The 'Bounds of Habitation' and the Whitetail Invasion

From my In the Sound of the Bells column in the May 11 issue of The Potomac Almanac.

After last week’s spot of yardwork, I feel like a real permanent resident of Potomac.  I now have a deer fence.  A “heavy duty” deer fence, to be precise, no mere agglomeration of netting and iron stakes, but a 7.5-foot-tall fence, its posts sunk deep into the ground, bound by high tensile wire top and bottom, staked every foot into the ground. 

I’ve been wanting to plant a raspberry patch for years, and we identified a great spot in the backyard.  I researched the varieties I wanted to use and worked out a plan for a raised bed.  But if it would all be for naught if I didn’t find a reliable way to keep out the local wildlife, if the saucy, bovine creatures that saunter through our yard and the woods around us really deserve the name. 

Ponder: ministry and domestic work

"We tend to conceptualise working harder as producing more.  Yet the wisdom of the medieval theologians of church growth would suggest that the work of ministry might be more helpfully seen as parallel to domestic work--washing, ironing, cooking a meal and washing up--which needs to be done, but then needs to be done again, than to artisan or factory work, which produces a measurable product.  This does not mean that growth does not take place, but it is more analogous to natural, organic growth--the growth of a garden or a child--rather than to capitalist expansion and productivity."

Mirada Threlfall-Holmes, "Growing the Medieval Church" in Towards a Theology of Church Growth (2015), 195

Good Fruit-A Sermon for Rogation Sunday

“By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be my disciples.”

St. John 15:8

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

            I know it’s only the second Sunday in May, but I’ve had tomatoes planted in my garden for almost a month.  Whether they will bear fruit in a few month’s time, though, is up for grabs.  The plants were a gift to me from Jeff and Audrey Murray, who grew them in their own little greenhouse through the long months of winter.  They are heirloom tomatoes, four different kinds, and they’re supposed to come out with colorful, tender skins and delicious fruit.  I could almost taste them sliced on a cheeseburger as I prepared the soil for my little plants.

            You plant tomatoes for the fruit, for the joy of the fruit, for that special fresh, homegrown taste that those pink cardboard globes over at the Price Chopper can’t even suggest.  But to get the fruit, you have to follow the rules.  You need to do things the right way.  And so far as I know, I’ve followed all the rules for planting early tomatoes in upstate New York.  The plants were strong and vigorous when Audrey brought them to my office, dark green with thick stems.  She also brought a special organic plant food and plastic protectors, which I filled with water to keep them safe during the frost.  I gave them the sunniest spots in my garden, cleared out the yellow lilies for them and turned over and raked the soil.  I’ve watered the tomatoes regularly, covered them with newspaper on frosty nights, kept out the weeds.