Tomatoes & Mercy

It may not have been an apple, after all.

It turns out that what Eve and Adam ate in the Garden of Eden could have been darn near anything. The Bible only says they were not to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, but that they did. What fruit that tree bore, no one really knows. Apple of course wins "most popular," but there are also good strong arguments for pomegranates, pears, figs, and as it turns out - tomatoes.

If you have ever tasted a really perfect summer tomato, then your salivary glands are working overtime right now just thinking about it. I have a little group of friends that I know to be part of the "perfect-summer-tomato-cult-following." When my parents go to Tennessee and visit the Grainger County Tomato Festival, it is go time. They bring home the most gorgeous tomatoes you've ever seen, and I get to reap the reward. Temptation? I've known it. I've held those tomatoes in my hands and desired to just bite right into it, skipping the knife completely. While it is easy to tell that I am a huge fan of Apples (just look around at my business), tomatoes are a whole different thing.

I've found a problem with tomatoes, however, and it is a lesson in sacrifice.

Although my parents bring me typically a huge box of tomatoes, and they never expect me to reimburse them a dime, I myself don't start out in a sharing mood. I have long moments where I look in the bright red box and try to figure out what to do with all the tomatoes so I can keep them all to myself. I tap into the most basic human instinct to hoard. I am reminiscent in these moments of the sea gulls in "Finding Nemo," when they call out "Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!" But I realize quickly that I am caught - for if I hoard the tomatoes, I will end up having to throw some of them, maybe many of them, away. They'll go bad. Before my selfish eyes, I will watch those beautiful tomatoes dimple, pock, and rot. And that, my friends, is an imagined tragedy that severs my desire to hoard.

So, I touch a bit of what it means to sacrifice, to give up what I want to myself, but what desperately needs to be shared. Just as my parents first give them to me, I honor the lesson by sharing with others. I know the first ones on my list are Temple, Sarah, Stephanie, Lizzie - some of the others in the tomato cult. Temple called me this time and was also sharing some of the bounty with her mom, and she left me a message declaring me her new best friend. Sarah had some of her own growing, so she declined, but when I sliced one open at dinner, she voiced instant admiration. Steph has since moved to Louisiana, so I had to just send word and share tomato love via Facebook. Lizzie and I have since had multiple interactions about the wistful finery of a good tomato. All of us have shared ideas and recipes on what to do with our own forbidden fruit.

Sadly, I am now down to my last tomato. I am filled with dread at the coming months of mealy, pink things tagged as tomatoes in the grocery lane. When I see them, I think of Barbara Brown Taylor's description in her book When God is Silent. She writes,
"Even those of us who resist the strategy cannot save the words employed by it. Once you have bitten into a mealy, pale pink tomato, it is hard to forgive the sign that said 'vine ripe.' Those two words will be suspect from now on, although your tongue knows exactly what they mean. The problem is the discrepancy between the word and the reality. Because the connection has been most, the language is no longer trustworthy. You must devise other methods for determining the truth."

Part of determining the truth for myself this week, as I start this journey toward living a more authentic life of ministry (see last week's Apple), has been based on tomatoes. All week I've thought about what it means to give something up, to sacrifice something - these are big words in our faith. I've thought about how hard it is to do it, even with something small. I've thought about hard it is for children and adults alike to share. I've thought about the way we talk about Jesus' death being a sacrifice, about all the laws and demands of sacrifice in the Bible, and about the ripping sensation of it all. Honestly, I thought I was pretty much on track - but it turns out I've missed the point a bit.

While the culture of sacrifice is very strong in Scripture, I wanted to know what Jesus said about it. Interesting, really. He didn't say much on this topic, it turns out. There are only two references I can find where "sacrifice" turns up in Jesus' own words:
Matthew 9:9-13
9As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. 10And as he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. 11When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” 12But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. 13Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”
Matthew12:7
2When the Pharisees saw it, they said to him, “Look, your disciples are doing what is not lawful to do on the sabbath.” 3He said to them, “Have you not read what David did when he and his companions were hungry? 4He entered the house of God and ate the bread of the Presence, which it was not lawful for him or his companions to eat, but only for the priests. 5Or have you not read in the law that on the sabbath the priests in the temple break the sabbath and yet are guiltless? 6I tell you, something greater than the temple is here. 7But if you had known what this means, ‘I desire mercy and not sacrifice,’ you would not have condemned the guiltless. 8For the Son of Man is lord of the sabbath.”

Neither of these passages are in the Revised Common Lectionary - meaning, many churches never end up hearing these stories in worship. The idea was, that in the culture of sacrifice, Jesus put more emphasis on mercy. This is revolutionary stuff. It is more important to show mercy to others than follow all the rules. It is more important to recognize that everyone messes up and everyone needs forgiveness, than it is to sacrifice.

Okay, so does this mean I can hoard my tomatoes? Uh, no.

It means that our focus should be more on what we are giving, rather than what we are giving up.

I still need to share my tomatoes, but my thinking should change. My actions should change. Rather than sharing because I don't want to watch something rot (which I admit is a terrible attitude), I should share because I desire to share. In this case, beautiful tomatoes are delicious, nutritious, and a free gift - both to me and from me. I am helping feed another family. I am helping share the tomato love. And, those darn things are helping me grow - not just physically, but spiritually.

Mercy in a tomato. Who would have thought?

One day, I am sure, someone will share their tomatoes with me. Or, losing the metaphor - people are sharing with me every day their good and free gifts. They aren't hoarding; they are showing mercy in the most simple of ways, not under the oppressive heading of "sacrifice," but of mercy. I hope I can see them now more as the gifts they are. Those with whom I shared my tomatoes this week graced me with our shared indulgence, their friendship, fresh bread, and juice dripping off our chins and fingers. They shared what they had, I shared what I had, and that is what community is really all about in the first place.

If Eve and Adam were tempted by knowledge, apples, pomegranates, or tomatoes - I have a good idea of what that feels like. The lesson is fresher, more alive, and filled with more mercy than ever before. After all, whatever they reached for wasn't the end of the story. It was the beginning.

May this day be the beginning of something for you and for me. May mercy run over like juice from a gorgeous red tomato, filling in the empty places. Amen.

Mark 12:33
28One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, “Which commandment is the first of all?” 29Jesus answered, “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; 30you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ 31The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” 32Then the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; 33and ‘to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself,’ —this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” 34When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” After that no one dared to ask him any question.

In Wisdom,
Brandi Calhoun Diamond