The gnarliest, nastiest weed that I ever had in my yard had roots that were incredibly long. Above the ground, there were spikes and thorns that cut through my gloves and sliced open my thumb. Below ground, even the roots had spiky bits all the way down to the very, very tail end.

According to Dr. Google, this is a Wild Black Gooseberry. As a barrier or a sort of natural barbed wire, it would be perfect. Growing in and amongst my vinca and irises, not so much!

The last time I encountered this plant, I had to go back several times, clipping, cutting, and digging. It was the weed that never ends, it just goes on and on, my friends!

This time, in addition to digging up the tap root, I poured boiling salt water into the hole left from the roots. Perhaps, just perhaps, this weed will grow elsewhere! (As in, not in my flower beds!) The black gooseberry adapted to defend itself from natural predators like herbivores. It’s pretty effective against humans, too. (Ouch)

I have learned that having deep roots isn’t necessarily bad. The Shepherd’s Tree of the Kalahari Desert sends tap roots as deep as 70 meters (about 230 feet!) to access the water table. Apparently workers drilling a well marveled at one tree’s ability to work its way that deep into the ground. The shepherd’s tree provides cover from the sun, browsing for herbivores, and a source of water from its fruit in an inhospitable climate.

Lately I have been wrestling with this idea of roots and rootedness, of being well-established vs invasive, of adapting vs stagnation. I think of the practices of the Christian church, and where we are so highly entrenched in our ways and our subcultures. I pause to wrestle with this enculturation and vestedness in structures of power and place beside a Gospel message of grace and inclusion.

I don’t have answers. I see and acknowledge that our Creator made a way for all good things to grow and flourish. And perhaps, one day, that will include all humans, too. Nasty thorns and all.

SDG