By Timothy Austen

There are good Christmas songs and there are bad ones. Stay with me, folks. I know it’ spring.

The good: Some traditional Christmas music beautifully captures the spirit of waiting and patience that Advent—and, for that matter, our current season of Lent—requires of us. For example: “How long is this Mariah Carey song, and when will it be over? Oh right, I need to be patient and wait for the next song to come on the radio.”

The bad: there’s that one song that assures us, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” when “friends come to call.” False. Firstly, that is an introvert homebody’s nightmare. Secondly, the most wonderful time of the year is not Christmas, it is… (non little drummer boy drumroll, please) Gardening Season!

That’s right, spring is in the air, and the most wonderful time of the year is ramping up right now, as I type. Am I too excited? No such thing.

Now, perhaps an even better question than “Why is this guy talking about Christmas in March?” is “What does gardening have to do with “Constructive Thoughts on Faith and Life”?

Well, for me, quite a lot.

There is a scripture that is commonly quoted, and, I would argue, even more commonly ignored:

“The heavens are telling the glory of God, and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.”

Psalm 19:1, NRSV

We very rarely take time to listen to what nature (which is how we usually interpret “the heavens”) supposedly has to say. Many of us will sporadically peruse a favorite trail or two when the weather permits, or we’ll take the kid/grandkids to one of those plastic parks adjacent a mercilessly polluted chunk of what probably shouldn’t pass for a forest.

So, what does it mean to really take time and listen?

Well, don’t overthink it. Pay attention to the non-human things living and growing all around you. How many backyard bird species can you identify? How many trees in your yard can you identify? What kinds of shadows do they cast throughout the day? How many species of flower grow on your property? How many of them can be foraged and used in salads or tea? (Ever try dandelion tea with honey?? Also, caution: inevitably, some of your neighbors will have some gorgeous flowers that you will be tempted to pluck. The struggle is real, but not a great way to win friends and influence people…)

While we’re quoting popular scriptures:

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.”

Matt 6:28b–29, NRSV

There you have it, folks: Christ himself has told us to study how plants grow as a spiritual discipline. See, I told you this would come back to gardening. Perhaps the best way to consider the lives of plants is to plant and tend some of your own. Whether you want a couple pots of chamomile and lavender on the kitchen windowsill, or you build rows upon rows of raised beds, you’ll learn a lot of the same beautiful lessons over the course of the growing season—if you’re paying attention, of course.

There is something special, deeply spiritual, and humbling about the simple process of tending and observing a plant from seed to harvest. You learn to celebrate slow, steady progress—something we struggle to do for ourselves or others. You learn how tiny, easy-to-ignore pests can ruin the health of a plant—just as certain seemingly harmless, pleasurable things can stunt our own spirits and bodies. You learn to be patient, not to harvest too soon, and to try and juice your garden’s slow progress with elixirs, cures, and chemicals. It takes years of wisdom and practice to be patient with the slowness of our own human growth and that of others. On the subject of ways gardens can shape and quiet us, I often revisit the following quote from Marilynne Robinson’s novel Gilead in springtime:

“Sometimes I have loved the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday. It is like standing in a newly planted garden after a warm rain. You can feel the silent and invisible life. All it needs from you is that you take care not to trample on it.”

Gardening quiets us. It slows us down. Both of those are things prayer is supposed to do, by the way. I often wonder if our spiritual lives should look more like gardening: we should be okay with slow growth, celebrate when things come to fruit and flower, do it together with our friends and families, and learn to find enjoyment in the monotony of tending, weeding, and watering.

For those who observe it, Lent is always a good time to try out new, perhaps intimidating habits. And remember, there’s no such thing as starting too small. As C.S. Lewis tells us in The Weight of Glory, you just might find enjoyment “creeping in on the mere drudgery.”

At the very least, you’ll have some really good tomatoes to put on your salads.