Transplanting Iris: Anticipation and Imagination

An iris root is called a rhizome: a fleshy system that grows horizontally and very near the soil surface. After three or four years the rhizomes are exhausted and weak. Fewer or no flowers are the clues. The rhizomes need to be dug and broken up - the spent and unhealthy parts disposed of. Whatever is clean and salvageable can then be planted in a different place or in the same spot with the soil first renewed.

July and August are the months for transplanting iris as they need weeks of warm soil to grow new roots before the heaving frosts. So it is a time of imagining and anticipation. How will all this investment of time and energy pay off? What will the garden look like next May. 

Living in the moment, to be sure, but the spiritual life also allows for some imagination and anticipation - some wonder!

I might anticipate or imagine

my country unified again,

caring about each other,
welcoming,
hospitable and hopeful, 

beyond the conspiracy theories,
endless rallies,

washed clean of hatred and
prejudices,
conspiracy theories,

party and personality adulation.

I might anticipate and imagine

the Church,

healed of this next wave of

sexual harassment,

abuse,

power manipulation and

concealment,

and so planted in the Gospel

that people come running

to be part of it.

I might anticipate and imagine

myself,

less dispirited,

less anxious

more patient, peaceful and 

accepting -

happier really.

Did you hear the news item this week - that for all we have in this country - for all our "freedoms" - we come in only at number 18 as the happiest people in the world? Slipping another 4 points since last year alone. There are 17 countries who reflect that they are happier than Americans. What's that about? And could this be true - that overdose is now the leading cause of death for Americans under the age of 50?  

It's Iris transplanting time - a time of imagining and anticipation. We might allow it to inform our prayer.

And here's a Spring-blooming Iris called Good Morning Sunshine. Worth waiting for, no? Keeping hope alive.

Beverly Sills in Mary's Month

This May-blooming, frilly iris has been named Beverly Sills (1929-2007) who was a much-acclaimed American operatic soprano.  The online biography describes her voice as: rich, supple, silvery, effortless, precise, a little high, robust, enveloping.

She was born in Brooklyn of Jewish parents who had come to the United States from Odessa, Ukraine.  So at the end of May, her iris blooming and Mary's Month drawing to a close, it might be nice to hear her singing Schubert's Ave Maria. Unlike other opera stars, Ms Sills recorded no album of sacred songs, but I have a feeling she really enjoyed singing the hymn as she repeats it three times.

While considering the iris, we can listen once, and then if we so desire, eyes closed, a second or even third time. We know of course that the Ave Maria is the Hail Mary in Latin, though for some unknown reason sung here in another language I can't make out.

The Best I Can

I have no recollection of how this un-named iris came to me. I don't remember anyone giving it to me or ordering it from a mail order nursery or buying it locally. Although it's a re-blooming iris (spring and then again fall) it doesn't have much of anything to recommend it: no frilly petals (called falls), no scent, no jump-out colors. But there it is, mixed in and blooming now in the garden with the others which carry dramatic names illustrative of their fabulous-ness, names like: Savannah Sunset, Vision in Pink, Slew O' Gold, Dream of You. I've named this iris: Doing the Best I Can.

But I decided today to leave it alone and let it stay because it clearly is making an effort, and as I get older I realize that's all that matters. Our culture is largely interested only in the show-stopper and the WOW factor, but the Gospel teaching is ~ the little bit and the best I can, matters. 

Jesus tells the story about the fellow who went out to sow the seed on his land: most of it was wasted - the birds ate it up, the rocks prevented the seeds from sending down deep roots, the thorns choked it out, the neighbors stomped on it along the path. But a little bit of the seed landed where it could be enormously productive (Mt. 13:1 ff).

And the little mustard seed becomes a giant bush where birds make nests (Mt. 13:31-32). And the little sparrow is noticed by God even in its dying (Mt. 10:29) And the little children were invited into the circle around Jesus who blessed them (Mk 10:13-15). And the little boy offered the little lunch he had, and using it, Jesus performed a great miracle (Jn. 6:9 ff). And so it goes...

Many people who are trying to follow the Christian way feel frustrated and guilty because "doing the best I can" was never (or isn't now) enough. Some folks throw the word sin around very easily when the persons they're critiquing (even condemning) are already trying very hard - indeed - trying the best they can. 

"I'm trying the best I can" is sometimes met with "Well, your best isn't good enough."  But Jesus isn't like that. He's pleased for the cup of cold water we give, (Mt. 10:42) and how we feed the hungry, and clothed the naked and visit the home bound and the imprisoned (Mt. 25 ff).  

Therese of Lisieux understood this. She said that picking up a pin off the floor for love mattered to Jesus. And do you know why? Because nuns keep their headgear on with pins. And Carmelite nuns don't wear shoes, so a pin landing on the floor might cause someone pain and trouble and Therese anticipated that. 

So do what you can ~ the best you can ~ for love of God and love of other people. And be encouraged.