Pruning the Prickles

I’m always glad when my annual task of pruning the roses is over.  Despite wearing leather gloves and long sleeves, I inevitably end up with punctures and scratches. I have to wash them quickly with soap, as I tend to itch and swell if I don’t. One slow bush at a time, I reach in to snip off a dead cane or trim suckers, all the time thinking of the “bowl shape” that’s best for rose health. This slow, tedious task also gives me a chance to think and pray for people in my life.

 The Bible says healthy spirituality mandates pruning. The most direct teaching about that comes with Jesus discourse about the vine and the branches in John 15. (As an aside: long ago in Bible school we had to memorize the main theme in each chapter of John.  I remembered “15” because the “1” looked like a straight vine and the “5” like a crooked vine needing pruning. That’s your freebie of the day!)  Jesus said the Father (the gardener) cuts off every branch that doesn’t produce fruit and prunes the fruit-bearing branches so they can produce any more.

The unfruitful branches are like those who’ve made a superficial commitment to Christ (most likely they show up at church and speak the “church language”) but don’t reproduce spiritually. The analogy to my roses is canes that are spindly with barely a weak bloom.  Off they go. I preserve the stalwart main canes and others branching off them that show promise of bearing flowers.

I also trim any sign of disease, a discernment that brings to mind to mind Galatians 6:1:

Dear brothers and sisters, if another Christian is overcome by some sin, you who are godly should gently and humbly help that person back onto the right path. (NLT)

Who of us is perfect?  But sometimes God needs us to step in to help someone who may be blind to a sinful  behavior or attitude. Someone recently told of an uncomfortable encounter when he could no longer overlook another believer’s negative, self-righteous behavior as a “grammar police.”  For years, that other person got prickly whenever someone used a certain innocent idiom in her presence. No matter if it happened in church announcements or at the store. You can guess how strangers felt when she got upset and “corrected” them. “Major on the majors,” he reprimanded her.

The passage says “gently and humbly” help that person back onto the right path. The cuts of the Pruner (and His helpers) may hurt, but the pain will be forgotten when those wonderful blooms come.

Encroachments

An overgrown hedge sprawls over the sidewalk of a nearby house. When my mother-in-law, Doris, was still alive, on warm days I’d help her into her wheelchair and push her around the block to see the flowers. But I couldn’t push her down that narrow hedge-covered stretch. I’d have to dip down into the street one driveway before, then push her back up one driveway later. Alas, that rental house and yard simply didn’t get the care they should.

The word “encroachment” best describes the situation. And what a lesson its meaning packs! To encroach means “to enter by gradual steps or by stealth into the possessions or rights of another; to advance beyond desirable or normal limits.”

Recently we remembered what would have been Doris’s 93^rd birthday. She died at 89 of Alzheimer’s disease. It’s not what she would have chosen for her exit to Heaven. If anything, she avoided inconveniencing people, and to become mentally and physically helpless was alien to how she'd lived the rest of her life.

I thought of that the other night when we had dinner guests. After we ate and I was removing dishes from the table, the mom jumped up to help with washing and drying them. I thought how Doris did the same in her better years.It was just the way she was: always serving. I was reminded of other ways she served when someone recently shared an old photograph of Doris in the children’s Sunday school class she taught. Doris really "owned" that responsibility. She painted the little classroom pale pink (her favorite color) and took care to set up a "worship corner" with a little vase of flowers. In such little ways she put others first.

Those memories started me thinking of how a person learns to be a “server” rather than a “taker” (or, in the hedge analogy, “an encroachment”). I  think the answer resides in the classic passage about God’s discipline in Hebrews 12. It talks about how parents discipline their children as part of character development. (Yes, there was a reason I insisted our kids make their beds, help with dishes, take out the garbage, and respect authority!) But, the writer continues, “God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful.  Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it” (Hebrews 12:11).

God’s “pruning” may involve hardship or intimidating challenges. He may use a sermon, article, or personal Bible study to reveal behaviors or attitudes that have “encroached” on our lives. He may also use people whose godly examples inspire us and cause us to reflect, “Am I living to please God or myself?”

That's why I think of Doris and her humble service when I walk by that hedge and get my legs scratched. Left unpruned so long, it probably just needs pulled out--a huge, messy task. Similarly, God's "pruning" (which often includes "serving" assignments) keeps my spirit from growing wild. The last thing I want is for someone to reject the Lord Jesus on the basis of negatives they see in me.

