July 21, 2002 - Ninth Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 28: 10-19a
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Matthew 13:24-30,36-43
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“The Gardener's Guide to Sacred Space”

Last week we examined the Gardener's Guide to Spiritual Growth and discovered that spiritual growth is a response to God's lavish sowing of the seed of relationship. We heard about seed sown on all different kinds of ground and with varying results. Today our attention is drawn to a prepared field, a space that should produce abundant crops, but is instead beset by weeds. It just seemed appropriate to continue the gardener theme, so today we look to the Gardener's Guide to Sacred Space. The little poem I’ve seen seems apt: "The touch of the rain for pardon/the kiss of the sun for mirth/One is closer to God in a garden/than anywhere else on earth."

The concept of the sacred, and of sacred space, is often very difficult for us to grasp. We talk about the sacred as something set-apart, unattainable, or untouchable, like a 'sacred cow' (a term that carries all sorts of negative or even snide implications). While the term sacred does denote something set apart or holy, we need to understand that its set-apartness comes from an encounter with the Other – with a capital 'O.' Rudolf Otto explored this concept in a classic book, The Idea of the Holy.

Otto discovered that the holy is part of the human experience, albeit an ineffable and non-rational one. He described the experience as mysterium tremendum et fascinans – a mystery at once overwhelming and yet fascinating. That notion of mystery, something hidden, puts us on our guard and alerts us because it is far outside our ordinary experience. I suppose it's disconcerting because an encounter of this type forces us to confront our creatureliness and to remember that we are not at the center of reality. So, frankly, an encounter with the Other frightens us. Yet, at the same time, it draws us and we feel compelled to approach the mysterious presence. Feelings of awe, terror, fear, wonder, joy, peace, mercy and blessedness combine and flood through us in the presence of this mysterious One. We want to run, but know we need to stay.

I think that's what Jacob must have felt on that long ago night as he slept under the stars. I'm sure that a case might be made that using a rock for a pillow might have induced a vision of angels going up and down a ladder, but there must be far more to it than that. Somehow Jacob opened himself to see the wonder of the Other and it moved him beyond all imagining. In an instant, the ordinary world around him was suffused with God's presence and it was as though everything has been rendered transparent. Beneath it all Jacob could see that it is God who holds everything in being and God's will is directed to our good. Is it any wonder, then, that he would say, "Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it"?

Jacob then set up a pillar, anointed – christened – it and named the place 'Bethel,' the house of God. He had an encounter with the Other and the place became sacred, set-apart. I would venture that all of us have sacred spaces. Some of them may even be church buildings. Sacred space could also be a spot by a lake, a quiet garden, or even a dormitory room. Wherever we have encountered the Other, felt the presence of God in a powerful way becomes sacred space for us. The mistake of Israel and of the Christian churches has been to delimit the boundaries of sacred space. I suppose it's simply a human trait to want to exercise control – even to control the uncontrollable One. Suffice it to say, however, that when we try to limit the confines of the sacred, we're setting ourselves up for problems. The moment we set those boundaries, this is sacred and this is not (the term 'profane' is most often used for the not-sacred, it literally means 'outside the temple'), we are also seeking to limit the One who creates everything and renders it holy by mere presence. Like so many of us, Jacob finally gets it, has the experience and sees the world with newly opened eyes, and then almost immediately misses the point again! What is the point? Simply this, that God desires to encounter us and invites us into relationship. God wants to be intimate with us.

God sows the seed of relationship, opens the way of encounter to us, so that we can be drawn closer to God and to one another. I'm sure that some scholars might disagree with me, but I think that this is point Jesus is trying to make in the parable of the weeds among the wheat. Sure, we can't get away from the point Matthew is trying to make about the problem of evil and the problem of less-than-perfect church members. The allegorical interpretation offered in those last verses is very graphic and very explicit. For that matter, it's also very singable, as we discovered in "Come, Ye Thankful People Come":  "Wheat and tares together sown, unto joy or sorrow grown . . ." However, we shouldn't get caught up in the imagery because we might miss the underlying message here that God's will is to relationship and that God is very patient. God's mercy never loses hope and the One who made both the weed and the wheat cannot only tell the difference, but can bring about miraculous changes by means of abundant grace.

For our part, we must not decide to put ourselves in the positions of the field workers and ask, "What do you want done about these weeds?" The temptation, and it's been around for centuries, is to be so concerned about the weeds in the Lord's garden that we lose sight of the Master Gardener's ultimate will. We've all been in situations where we've seen the good seed getting choked out by weeds. We see it in our church, in our work, and in our community. We see those weeds out there causing trouble through ill will, gossip, and selfish behaviors. We see them growing and choking out the potential for real growth and so we want to do the right thing: yank them right out. Ah, no greater satisfaction in the world, is there, than when you've pulled out a great bunch of weeds and cleaned up a garden! Why not clean up the larger garden of church or community in like manner?

Our Congregational forebears confronted this desire in a powerful way. They desired nothing less than a truly pure church – hence the epithet 'Puritan.' One of the ways they sought a pure church was to make sure that it was made up of nothing but saints, that is those who could identify and articulate a conversion experience to the satisfaction of the gathered community. This was not the original experience of those who sought to live in covenant relationship and, over the years, we've moved away from those demands. It should be enough, it is thought, that one can confess the Lordship of Christ, say, "I am a follower of Jesus," and own the covenant. Making the membership requirements more restrictive or trying to weed out those who don't fit just doesn't seem to be the way for followers of the God who is faithful to covenant relationship and who constantly seeks to know and to love us.

Let me tell you a little story. As many of you know, I began my spiritual journey and ministry in a monastery. It was the beginning of my novitiate; I had been in community a little over a week when I was told to go help Brother X in the garden out in front of the Archabbey church. Full of the zeal, and naivete, of the novice I went off to find God in the garden. Brother X was a kindly sort and told me to go and weed the big flowerbeds. I asked how I would know the difference and all he did was laugh and tell me that I would know. Well, I didn't know and ended up pulling out half of the bedding plants. Thereafter I was sent to the printery, because it was more difficult to damage type. Now, the point of this little personal parable is that I've learned that God must do the real tending of the sacred space. It's simply not our task to distinguish weeds from wheat – that is God's job and the appropriate weeders will come when everything is just right – and not before. It's our task to do our best to keep the wheat growing and leave the weeds to God.

So, we are not told to be inactive, but rather we're directed in a different way. Instead of looking to pluck the weeds all around us, we're invited to look inward. Like Jacob, we're to open our eyes to the wonder that "truly God is in this place" – that is, God is in us. To tend the sacred space of the human heart we need to rid ourselves of the weeds that obscure our view of God's presence and hinder our own ability to grow. So we're to pull out selfish and self-serving behaviors and get to the roots of greed, of gossip, and anything that might be less than loving in our own lives. Once we have done a thorough job of weeding the gardens of our lives, we'll discover that the neighbor's garden doesn't look half so bad as we originally thought.

Lest you leave today thinking that our Puritan forebears missed the point, they did understand that all of life was God's. One of the great gifts they have left us is the notion that the sacred could be and was encountered in the ordinary, at home or at work as much as when gathered for worship. This insight is now being rediscovered by students of spirituality who are finding the Puritans a rich source for the spiritual life. Nathaniel Mather said that God's grace will "spiritualize every action;" even the simplest actions.