Of lawns and edges.
I’ve just been out to admire my handiwork. The lawns are all neatly mown and the edges crisply trimmed. It’s a great look and a smug feeling. I feel virtuous and maybe even a little proud, for to do both of these jobs properly takes me about 2 hours.
Of course, there is a line of logic that asks “Why do I bother?” The lawns are only going to grow again and the edges will invariably become unruly and disobedient.
It’s the same logic that folk throw at those who come to worship and use the sacrament of reconciliation. ‘You know you're only going to muck up again, so why are you even bothering? It’s hypocritical to say one thing and then go out and do the opposite.’
Part of the whole Sunday gig is owning up to the past and resolving to try to do better. I know of no one who warms the pews on Sunday who claims to be perfect. Yet all have fronted up to acknowledge their ick and refreshed their verve to raise the bar. Not to turn up, face up and admit the junk would be worse.
And just for a little while, maybe only for a very quick time, we are shiny once again. We are manicured and trimmed according to how the Master wants us to be. Not the way we would like to be. Often there's a big difference. We do this right thing because it's the right thing.
So I will continue to trim and mow, not just for the good sense of self-satisfaction, but because it is the right thing. And just for a while my little patch is enhanced by my energy and not disfigured by my sloth.