Dear God,
In this week’s reading, Jesus tells the parable of the wheat and the weeds (Matthew 13: 24-30):
The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a man who sowed good seed in his field. While everyone was asleep his enemy came and sowed weeds all through the wheat, and then went off. When the crop grew and bore fruit, the weeds appeared as well. The slaves of the house-holder came to him and said, “Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where have the weeds come from?” He answered, “An enemy has done this.” His slaves said to him, “Do you want us to go and pull them up? He replied, “No, if you pull up the weeds you might uproot the wheat along with them. Let them grow together until harvest; then at harvest time I will say to the harvesters, “First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles for burning; but gather the wheat into my barn.”
I can’t help think, God, that you might be saying the same thing that Beyond Blue reader Hondo expressed as a response to what he would change in his life (attitudes or actions) if he knew he were dying:
And the best thought of all … that I know I would be going to heaven soon, and in heaven there is no major depression or bipolar disorder or any other kind of illnesses that are down here on earth. So maybe all the suffering we do on earth with all of our different kinds of mental and physical illnesses will, in heaven, be the greatest gift of all.
Is that true? Is that what you mean when you say that you can’t separate the weeds from the wheat while they grow on this earth? Only at harvest will the weeds be picked and burned, and the wheat gathered into the divine barn, which (I’m hoping!) doesn’t reek of cow patties like the ones I’ve been to in this world.
Moreover, it’s almost impossible to separate weeds from wheat in our days here because, just as Kahlil Gibran wrote:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
You say that the enemy sowed the weeds through the wheat, while everyone was asleep.
Could you tell me what you mean by that?
Because, while I do believe in evil and dark forces, I’m slow to put my mental illness in that category. To do so is dangerous, in my opinion, and starts us down the path to Scientology, in which damaged limbic systems–the brain’s emotional center including the cerebral cortex, thalamus, hypothalamus, and hippocampus–are caused by lack of effort on our part: mind-control, exercise, diet.
I know better. Studies on the genetics of mood disorders clearly indicate that these illnesses are inherited. Scientists have already identified a gene that may be linked to bipolar disorder. In addition, researchers have found that a common genetic mutation can predict whether a person will become clinically depressed when faced with traumatic events.
Is the devil involved?
I don’t think so.
But I do feel a dark power over me when I’m enmeshed in addictive, destructive behavior. I don’t know if it’s the dude with the horns whispering in my ear to drink enough vodka so that I pass out, or Lucifer encouraging me to invest my energy, time, and self-esteem into a toxic relationship. But I am certainly pulled into a negative pattern of thinking and behaving at times, and, to be completely honest, I don’t know who is doing the pulling.
Is it just my wounded self in need of healing? Is it the emptiness within me recognizing a cheap way out of pain (which inevitably creates more pain, and thus the toxic cycle)?
I tend to think that the damaged parts of myself are desperately trying to find a way to wholeness. And they are vulnerable to traps. Thus, they often get fooled into thinking that the trashy way will get me to wholeness sooner, when, of course, that’s not true at all.
Temptation–that pull towards darkness–is always there. Weeds constantly try to strangle my wheat.
Which is why I have to surrender, over and over and over again, to You. Every day. Or several times a day. The weeds will never go away as long as I am breathing and eating and walking and typing. Not until I make it to Beatific Barn. (If, you know, I end up there.)
So, for now, I need your help on recognizing the weeds: which voices, thoughts, people, things, and habits are dangerous. And managing the weeds … teaching me how to live alongside darkness–depression, anxiety, addiction, manias– trusting that Your light is near.
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