Parable of the Orange Trees

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0 height="100%"><tr> <td valign="top" width=200 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" width="100%" BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" ><B>Bayou Des Allemands Robert O. Zehr</B></FONT>     |     <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Bayou Des Allemands Robert O. 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I asked a well-dressed woman with whom I</div> <div> fell in step.  She looked startled, then her face relaxed in</div> <div> condescension, "You're a stranger, aren't you?"  Before I could</div> <div> reply, she went on, "This is Orange Day!"</div> <div>  </div> <div>         She must have seen my look and continued, "It's so good to turn</div> <div> aside from one's labors and pick oranges one day of the week."</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "But you don't pick oranges EVERY day?" I asked.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "Oh yes, one must be ready to pick oranges always, but Orange</div> <div> Day is the day set aside to do it," she answered.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         Most of the people were carrying a book beautifully bound in</div> <div> leather, edged in gold, and entitled ORANGE PICKERS MANUAL.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         Around one of the orange trees, seats had been arranged in</div> <div> tiers and they were almost full.  A well-dressed man conducted</div> <div> me to a seat.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         There were numbers of people.  One man up front was talking to</div> <div> the people and they began to sing.  The songbook was called</div> <div> SONGS OF THE ORANGE GROVES.  The man in front admonished us to</div> <div> sing louder.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         I was puzzled.  "When do we start to pick oranges?"  I asked</div> <div> the man who shared the songbook with me.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "It's not long now," he told me.  "We like to get everyone</div> <div> warmed up first...besides, we want to make the oranges feel</div> <div> right at home."</div> <div>  </div> <div>         I thought he was joking.  After a while, a rather big man read</div> <div> two sentences from his well-worn copy of the ORANGE PICKER'S</div> <div> MANUAL and began to make a speech.  I wasn't sure if he was</div> <div> talking to the people or to the oranges.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         I looked around and saw a number of similar groups gathered</div> <div> around other trees here and there, being addressed by other big</div> <div> men.  Some trees had NO ONE around them.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "Which trees do we pick from?"  I asked the man beside me.  He</div> <div> didn't seem to understand, so I pointed to the trees around</div> <div> about.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "THIS is our tree," he said.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "But there are too many of us to pick from just ONE tree, " I</div> <div> protested.  "There are more people than oranges!"</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "We don't pick oranges," the man patiently explained, "we</div> <div> haven't been called.  That's the Pastor Orange Picker's job. </div> <div> We're here to support him.  Besides, we haven't been to MANUAL</div> <div> SCHOOL.  You need to know how an orange thinks before you can</div> <div> pick it successfully."</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "What's MANUAL SCHOOL?" I whispered.</div> <div>  </div> <div>           "It's where they go to study the ORANGE PICKER'S MANUAL, " </div> <div> my informant went on, "it takes years to understand it."</div> <div>  </div> <div>          The big man in front was still making his speech.  His face was</div> <div> red and he seemed indignant about some of the rival groups.  But</div> <div> then a glow cam on his face, "We are not forsaken," he said. </div> <div> "We have much to be thankful for.  Why, just last week we saw</div> <div> three oranges brought into the baskets and we are now debt free,</div> <div> having paid off al the new cushions you now sit on!"</div> <div>  </div> <div>         The man in front was reaching a climax; the atmosphere seemed</div> <div> tense.  Then with a dramatic gesture he reached for two of the</div> <div> oranges, plucked them from the branch, and placed them in a</div> <div> basket at his feet.  The applause was deafening!</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "Do we start picking now?" I asked my informant.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "What do you think we're doing?" he hissed.  "What do you think</div> <div> this tremendous effort has been made for?  There's more</div> <div> orange-picking talent in this group than in the rest of Home</div> <div> Country combined!"</div> <div>  </div> <div>         I apologized quickly, "I don't want to be critical.  The man in</div> <div> front must be an excellent orange picker.  But surely the rest</div> <div> of us could try!  There are so many oranges that need picking. </div> <div> We've got hands; we can read the MANUAL!"</div> <div>  </div> <div>         "When you've done business as long as I have, you'll realize</div> <div> it's not that simple," he replied.  "There isn't time.  We have</div> <div> work to do and families to care for.  We..."</div> <div>  </div> <div>         But I wasn't listening.  It began to dawn on me.  Whatever</div> <div> these people were, they were NOT orange pickers.  Orange picking</div> <div> was a form of weekend entertainment.  I tried one or two more of</div> <div> the groups.  Not all had such high academic standards; some held</div> <div> classes on orange picking.  I tried to tell them of the trees I</div> <div> had seen in Neglected Country, but no one had any interest.</div> <div>  </div> <div>         The sun was setting in my dream as I drove back along the road</div> <div> I had come.  All around me were the vast, empty orange groves. </div> <div> But there has been some changes...everywhere the ground was</div> <div> littered with fallen fruit; it seemed as though the trees had</div> <div> rained oranges to the ground, where they lay there rotting.</div> <div>  </div> <div>          I thought of all the people in Home Country.  Then, booming</div> <div> through the trees, there came a voice which said, "THE HARVEST</div> <div> TRULY IS PLENTEOUS, BUT THE LABORERS ARE FEW; PRAY YE THEREFORE</div> <div> THE LORD OF THE HARVEST, THAT HE WILL SEND FORTH LABORERS..."</div> <div>  </div> <div>         And I awakened, for it was only a dream......or WAS IT???</div> <bR> <bR> <div> I read this first in HIS MAGAZINE December 1965</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>