. Others were not so blessed. Others were left untended or undernourished. It might not have been until we left the garden, as a young adult, that we experienced the care and wisdom that has in some way encouraged or inspired us.
Today is a day that many are celebrating with their mothers. Today is a day that many are remembering their grandmothers and mentors, sisters, friends, and those women who have influenced their lives. As others have tended the garden before us, as others have prayed us over and marked our way, we have an opportunity to show our gratitude by taking up our tending responsibilities.
Somebody has prayed me over. Somebody has marked my way.
Protecting me. Seeing for me. Hoping for me. Giving me strength to dare to be, dream to be All that I have to be. Guiding me, inspiring me.
“Somebody Has Prayed Me Over” is a song by the acapella gospel group, Sweet Honey in the Rock. It’s a beautiful tribute to those ancestors – family and friends - who have marked the way for future generations – the parent, grandparent, neighbor, or local congregation members who held us in their hearts or in their prayers when we were but flowers in their village garden. They were tending the garden by guiding, inspiring, pushing, pulling, hoping, and helping. The community has marked our way as we would now mark the way for the next generation.
Whether you are a Christian or atheist, pagan or Buddhist, Republican or Democrat, young or old, single or partnered, straight or gay, rich or poor, hold 4 degrees or none, you and I and all of us impact the garden. We all affect the children. Some days I know I have the back-breaking task of pruning the garden. Some days I’m on watch in the garden, like a guardian scarecrow; protecting and sheltering. And other times I am simply leaning over the garden fence and encouraging those flowers to keep stretching, keep reaching for the sky. And they constantly remind me , “I am your hope. I am your chance. I am your child”.
Who are you praying over? Whose way are you marking? The garden is waiting. Waiting for each and every one of us to don our gardening gloves and get busy!
Blessed be the village garden and blessed are those who tend it.
BENEDICTION:
Let us go forth as blessed gardeners:
Nourishing, pruning, protecting, guiding and inspiring
Ourselves, our children, our world.
