A MODERN PARABLE

 A PARABLE OF GRACE

Jesus was walking about incognito one day and happened to stop by a local coffee shop that was famous for turning water into expensive drinks. Jesus had no money as he’d left his wallet and ID back home in the high country. Fortunately, the gentleman in front, a lawyer by trade, had performed a subtle rite known as “paying it forward” for the next person in line.

“What a wonderful ritual,” Jesus said as he smiled. “It appears the Teachings have caught on.”

The lawyer ruined the moment, of course, when he replied, “Now you should do it for the person behind you.”

Jesus thought a moment and replied, “Ah, I would, but I haven’t any silver or gold.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come into the shop,” answered the lawyer. “What do you teach, anyway? How to be a bum?”

Jesus answered him with a parable:

There was a man who deigned to dine in a fine restaurant, to enjoy a delightful meal. It’s a large restaurant. It’s a busy restaurant. The menu is humungous, and there’s something for everyone. Beef, seafood, scallops, venison, ham, wild boar, escargot, octopus, salads, everything from hamburgers to five star French cuisine and more. Everyone orders what they wish. They’re all having a delightful time.

The owner looks out and says to her restaurant manager, “The meals are on me. Tell the guests”

The manager replies, “But what about your servers? How about their wages and tips?”

The owner smiles, “Oh, they shall be paid in full, and I shall pay them double their tips and gratuities. They’ll lose nothing.”

The manager reported this to the section leaders, but they did not pass this report along to the customers. In hushed tones they said to one another, “Perhaps they shall pay us for their meals, plus gratuities, and we’ll profit like never before!”

But the Manager strolled around the restaurant, visiting every table and declared, “The meal is on the house.”

The patrons were happy, but the servers grumbled. “He’s chopping our legs out from beneath us!” So they grabbed the manager, hauled him out back into the alley, killed him, and tossed his carcass into the dumpster with the rest of the kitchen trash.

The servers rubbed their hands with glee, but it was short-lived. The Manager came back into the restaurant with a fresh change of clothes and spoke into the loud hailer, “The meals are on the house, courtesy of the owner of the house. Thank you for making this such a joyous occasion.”

The manager returned to the office where the owner sat at her desk. “Thank you for coming out to the dumpster, finding me, giving me CPR, a shower, and a fresh change of clothes. I have repeated your message to our patrons that the meal and gratuities are on the house. What shall I do with those brutish servers?”

The owner paused a moment to think and replied, “Have them sit down, grab a meal, and enjoy it. It’s on the house for them, too. I shall be out to serve them forthwith.”

“But they don’t deserve to be rewarded for their wickedness, do they?” queried the manager.

“I don’t reward them for their wickedness. It’s not about crime and punishment, carrots or sticks. It gives me joy to share freely from out of my abundance. If they can’t handle it, that’s their problem, not mine. The meal’s on the house. The meal’s always on the house."

With that, Jesus enjoyed his latte and returned to strolling about and managing the little eatery known to the locals as Earth.

The lawyer sat there, slack jawed and amazed.

© Keith Axberg, 2023

NOTE: No theologians were injured in the making of this parable.

The Weeds Will Always Win

“Faith is looking beyond what is, and trusting what will be … (faith) is the presence of light in darkness, the presence of God in all.” Ellen M. Cuomo

The dandelions have taken over the lawn again. We did a fair amount of weed control when we first moved to our home in Western Washington six years back. Lawns take a lot of work, there’s no doubt about it. But we’d gotten the dandelions pretty well under control by digging them out one by one and engaging in a chemical warfare I’m not fond of (for the environment’s sake). But over time, they have crept back into our lawn once again to become a major eyesore. 

Why is it that children are so care-free and adults so uptight about things like neat lawns, prize winning roses, or hedges trimmed straight, level, and plumb? 

I recall sitting, as a child, on dandelion infested lawns, gazing in wonder at those fragile seeds arranged in a downy ball more wondrous than any fireworks display on the Fourth of July. I could pluck up a stem ever so carefully so as to avoid losing even one pif [sic] so that I could personally blow the whole ball of wax apart with a breath – delighted to see the wind pick up each and every seed, spreading them far and wide into neighbors’ yards. 

Those were also days I would hold bright yellow dandelion flowers beneath the chins of little neighborhood girls to see if they liked butter (for the old tale was told that if your chin glowed yellow, then you did, indeed, like butter). We didn’t ruin the effect by talking about the science of light rays, reflections, and the rods and cones in our eyes that allow us to see such things. We simply delighted ourselves with the experience of life, being silly, and having fun being kids.

