The Lawn King
I’m mowing the lawn and thinking. Immediately you will realise
this is a demonstration of
intelligence and dexterity, doing two things at once.
But I’m thinking I’ve been born in the wrong age. I should have been born a few hundred years ago as a rich aristocrat. Then I could have ordered the servants to mow the lawn and keep the garden tidy. Then I would be happy.
 Lawn mowing is fine when you haven’t anything better to do, but there’s always something better to do. Bring on the servants. They don’t need to have a good time.
Then I’m thinking, how did they mow lawns in the past? Slaves with sharpened stones? Servants with scissors?
Question: If one servant with a pair of scissors can cut five square metres of lawn in a day, how many servants would it take to cut the lawns at the Sidney Myer Music bowl (about a hectare) where Ray Martin runs Channel 9’s Carols by Candlelight? Answer: 2000.
Hmmm. No wonder they used sheep in olden times. And, with sheep, they didn’t need a catcher for the grass clippings. What they could catch helped the rest of the garden grow.
Problem. If I were born in a different age, why would I be born into aristocracy? That’s a bit like those who claim to have had a former life and it’s almost always as someone significant and exotic or in relation to someone important.
I’d probably end up as the
servant of a poor butcher in an English village near Hastings in 1060. Poor is good because the butcher wouldn’t have big lawns. Butcher is not good for a vegetarian, though.
Then, in 1066 the village would be overrun and then forgotten after the Battle of Hastings. We, the butcher and I, would be forgotten too.
If I did have to cut the butcher’s lawn with a pair of scissors (were they invented yet?), I’d probably wish I lived in an age when there was some kind of mechanical device that would make it easier. Then I would be happy.
And God smiles. Even though we humans never seem to be happy with what we have and, sometimes, with who we are, His love remains constant—and equal, for the aristocrat and the poor butcher’s servant.
So what’s more important? Being in His love or having someone else mow the lawn?
Excuse me while I empty the catcher and get back to it.
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Bruce Manners (left) is senior pastor of
the Avondale College church.