Dangerous Weed

As well as I can remember, my parents never spoke a word regarding Jesus’ day in the church after that Sunday. My mother’s gentle weeping served as the final commentary on the happening. The fact that it went unmentioned did not diminish its impact on our lives. My parents feared that day because they thought it proved that my brother was God. In the confines of Jesus’ small body they now saw a savior shouldering a burden that they would not wish upon an enemy.

I did not understand their fright because I could not foresee the same future. I was eight and to my eight-year old mind tomorrow was intact. In my mind visions of dread were fleeting like last winters snow, forgotten once summer arrived. I did not see pain, sickness or death in the future. Instead I found a lucid promise in my brother’s actions. If for no other reason then that he was my brother, a regular person just like me and that is what made Jesus’ words all the more meaningful.

I lived in a world where it was easy to speak of great social values but quite difficult to actually live ones life in accordance to them. My parents, my little brother Jesus and the N.T. Jesus taught me that a person could live their beliefs and in doing so discover a spiritual reward when material ones eluded them.

The Jesus in the N.T. not only enlightened us with his words but even more so with his actions. Jesus N.T. lived the word. Jesus N.T. lived peace and he lived sacrifice. Jesus understood that individuals were defined by their deeds, not quotable remarks. Not unlike the Jesus from the New Testament, my father and brother also existed in a way inseparable from their love of man. I thought that if they sponsored peace in this world then I also could.

My father planted a broad leaf, ivy plant in our front yard when I was four. He used its ornamental foliage to conceal a short, ugly, concrete planter that he had poured earlier in the week. God was great with wood but bad with rock. That was why a forest in Oregon was so much more pleasing than a mesa in Arizona.

I sat with Dad as he picked up the first of three thin, green stalks. The stalk was little more than a leaf on a string and I figured it would be dead by the weeks end. God pointed to the plant and said to me, “Mary, this little plant is beautiful in its simplicity. It begins small but given time and the proper nurturing it will soon spread to cover all of the stone and hard ground. It is plain; but it is in this attribute that it finds its power.”

God held up the stem of the ivy plant in his hand, admiring his craft. He ran a finger up the stalk and over the leaf. “Do you know what the quality is that I put into this plant that I most admire?” he asked.

I studied its thin stem and wide, rounded leaf. The sun shone bright that morning and the green pigment of the plant appeared almost to phosphoresce like a soul. “The broad, green leaf that scoops up the rain?” I answered.

“That is a fine physical trait, but what I admire most is this plant’s patience,” God replied.

Puzzled, I just looked at him. He held my stare with a playful smile.

“Patience,” he repeated. “This little plant will steadily creep across the yard, Jellybean. In time it will cover all of this ugly concrete. But if you came out each day you would never see it move an inch. This plant is strong, curious, persistent and most importantly, patient. Given enough time, this plant can even pierce stone. It sees where it wants to be, but does not care how long it takes to get there. The ivy plant enjoys the journey.”

“Jesus N.T.’s message is not unlike this plant,” my father continued to preach. “Jesus N.T.’s message shone stealthy with simple brilliance: be kind to your fellow man and you will be rewarded. His message is strong and patient. It speaks of sacrifice and while it offers reward, it is not an immediate reward. Jesus never tried to force his religion upon others. He wanted them to come to it naturally and he didn’t care if it took someone their entire life to find him. He would wait patiently and love a follower who came to him at the end of a long life as much as those who were born into his religion.”

God packed the dirt around the first stem and moved to a new spot and began to dig. “Can you hand me some of that potting soil?” he pointed to two bags that lay up against the wall of our home.

God put some of the black soil in the hole and placed in a second stalk. “Be kind and you will be rewarded,” he repeated. “The problem with Jesus’ message is that people concentrated on the reward when the heart of the message lay in the action: be kind.”

My father taught me that most people misconstrued Christ’s reward as a Heaven after death. “They see the place at the end of the tunnel and it radiated the white light of contentment. I know this was not what my son meant: a place in the distance, an afterlife. The salvation Christ offered was here on Earth. One day man will understand this.”

I asked Dad what quality in the plant he most hated. He hung his head and let out a sigh. “Jellybean you are wise. If I had a favorite quality surely there would have to be a least favorite. Nothing is ever all good, or all bad for that matter. Hate is probably too strong of a word; I prefer dislike. The quality, well this little plant has a nasty case of greed. It will take over this entire yard if we let it. It doesn’t allow other plants their space.”

Over time I found myself fascinated by the little plant. I watched it slowly creep to consume most of our yard. It even sent sentries up the north side of the house. The ivy was composed of curious stalks and thick, vibrant, green leaves. It carried reclusive, diminutive flowers on the undersides of its vines that would rather spend their time sitting tucked away in the den reading a Tom Robbins novel than smiling up at the sun. These flowers were confident of their splendor whether or not they were seen.

Just as my father’s ivy plant began as a few, simple, thin stalks before it quietly spread to cover our house, the N.T. Jesus’ message traveled throughout the world. Christ’s message found its origin in an isolated Mediterranean town and after taking root grew to cover the Earth. While the message spread, men altered its beauty. They turned the waxy, green stems into harsh, painful whips. The lush umbrella leaves shriveled and drooped under the weight of guilt and the petite flowers molted only to leave behind thorns. Now, the plant barely resembles the one that broke through the dirt two thousand years ago. The beautiful, thick leaves had been transformed into a greedy, dangerous weed. In some, however, the message still remains: simple and pure.

My father taught me that all people were deserving of salvation; it was God’s plan that we live in harmony. He said that Religious Leaders failed to impart the possibility of this reality on Earth. Instead, their focus lay in the afterlife. It all came back to speeding to get somewhere, seeking the destination rather than enjoying the ride. By concentrating on Heaven, people waste the gift of life on Earth.

The bulk of the problem fell to the feeling of inadequacy or being incapable that was driven deep into people’s hearts by the preachers who pound the pulpit and a harsh life that just had that capability. Followers were taught that Jesus N.T. could be humble, thoughtful, and self-sacrificing because he was God. He was above man. My father taught me the opposite: that Jesus was thoughtful, humble and self-sacrificing because he was man.

The Priest will have you believe that Jesus and God love you despite your mortal failings. What if a conversion could occur in our thoughts of Jesus N.T.? What if we can learn to accept that Jesus N.T. was not the Son of God? What if my father was not God and my brother Jesus just another boy? If Jesus N.T. was really just human and if what he did was not so extraordinary, then maybe the acts of Jesus N.T. could be very common and occur regularly in the world today.

My father and brother taught me that I was loved because of my mortal perfection and I decided to share this idea with the other kids at school. I could find no better time than Show and Tell?