Nearly two years after purchasing our new home, we have finally turned our attention this spring to the lawn. Last year, we did an incredible amount of work in the yard. I made raised beds for our vegetable garden; we put in a dry creek bed to deal with drainage issues; we planted trees and lots of shrubs. But the lawn was, and remains, a mess. We weren’t even sure what kind (or kinds) of grass were planted. In any case, there was as much crabgrass and dandelions in spots as there was grass. Corrie did lots of research online and talked to people all over the country. We finally decided that we would plant some more fescue but mix it with clover. Clover stays green during drought and it also is beneficial for the soil. But what to do with the dandelions?

We didn’t act early enough to use a pre-emergent herbicide and we are trying to be as close to organic as possible, so we decided the only option was to pull them. So, for the last few days, I’ve been pulling dandelions in my free time. There is something wonderfully therapeutic for me about mindless manual labor. It gives me the opportunity to get away from the computer and from books and to think, even meditate.

We are in the midst of Holy Week, my first as an ordained priest. I have been surprised by how deeply moving it is to celebrate the Eucharist in the context of this holy time. Celebration is always awesome for me, but there is something even more significant about the words and gestures as we move toward Good Friday. I find myself caught up in the experience, caught up in the language and emotions of this week. The hymns on Sunday took me even further. First we sang “Were You there” a capella, which always evokes the Mennonite Church services of my childhood and youth. Then, as our concluding hymn, we sang Johann Herrmann’s beautiful, “Ah, Holy Jesus.”

Those hymns were in my mind as I pulled weeds yesterday afternoon. It is a mundane, homey, gesture in the midst of these deeply meaningful days, but a gesture that has its own significance. One of the puzzles as a person deeply involved in the ritual life of the Church is the odd juxtaposition of the sacred and the ordinary. It can be amusing when we continue celebrating the twelve days of Christmas long after most people have taken down their decorations. It can also be jarring, even offensive. I remember once in Sewanee returning home after the Good Friday procession to hear the frat boys next door playing rock music. We live in between the sacred and the ordinary and we do well to practice those disciplines that allow us to see the sacred in the ordinary. Like pulling dandelions, I suppose.