Mowing your way to heaven

By Bobby Neal Winters

As some of you may recall, I started off my mowing season this year with great hope.  I’d replaced my 3.5 horse power mower with a 4.5 horse power model.  If I’d known the difference it would make I’d’ve done it sooner because it took 50 percent off my mowing time.  It used to take over an hour and a half to mow my lawn, and this summer it has averaged one hour. 

Now I could be persuaded that some of the increased efficiency is because I’ve gotten better at nudging toys out of the way with my foot, but most of it is because of the higher horsepower in that I can more readily mow over the toys instead. If you have a mulching mower, the kids will never even miss them.

The upshot is I’ve spent a good deal less time mowing this summer on account of that.

Now you have to understand that this is not an undiluted blessing because I have given up on getting to heaven by good works and instead I am making my case by the amount of time I spend working on my lawn.  I am trying to mow my way to heaven.

This sounds strange, but there are a lot of men just like me who’ve given up on all of the usual theologies and are trying to avoid the eternal flames by virtue of their lawn.  Like any religion, there are various sub-theologies within it. 

There are some who think that you have to have a perfect lawn with all of the grass of the same species and at exactly the same height.  Within that group, there are the ones who favor a particular kind of grass.  These are the ones who’d be sitting on a mountain top living on cold water and parched corn if they were affiliated with a traditional religion.

Others believe that you aren’t required to have a perfect lawn, but you really need to be trying for a perfect lawn.  The creed is that a perfect lawn is not to be obtained in this life, but that during a period of time after death, the imperfections of one’s lawn will be taken away.

I’ve belonged to each of these sects in my time, but I now follow another way.  I believe our lawns make us righteous through suffering.

Initially I believed in the manner of the first group, but I discovered I’d have to kill all of my old lawn and sod it in completely new, and that was simply beyond my ability.  Then I moved to the second sect, and, after a while, I discovered difficult that was.  Even though you know you can’t have a perfect lawn, you still have to try, and trying is the hard part. 

So I decided to quit trying and now go directly to suffering without the intervening effort.

The new 4.5 horse power machine is not the only thing that’s cut into my mowing time this summer. That hot, dry spell we had did its part too.  Usually I start the year with a one-week rotation and switch off to a two-week rotation around the Fourth of July.  This year I did that, and mowed at the beginning of July and again at the middle, but then the grass stayed basically the same height until the end of August, turning ultimately into a toasty brown.

From a theological point of view, this worries me.  Is God working against me?  And at the same time is he telling me what I’m in for?

Now I could have watered, but then you come up against the sprinkling versus total immersion schools of thought, and, besides, that puts us back into the position of trying to have a perfect lawn.  If I water, I might as well go back to my old religion.

If this wasn’t already hard enough, you’ve got folks like the Organist.  She lives a block or two away from me, depending on how you count block, and I caught her out edging her walk the other day. Edging, mind you. This is totally unacceptable.  She’s gumming up the works whatever way you look at it.  On one hand, she’s opened herself to charges of perfectionism, and on the other, she’s upped the bar on suffering.

And she’s a woman.  Women don’t get into heaven through yard work but through housekeeping.

As if things weren’t hard enough, this kind of piety has been known to start revivals.  You’ve got to keep a lid on it and never give an inch.

Anyway, she’s lives a couple of blocks away.  I’m hoping it’ll dampen out before it gets here.

(Bobby Winters is a Professor of Mathematics, writer, and speaker.  You may contact him at bwinters1@cox.net or visit his website at www.okieinexile.com. )

The Mowing Guru

By Bobby Neal Winters

I got a call the other day from my old friend Bubba back home.  Mowing was on his mind.

With the latest rain having brought up the green grass, I’ve been thinking about the mowing season myself.  It is always one of the most active times of the year as I am trying to mow my way into heaven.  Bubba’s call helped spur my thinking.  He lives about a five-hour drive south of me, and, over the years, I’ve discovered that they are about three weeks ahead of us as far as the mowing season goes.

“I mowed the yard for the first time today,” he said.  “And I witnessed a miracle.”

“A miracle?” I echoed back as a question.  Bubba is given to flights of fancy and indulges in a bit of hyperbole beyond that, so I’ve learned to be wary.

“Yes,” he said.  “I got my riding mower started without a trip to the repair shop.”

To be able to fully appreciate the impact of that statement, one must know Bubba’s history with lawn mowers.  Let us begin with the fact that he treats his mowers with a policy of malignant neglect.  He never changes his oil, but only replaces it, and, in addition to this, he periodically tries to wean his mowers off it.

Add to this the fact that he mows with lightning speed as if he is in the Indianapolis 500.  Now add that he’s a bit on the hefty side.  He was once driving around north of the town of Ada, Oklahoma and got lost.  He stopped and asked someone who was out in the front yard how he could get to 377 and they said, “Diet and exercise.” All of this to say he runs is mower with heavy loads at high speed and inadequate lubrication. 

Most operating manuals don’t advocate this sort of treatment, but, as Bubba is quick to point out, they don’t precisely prohibit it either. Nevertheless, as a result of this sort of treatment, Bubba is required to have his mower repaired every year before the first mowing. 

Hence my response:

“Golly, that was a miracle,” I said with a laugh.

“Don’t laugh,” he said.  “I’m serious. I think that mowing is my conduit to God.”

He was so serious I was somewhat taken aback. 

“Really?” I asked. I do write about mowing my way to heaven, but mine is a theology of works through God’s grace.  I got the feeling that this was something different.

“Really!” he said. “When I get out on my riding mower in the sunshine—or should I say Sonshine,” I could see the spelling in the way he said it, “with all of the green grass and warm air and all of the birds and bees and insects of nature around me, I feel directly connected to God.”

“Well, that’s...,” I started a sentence but was interrupted.

“Whatever burden I am carrying, whatever sorrow I may be feeling just disappears when I climb astride that mighty machine,” he continued.

I waited a few beats after he finished this time before replying.

“Well, that’s very interesting,” I said.  “I’ve never known anyone before who gets that big of a charge out of mowing.”

“It’s more than a charge,” he said. “It’s like I’m being a conduit for the Holy Spirit itself.”

I thought his was going to say, “Hallelujah,” and I almost said, “Amen!”

“Okay,” I said instead.  I felt a feeling that was similar to one I had when I heard a woman say she liked to wash dishes by hand.  It was like I wanted to make sure she wasn’t washing any sharp knives.

There was a little more awkward silence before I continued.

“I think it’s great that you enjoy mowing so,” I said. “I just don’t like it that much myself.”

“Well,” he said, sounding more serious than ever, “I will pray for you.”

“Thanks,” I said and we said good-bye.

(Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, is Assistant Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, Professor of Mathematics, and Acting Chair of the Department of Chemistry.)