Oh sure, we had our chores. We had homework to do during the school year. But play is (and was) a child’s primary work. That’s how we learned to get along and how to settle disputes. We learned about consequences, too. Mr. Grassley yelled at us, scolding us for spreading (“dander-lions,” he called them) and potentially ruining his pristine lawn. The wind blows where it will, and God doesn’t care where seeds blow, but Mr. Grassley sure did!

Well, I'm grown up now (for the most part) and the dandelion seeds have suddenly come home to roost. I live a sober life, so I’ve never yearned to make dandelion wine (and that which I tasted years ago never resulted in my wanting more), so the old saw about turning lemons into lemonade (in this case, dandelions into dandelion wine) simply doesn’t hold water today.

I can guarantee I am at the age where I will not be digging weeds out of the grass one by one with my pointy little dandelion tool any more. As much as I resist looking to utilize a chemical solution for a natural problem, I’m afraid I probably will. I know it is a losing battle. In a war of man versus nature, nature will always win. 

I wonder if I really need to control the weeds that crop up from time to time in my lawn or flower beds. I’ve often heard it said that the opposite of love is not hate or apathy, but control. How can we say we love nature if we seek continually to control it? How can we say we love our neighbor if we continually try to control them? How can we say we love God if we perpetually try to control God with our prayers or wishes? 

Jesus taught us to pray, “Thy will be done.” Maybe I don’t need to control weeds or life; I just need to make adjustments so that they don’t control me, for I believe it’s a two-way street.  

In the end, I don’t need to become an herbicidal maniac; I just need to look “beyond what is and trusting what will be” (in the words of the poet). In the meantime, it’s enough to know I DO like butter here in this, our valley. My dandelions tell me so.

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) 

Aging With Dignity

How long shall I have perplexity in my mind, and grief in my heart, day after day? Psalm 13:2

Sometimes life is hard. There was a day I could spring up from wherever I was sitting and go do what needed doing. Today I rise like some royal potentate from his throne: slowly, regally, and with dignity. It isn’t because I am important. No, it’s because I want to allow my body time to realize I’m on the move; it needs that time to send some fresh oxygenated blood to the brain so that I won’t collapse after I’ve gotten all vertical.

I’ve been doing some projects around the house and find myself somewhat irritated that tasks that used to take me minutes now take hours. I built some homemade storage shelves in the shed out back the other day, and a project that should have taken thirty to forty-five minutes took ninety minutes, instead.

Then last week I was putting together some raised flower boxes (as I no longer want to bend over to pull weeds or cut flowers), and the components were almost too heavy for me to carry to where I’d intended to place them.

That’s OK, though. Aging, as they say, beats the alternative, although there are some who might take issue with that, as well. Sometimes aging can bring with it a lot of pain and misery. If I can laugh about mine, it really isn’t that bad, is it?

One of the things that helps me most as I get older is being able to take stock in where I am, what I’m doing, and noting how I’m feeling. Even a toddler is getting older as they reach a new day. Aging is part of life, and the things I could do as a young whipper snapper are things that either take longer now, or are now beyond my ability to actually do.  I can either stew about it, or just give the task a nod and decide whether or not it needs to be done, if it needs to be done now, and if it needs to be done by me.

The key to aging gracefully is acknowledging that I’ve never done anything gracefully in my life, so why should I expect aging to be any different? Life’s too short to fret over all the “woulda, coulda, shouldas” of life. My goal isn’t to age gracefully as much as it is to continue doing things that matter. I want to be useful. I want to be helpful. I want to be light where there is darkness. I want to offer a selection of solutions where there’s a problem, or to at least sit quietly with someone who’s in pain so they don’t need to suffer alone.

I want my life to look like the Prayer of Saint Francis (Lord, make me an instrument of your peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; etc.). None of that requires a strong back, six pack abs, or a brain as quick as greased lightning. It just requires a shift in focus. The key is compassion.

Compassion is the capacity to move beyond survival – to become one with the other. Too much time and energy is devoted to identifying differences, rather than commonalities. Yes, we’re all different. I can’t walk a mile in your shoes, nor you a mile in mine. What we can do, though, is walk together and talk about what it’s like to be who we are, and to do so without fear of judgment. That’s hard to do, though, because we’re under a constant barrage of judgment.

How many people fail to do the right thing because they’re worried about what someone else might say, think, or do? We all want to belong, but at what price? I don’t think God put me here to please you, but to please God. However, that doesn’t mean I can ignore you, injure you, or abuse you. My job is to love you. Full stop. 

Everyone’s a sinner, so God doesn’t say, “Hate the sin; love the sinner.” God says, “Love.” Period. I can do that – as long as I don’t try to stand up too quickly here in this, our valley.

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)