Scanning the Edges, Rustling the Hedges
Where field meets woods or fence meets field, that’s where the wild things are.
By Shane Bennett
Over Christmas and New Year, I’ve been tooling around Indiana and Ohio. Good days in real places… driving roads so hilly a Rambler could catch air… looking out over ponds and fields and woods, trying to channel my inner Wendell Berry.
Being here reminded me of one of the coolest classes I took in college, Wildlife Biology. I should have killed it. It was dead center in my sweet spot as 19-year-old. Instead, I got a C; in part because I couldn’t remember the number of square feet in an acre! (Still can’t.)
One thing in that class that did stick: the idea of “the edge,” the frontier where field meets woods or fence meets field, and the ditches that border country roads or drain acreage. That’s where biology really happens. That’s where the wild things are.
Over the years I’ve developed a habit of scanning the edge while I drive. Of course, this must be balanced with watching the road and firing off important texts. (Not really! Don’t text while driving!) I look at the road but also beyond, gazing along fence rows, scanning where weeds and trees abut. Sometimes, and with increasing frequency as the habit solidifies, my scanning is rewarded by the scamper of a squirrel, the flash of a white-tail deer, or a new bird for the life list. Simple, good pleasures for which I say thank you to the Father.
Fascinating Creatures
This is a risky metaphor, but I regularly have more passion than sense, so let’s try it: There are edges in our lives, geographic ones and social ones. These edges are inhabited by fascinating creatures. People aren’t possums and I know my unguided curiosity can reduce humans to concepts and make the amazing creatures we all are into caricatures like those drawn on the streets of Disneyland. But the point stands:
Fascinating people lie on the edges of the main pathways of our lives. As followers of Jesus our invitation is to see them. Really see them. As well as connect with them, learn from them, and when appropriate, serve them.
Jesus was the master of this. I’m sure I don’t understand the full measure of social capital he happily spent to hang out with the woman at the well in John 4. You can almost see her, shy as a bird looking for a place to hide, when Jesus strode up to her at the well, uninvited.
Scan the landscape of your life for a moment. Who’s hanging out on the edges? Who’s the woman at your well? Your Zacchaeus? Who’s sick, in body or mind?
Because you’re smart, you’re probably already dissecting the metaphor and part of your brain is saying, “Hold on, Buddy.” Here are some cautions, caveats, and cop outs:
1. Wild things are wild.
Deer are beautiful, but you don’t bring them into your living room. You don’t let raccoons ride in the car with your kids. Caution is required.
But Jesus did this kind of thing! It stresses the heck out of me. I hear about folks who are loving marginalized people, opening their homes and I think, “Those are the heroes.” Jesus gives a wonderful parable in Luke 14 to show God’s commitment to those on the edges. A man scheduled a feast and the cool people wouldn’t come. So, he went after the rest, relentlessly. We are the rest. There are still more in the hedges and the streets, the ESL classes, and the little tent towns by the river. Does God want us to take them to lunch? Invite them home for dinner and a swim? Would Jesus do it?
2. You gotta keep your eye on the road.
You have a life. People who count on you, stuff that requires your attention, commitments long since made that must be honored. There’s no time to scan the edge, is there?
Now it would be absurd for me to judge your life. But let me say something outright that this time of year invites us to consider: There may be some things we could drop, stop, ease up or let go. Bob Goff famously says you can quit anything on a Thursday. If you’re reading this article the day it goes out, that’s tomorrow.
Anything come to mind? I’m taking an almost imperceptible step in the right direction by backing off on Words with Friends. If that doesn’t kill me, I’ll look for the next way to get my phone out of in front of my face to free a little time and attention for the edge.
3. There may be other people in the car.
Your posse might not approve you caring about people in the edges. For some of us this is a bigger deal than it should be. “If the tribe thinks it’s silly, maybe I shouldn’t do it.” Personally, I’m realizing with fresh disgust how deeply I crave the approval of my people. It’s not pretty, but it’s real. Let’s face it.
Last week, driving home with a pastor friend, I pulled up by a panhandler at a stop light. I grabbed snacks someone had given me out of my bag, asked him if he was hungry, and handed them over, perhaps in part to impress my friend. That went south when he commented that the guy had been there awhile and was being used by his family who capitalize on his diminished mental state.
God gives us friends and family for our benefit. But he also gives each of us nudges, passions, and weird ideas for the benefit of that community and beyond. Grace to you as you walk out the balance. I know I need that grace.
There’s also this perennial mobilizer warning: Just because something is your thing, don’t communicate that it’s everyone’s thing. (Unless of course it’s connecting with Muslims, which clearly God wants to be everyone’s thing!)
4. Finally, you can’t live in the edge.
I’m a 53-year-old white guy. I’ll never roll with the gangs like Father Greg. As someone who can drive a manual transmission, I can only marginally relate to Millenials. And as much as I love Muslims and am honestly devoted to them and the hope of life for them, I don’t understand a fantastically huge amount more than I do understand.
We can’t be them, the people who are in the edges for us. But we can be quiet. We can listen, look, and cherish. We can risk the embarrassment of reaching out and being rebutted, being told we don’t belong. We can try to connect, risking unintentionally assuming the role of patron, walking arrogantly in our privilege. We can live maybe a little more dangerously, a little more generously. If we’re careful, we just might learn something deeper about the dignity of humanity, the shrewd power of the underprivileged and the tender heart of a great God toward those in the edge.
I want to give it a go. Care to join me?
Scanning the Edges, Rustling the Hedges