If you know what you’re looking for, the persimmon trees will be bearing their fruit throughout the southeast in the coming weeks. In season October through February, persimmons are the golden delicious fruits that hang off the trees after the leaves drop in autumn. Often referred to as “the fruit of the Gods” but you have to wonder what on earth must have possessed the Creator to include the persimmon tree in the flora and fauna of creation? Of what use is it? What would have happened, for instance, if it had been the tree in the Garden of Eden out of which the snake had slithered? Had Eve taken one bite of that persimmon, she would never have been tempted to offer the thing to Adam. Sin itself might have become dormant because the persimmon lacks the delectability necessary for temptation and lacks the “core” value of the apple.
Or does it? It looks alright among the branches or on the ground, favoring the appearance of a nice-sized plum. But if you eat it in the raw, the only temptation that comes over you is to gag. Lips and mouth shrivel. Your teeth ache. Unlike the apple that’s juicy to its very core, the persimmon will force the eater to think undignified thoughts and act in uncouth ways to get rid of the blooming thing. Maybe the Creator put that thing in the Garden on the first Halloween: the first treat that turned out to be a trick!
Maybe the persimmon is a symbol of another kind of sin which is not represented by the apple. Apple-like sins are those that are subtler, and on the whole, easy to live with. You nibble your way along, not doing the things you ought to do. You find yourself actually comfortable with coveting your neighbor’s Mercedes. In a consumer-oriented, advertising-driven society like ours, we lust for the juices of plush lifestyles. Even TV evangelists who used to preach that you had to give up the world to save your soul are now pushing the notion that if you save your soul, then you will get the whole world. Just like the calf, the golden apple of opportunity tastes sweet to the rotten core.
Persimmon sins, on the other hand, backfire. These are the kind that look harmless and tempting, but as soon as you take the first bite you know you’ve messed up. The flashing blue light in the rear-view mirror signals within you an instant sickness that you broke one of the local commandments. You speak a small lie about a neighbor and later that afternoon she’s on the phone to you. You react with a short fuse with one of your children and find it difficult to shave because you don’t want to look at the sourpuss in the mirror.
Life is full of sweet and sour sins. We’ve tried some of each and ended up with persimmon on our breath. Forgive my far-fetched attempt to add another symbol to the already over-crowded Garden, but I still wonder why the Creator invented the persimmon. Maybe there was the possibility that at some time in the history of the universe, a few good people could turn that thing into something as marvelous as persimmon pudding with dollop of whipped cream and a hint of almond that occasionally graces the desert table at a church covered-dish supper. Maybe we will be known by our fruits, after all!