Battling the Inner Nazi

Note to self:  It doesn't all have to look the same.

Truthfully, it is a little embarrassing.  Throughout the generalities of my adulthood and the particularities of my ministry I have fought against the cultural curse of homogeneity -- the bigotries that lead otherwise decent people to marginalize, demonize and even fear those who don't look, pray, talk or parse gender identity the same way they do.  It is just such  xenophobia that underlies some of the bleakest chapters in our human history, from the many examples of slavery, to the Inquisition and the Holocaust, and to the far less visible but no less shameful treatment of farm laborers.  Some would argue that most of these examples are more economic than social.  Money undoubtedly plays a role, but I would counter that we simply could not treat these victims with such brutal and dismissive disregard if we truly viewed them as equally human.  Our pattern with each other is coldly clear:  those we despise we either subjugate or annihilate. And mostly, if history bears witness, what we despise is anyone we perceive to be "different."

In farming, the rationale is different, but the result is the same.  More and more we homogenize.  And this, too, betrays an irony that embarrasses me.  For some time I have saluted the red flags raised by those journalists and agronomists concerned about the vast mono-crops that have become modern agriculture -- whole fields of nothing but broccoli; entire counties of corn; oceans of tomatoes; vast landscapes of sameness.  These mono-cultures cater to simplicity rather than nutrition; mechanization and portability rather than flavor.  And because of intrinsic vulnerabilities to particular pests and diseases, they are built upon a steady diet of pesticides and herbicides and genetic modification.  The best environment for healthy and happy vegetables (and the people who consume them) is a poly-culture of multiple varieties, growing in close proximity, nourishing and protecting each other.

I know these things; believe these things; teach these things at every opportunity.  Mono-cultures -- within the garden or the community -- are dangerous and sadly impoverished.  Poly-cultures -- many different types, growing and thriving side by side -- are more interesting, more nourishing, and ultimately more secure.

Why is it, then, that in my garden I have sought such pristine perfection in the pathways between my garden trenches?  Why is it that I have so maniacally worked to eradicate the clovers and the Queen Anne's Lace and the myriad other growing things that diversify the spaces outside the growing areas?  How is it that I came to wield such antagonistic force as to break two weeding tools in pursuit of my self-defined purity?  Who knew that I had such a virulent inner Nazi determined to propagate a perfect race of turf at the expense of anything that didn't fit into my horticultural stereotype? 

It could, I suppose, be construed that with this sermon I am simply admitting defeat -- implicitly acknowledging that the "weeds" have gotten the best of me; that I will never succeed in their eradication, and that I am providing myself with a convenient philosophical  -- yea, verily, MORAL -- rationale to cover my retreat. 

But I don't think so.  What I believe is that our corruptions and misunderstandings are deeper and subtler than we like to admit.  In the face of such intransigence, truth comes to us along its own path, in its own time -- like water finding cracks and seeping inside.  And the truth is that it doesn't all have to look the same.  Truth, and its intimate companion, "wisdom."  Some things can be taught; others, like seeds, must moisten and finally crack open to allow the fragile tendrils of growth to root themselves into healthier, more expansive soils. 

I am embarrassed by the time it took for this particular seed to break open in me, and all the gardening energies misspent in a pointless pursuit.  The vegetables, patiently forgiving of such squandered time, will nevertheless be thrilled with my new attentions.