FROM SCRATCH
By Rev. Emily A. Moore
The tiller is too much trouble to use in my tiny garden plot. The weeds get tangled around the blades, and it is just as much trouble to get the vines and roots off the blades as it is to hoe the land by hand. So, I hoe the garden plot and pull weeds myself. Every year. Good exercise. Hard work. Then I let the dirt sit for several days before I start planting. The neighbor’s young cat comes over, as if on cue, to “help” me put the vegetable slips in the ground. Last year this creature was a diminutive kitten, and I dodged tiny claws and unexpected pounces while I worked. I was frustrated at first since it tripled the amount of time it required to plant the garden, but then I got over myself and had a ball playing with the little guy. A bit more mature now, the cat simply keeps me company while I work. I miss his playful complications. I mix organic compost in with the dirt and then repeatedly water each tender, thirsty slip: okra, zucchini, squash, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, oregano, and eggplant. Grass clippings from the yard function as both mulch and weed deterrent. Sometimes God waters the garden, and sometimes I water the garden. Of course God is the real overseer, but I think of myself as a co-laborer. I cannot wait to eat, share, and freeze what comes of it. Time spent on my knees in the dirt, with soil running through my fingers, is time I would not trade for much else.
There is something deeply spiritual about preparing, planting, and tending a vegetable garden. I know that I will not be able to eat anything from the garden until about two months after I plant it, much like how prayer yields fruit at God’s timing and not mine. I have already gathered recipes for eggplant parmesan, knowing that I must wait 80-some days before I can eat it. Growing vegetables teaches me about delayed gratification (when will the okra finally ripen?), abundance (does anyone have 47 different recipes for yellow squash?), and scarcity (the peppers have struggled for years). I am reminded how weeds can choke the good healthy plants, much like distractions, worries, and contemporary culture can choke a healthy prayer life if I let it. Day after day I look at leaves, watch for buds, and monitor the moisture of the soil. I learn anew of the importance of water and regular attention, much like Christ feeding us through regular Holy Communion, worship and prayer. And I am still just as excited now as I was when I was four to see the first sprouts start to grow, and to pick the first vegetable from the garden. It is a bit like seeing seeds of faith coming to fruition in someone else’s life for whom I have been praying. And how is it that the okra seeds always produce okra and not, say, English peas? The tiny seed goes in the ground, unseen like faith, and then pops up just about when we’ve given up on it. Tiny but incredibly vital, like that mustard seed of faith Jesus talked about. I feel like a wealthy woman when I can go home, pick fresh veggies in the garden, and then cook them while they are still warm from the summer afternoon sun. It is like relishing in the fruit of patience, sweat, diligent care, and knee-time in prayer. Nothing I can control, nothing I can merit, yet much grace to enjoy and share.
Gardening and the spiritual journey mirror much of one another. Hard work. Unexpected surprises. Lack of control. Time. Quiet, slow processes. Holy mysteries. Trouble and gifts in the same dirt and life. Tangled messes. And how God blesses.
Plant a tomato slip or two this year and notice the Holy Spirit at work in you.
Mark 4:30-32; Matthew 13:1-9, 16-23.
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