I hold each kernel between my fingers. The seeds were planted close together, and, in order to reap the benefit of each new start, I must separate the small plants. Because they are so close, very little dirt adheres to the tiny tendrils hanging down from the seed. The delicate roots are exposed; and, in order to grow and flourish, they must be planted in good soil, watered, and carefully tended. I place each tender plant carefully, gently, and firmly tucking roots into pockets of dark earth. I water them in; and, each day I watch the tender shoots struggle against the sun as their roots learn to take hold. Soon, they thrive. In the coming months, the community will watch them grow. Some will tend to their care and contribute to their flourishing. Eventually, the hungry will eat fresh yellow kernels, and taste the goodness of roots well cared for.

If you were to visit our little community garden, nestled in the heart of the Washburne, (an historic district located in Springfield, Oregon), you would see a lot of beginnings– and many continuations. There are many wooden raised beds– some of which are held together by brackets and prayer. There are three mounded beds– each constructed by different people. There is a large cinder block bed growing berries. There are mounds of soil and mulch– all waiting to be incorporated into something existing or something new. 

Each bed is a reflection of materials, soil, weather conditions, seeds, starts, varied expertise, and perpetual care. The garden both suffers and benefits from a daily outpouring of direct sun. It must be consistently monitored to ensure that each plant is receiving enough water and the roots are receiving enough protection. 

But, of course, other things grow in a garden. Things that were not intentionally planted. Seeds blow in on the wind, birds and squirrels drop seeds; sometimes, something is retained in the mulch; other times, one of the neighbors passing time on the sidewalk decides to try to plant peanuts or potatoes. Often, grass and other wild things try to push their way into the beds. Gardeners commonly refer to all of these things as “weeds.” It’s not always easy, though, to identify weeds. Sometimes, they blend in with the young seedlings. In this case, the only thing to do is wait for the good and the bad to reveal itself.

In Matthew 13, Jesus tells the Parable of the Wheat and Tares, in which the farmer in the story takes a similar approach to weeds sown by an enemy: ‘ “Let both grow together until the harvest, and at the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, “First gather together the tares and bind them in bundles to burn them, but gather the wheat into my barn.” ’ ” 

Like every person born in America, I was born into a purposeful systemically racialized system. Anything good in my theology, philosophy, and moral approach to life, came up with a heavy growth of racist and racialized weeds that threatened to choke out any potential to mutually flourish alongside my fellow humans. As in the case with most gardens, some weeds are easier to recognize than others– you can pull those right away. Other weeds are harder to identify– is that a carrot or poisonous hemlock? One tastes delicious glazed with honey; the other is painfully deadly.

Becoming anti-racist is a lot like gardening. We don’t get it all right the first time– or maybe even the twelfth time, but eventually, you learn to identify and clear enough weeds for the good things to start growing. But, you never quite get rid of all the weeds. Something always seems to pop up. Idelette McVicker writes, “Seeking justice is not an option when we are on the path of recovering from our internalized racism. Seeking justice is part of our work of love. But it’s important to examine our motivation: Why am I seeking justice? If it’s rooted in ego, step back. If it’s to be a hero, step back.” Three steps forward, two steps back; the garden always needs tending– especially in the growing season.

In the parable, though, we learn that sometimes roots get tangled. It’s impossible to pull up the weeds without pulling up the healthy and desired growth. As I look back on my own (still-very-much-in-progress) journey through becoming anti-racist, I can see weeds, and I can see growth. There are poisonous ideologies, phrases, and positionings that have long been thrown in the burn pile. There are others that are more subtle; some that are more deeply rooted; and some that are too tangled up in the good, but fragile and new root systems. I wish, as I often do in all of my garden spaces, that the work of tending and uprooting and disentangling were done, but it never is, and that is the humbling and ongoing work of gardening.

When I look at the future of this country, I am encouraged by the generation coming up. They are more diverse in body, and more empathetic in spirit. Their souls have been taught resiliency and persistence, and the need for replenishment. Their hearts and hands work for justice, and they have lost patience with puttering white colonial systems that enact the worst of harm on those in most need of help. They speak the truth directly and passionately, and we who are older ought to listen and learn from them. 

We also must fight with and for them. When I look at my own children, I am grieved at the thought of placing another generation’s load of permissive injustice on their shoulders and backs. Statistics tell us that the newsworthy events of our world have taken their toll on the health of children born in the last twenty or so years. In a way. their bodies and immune systems are born tired. We who are older and still here cannot retire from the hard work of cultivating good ground– safe ground– nourishing and flourishing ground for them to “live and move and breathe” on. 

That is the ongoing and humbling work of tending growing things.

By Naphtali Renshaw

Work Cited

McVicker, Idelette. Recovering Racists: Dismantling White Supremacy and Reclaiming Our Humanity. Baker Publishing Group, 2022. Accessed 16 June 2023.