That winter splinterland

Twigs and even huge chunks of limbs heavily littered our local orchards in recent weeks. Producing apples, cherries, pears and peaches (and other fruit crops) isn’t all about blooms and harvest. It’s also about maintenance, which includes what may appear to be pruning so heavy that someone like me (unschooled in orchard management) wonders if the pruned tree will even live. This also happens in the winter, before the sap runs. The pruners put in cold, hard days.

The sight reminded me of scriptural passages about pruning and spiritual growth. One is James 1:2-4 (NIV): “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

A key word in that verse is “develops.” Spiritual maturity doesn’t drop into our lives overnight. We’re like orchards, needing pruning as we’re shaped into God’s optimum “fruit-producers.” The “perseverance” mentioned here isn’t the “grit-your-teeth-and-get-through-it” type of living, but a growing reliance on God’s faithfulness in life’s tough spots.

This process is called “spiritual formation,” for through spiritual pruning, Christ is formed in us. One key idea expressed in Klaus Issler’s book, Living into the Life of Jesus (IVP, 2012), is that this involves progressive steps. We’re not zapped with spiritual maturity overnight. As Issler describes the progression:

1. We begin by not seeing ourselves as having a spiritual problem

2. We become aware of our spiritual “gap” and are mulling over whether it’s really worth changing.

3. We’re willing to change, but wonder how. This idea of “depending on the Spirit” comes into play. We don’t know how to change, but He will guide us.

4. We commit to change. We may have setbacks, but we’re committed to keep going--with God’s help.

5. We see changes in our character.

6. We settle into a lifestyle with those changes. It’s easier to do what’s right.

One personal example was Issler’s problem with mild “road rage.” That included negative habits and language to express anger when things didn’t go as he wanted on the freeways of Los Angeles. (Personal note: I am a survivor of Los Angeles traffic, probably thanks to guardian angels galore!) After confessing that his problem of contempt for other drivers was a spiritual issue, he identified scriptures that addressed his problem. He then went into a season of letting God’s Spirit prompt him to respond peacefully every time a highway incident came up. Some months later, he realized a traffic situation no longer roused his anger.

Thankfully, spring follows winter. The blossoms come, and we’re reminded that the God who “prunes” us, sometimes severely, wants only His glorious best for us.

A Thorny Issue

Thanks to an unusually mild February, our roses are a month ahead in coming back to life. Already tiny red buds dot the thorny canes, signaling the need for spring pruning. I don’t enjoy the task. That’s because it means tackling 30 rose bushes between our home and that of my mom-in-law (still “in process” of cleanout since her death).

In late fall, after the killing hard frost, I lop the roses to thigh-high to prevent damage from heavy snow. But spring means tediously picking out dead leaves and pruning for maximum bloom. It’s time-consuming, cold (I wait for a sunny day), and contemplative work.

As I remove dead canes, snip sucker branches, and lop anything that interferes with a bloom-friendly “bowl” shape, I think of the Bible’s analogy to pruning grapes. Untended, both roses and grapes would propagate into snarled, weak tangles. Thus, even as I prune, I think of John 15:2: “He [God] cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” That’s why the activities and relationships of my life must get tune-ups—some cut away, others encouraged--as God shapes me for His purposes.

As I sit on an upended bucket to prune, I toss clippings into an old plastic cherry harvest lug. Every couple or three bushes, I empty it in our large garbage bin. The stiff, thorny mound grows, needing pushed down to make more room. This I do carefully, as rose thorns can pierce even my leather garden gloves.

Ouch! As I rip off the glove and suck the wound, I think of the crown of thorns heartlessly jammed on Jesus’ head in the insanity of illegal trials before He was crucified. Often the hymn “My Jesus, I Love Thee” comes to mind with this line: “I love thee for wearing the thorns on thy brow.”

It’s March…and Easter’s coming on April 4. The roses are now pruned. The dead-looking sticks now jabbing at the sky will begin their transformation to summer’s glorious display of red, pink, white, tangerine, and yellow.

For many, Easter’s symbols are lilies (reminder of a trumpet call), hot-crossed buns (the cross on the “bread of life”), pretzels (imitating a prayer posture) or eggs (for new life). But pruned roses have become my Easter symbol. My annual task in our rose garden reminds me that God is the expert spiritual pruner, and I’m grateful for that.