God and His Branch Manager

Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid … (Book of Common Prayer, Collect for Purity)

It is a cool gray morning outdoors. The weather folk suggest it may rain later. There is some yard work that needs doing; there are some leaves I missed last fall (they’re easy to miss when one makes every effort not to go looking for them), and there are a couple of bushes out front that aren’t very pleasing to the eye. 

In fact, I thought one had died last year when we had a killer deep freeze that dropped us into the single digits for about a week. The bush never showed signs of life throughout Spring and early summer, so I hacked it down with plans to dig it up. I got sidetracked for a couple of weeks and when I got around to digging it up, lo and behold, it began to show signs of life. That is, it leafed out and sent out fresh shoots, but my handiwork ensured it would never be the bush it once was. Sad, but true.

Now, I want to assure the reader that I do not judge plants by their beauty or ugliness (nor even by how they smell – are you reading this, Anise?). All plants give us oxygen, without which we would become Smurfs, but not all plants grow where we want them to. Sometimes they are a safety issue (such as when they reach out to snag pedestrians who spend more time looking at their phones than their surroundings). Since trees and bushes can’t jump out of the way of careless passers-by, we property owners have to do our part in either trimming them or transplanting them.

I will confess, too, by the way, that I am not much of a gardener. I don’t care to do yard work, so when it was suggested that today would be a good day to take care of those few outdoor matters, I found myself nodding in affirmation to the one with whom I share the home, while simultaneously rapping the side of my head and offering a silent prayer for rain, finishing my prayer with, “Knock wood.”

Now, that’s not the most reverent way to end a prayer, but it goes back to my growing up in an unchurched household, watching the Three Stooges (from which influence my brother and I would regularly refer to the other as either a blockhead or knucklehead), and either crossing fingers or knocking on our heads if we didn’t have any wood nearby from which to draw luck.

Knocking on wood has a pagan history, but for me, it has always been family history. So it comes naturally. Even in conversion and baptism, we don’t always lose who we once were – or at least I haven’t. Faith is woven into the fabric of our being, but it seems our superstitions aren’t done away with. They’re there, but their role is diminished.

I knock wood out of habit, but I do so knowing full well that’s not what gets the “job” done. The rain will neither draw near nor stay away based upon my predilection for banging on timber. Knuckling my skull, in lieu of rapping my desk, signals my heart’s desire, and God knows what that is. God knows.

I find great comfort in knowing that God knows the secrets of my heart, the weakness of my flesh, the condition of my soul. God knows I mean it when I call him “Almighty” while, seemingly also inviting a wood nymph to help me avoid doing a job I, deep down, don’t want to do.

Well, God knows, and I know that God knows, and reflecting on my relationship with the One I call “the Almighty,” I believe God knows that when I tap my head, that’s an Amen arising from my mother tongue, the language of my tribe, so to speak.

The yard needs work, and I’ve got the health, tools, and intellect to handle it. Once I get past my blubbering, the spirit of this branch manager is willing, too. It is for that reality I give thanks to Almighty God here in this, our valley. Amen!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)