Why You Shouldn’t Be Too Tidy

(Mark 11:12-25 TLB)

Tidy and tight

Leaves no room

For the new,

For the odd, 

For the Spirit.

This is part of a poem by Carolyn Byrd entitled “Open Spaces.”

She challenges me to consider where I might be too tidy and tight.

Where I’m not leaving open spaces for the Spirit to interrupt my schedule, expectations, or thoughts.

Even the Spirit, her poem continues, needs a little break in the dike.

An open space to hear God’s voice.

Leave room for His movement.

Watch the unexpected unfold.

Which is what happens to the Twelve on a dusty road between Bethany and Jerusalem . . .

Jesus happens upon a figless fig tree.

I have one of those.

Each spring tiny green figs appear.

Overnight they disappear.

Bare branches greet the morning sun.

Along with some real satisfied squirrels. 

Probably not the problem with Jesus’ fig tree.

Then Jesus said to the tree, “You shall never bear fruit again!”

Commentators disagree on the exact theological meaning here, so let’s go with William Barclay’s conclusion and move on:

“Let the readers take it as they will.”

Not because I don’t care or because cursing a fig tree isn’t odd, but because it’s really the rest of the verse that seems even odder.

“And the disciples heard Him say it.”

Of course they did.

They were standing right there.

Why add this?

Perhaps Jesus is creating an “open space” for those Twelve, and us, to engage Him in conversation, ask questions, or just walk along pondering His words.

I spent a week looking for my lost earbuds.

They eventually turned up.

In the washing machine.

Now only one works.

And that one falls out a lot.

I tried living with unreliable-one-ear listening.

Briefly. 

Until internet research revealed headphones actually offer richer sound.

Plus better noise-cancelling technology.

Plus superior comfort. 

Plus, plus they never fall out, are harder to lose, and come in pink.

Sold! 

Which might feel like a random sidenote to you, but I picture this kind of both-ears-immersive listening that day with the Twelve.

Minus pink headphones.

Do they comprehend the theological significance?

Doubtful.

Instead, I picture them scratching their heads as tidy and tight fly out the window.

Making space for the new, the odd, and the Spirit.

Fast forward to the next day.

Same dusty road.

Same fig tree.

Only different.

I love Peter’s response.

“Look, Teacher! The fig tree you cursed has withered!”

As if Jesus might be surprised.

Jesus replies with a mini-sermon on prayer, but I keep returning to Peter’s response.

“Look, Teacher!”

Utter astonishment.

Steps away from my fig tree, a casual acquaintance traps me into what feels like a running monologue of idle chitchat.

Until it’s not idle anymore . . .

Evidently my inability to get a word in has created an open space.

Into which she pours her story of a long ago falling away from faith . . . and a recent inner stirring to return.

I didn’t see that coming.

Like Peter, I’m utterly astonished. 

Exclaiming (on the inside), “Look, Jesus! Look what You’re doing in her heart!”

As if He might be surprised.

Tidy and tight

Leaves no room

For the new,

For the odd, 

For the Spirit.

For my casual acquaintance, for me . . . and for you.

See you in a couple weeks.

Love,