It’s late August as I write, and even though our summer in Canada officially lasts until the Autumnal Equinox (22 September), the season is waning.
The grass is dry and fading; leaves are turning yellow; my vegetable garden has nearly expired but for the corn and pumpkin—and the weeds, of course. For some reason, they seem to have incredible staying power. Funny that.
Horticulture and I have had an evolving relationship. I disliked it as a child growing up on my parents’ farm, because it involved work.
My summer chores included helping to sow, weed, hoe, and harvest the family garden patch. Well, it wasn’t a ‘patch’, exactly—it seemed to us youngsters more the size of a football field.
Was it just my imagination, or were those rows of beans over 100 yards long? Throw in scorching temperatures and a few thousand mosquitoes (wet years) or grasshoppers (dry years) and you’ll know why I loathed gardening as a kid.
With adulthood came responsibility for my own small-town property, which includes a vegetable plot, trees, lawn, hedges, shrubs, and numerous flowerbeds. Gardening—especially of lilies—has become an enjoyable pastime.
Though it still involves work (and, alas, mosquitoes), it is therapeutic and satisfying to have an attractive yard and home-grown fruits and vegetables. It is a great blessing to produce so much food in such a short growing season.
Jesus employed many parables about plant cultivation; metaphors relating to seeding, growth, abundance and death are apropos to the spiritual life, and easy to understand.
There are so many such lessons that it would take an entire book, or perhaps a continuing series to do them justice.
So I limited myself to a few observations about the lowly yet pernicious weed.
Keeping one’s yard weed-free is far more labour-intensive and time-consuming than sowing or reaping. Making an initial decision to follow Christ, or even ultimately dying for him are the work of a moment; the greatest challenge comes from a lifetime of the daily struggle against sin and striving for virtue.
When weeds are tiny seedlings, you may be tempted to ignore them. Don’t, because you’ll never return to them at (what you imagine is) the ‘right time.’
They invariably get out of control and go to seed. Just like sin, it’s best to uproot and eradicate weeds at the very first sign.
Some weeds come out entirely if you pull them gently and slowly; if you rip them out quickly and impatiently they break, leaving roots in the soil. Now apply this lesson to the training and admonition of children.
On a related note, weeds are generally easier to remove after a rain. God’s grace (especially in the sacrament of Penance) is like the rain.
Occasionally, you become weary of kneeling in the dirt hour upon hour and gingerly plucking weeds from amongst your flowers; you feel overwhelmed and want to pull out the whole works: weeds, flowers, and perhaps even some of your hair.
This frustration may be the result of too much (or the wrong kind of) ambition—you should see the size of my perennial flowerbeds.
It may be better to start small and keep things simple; I’m not saying you shouldn’t grow a big garden or do great things for God, but it is wise to know one’s limits.
In gardening, as in life, you need the time and energy to keep up with everything.
You must commit to working diligently and daily—sporadic bursts of effort interspersed with lazy stretches rarely produce good gardens (been there, done that). Weeds gain the upper hand; fruits and vegetables get too old or spoil.
Archbishop Fulton Sheen used to say (I paraphrase) that there is no coasting in the spiritual life; you are either going forward or falling behind.
Finally, there is an end to the gardening season, at least for those of us in climes with sub-zero winters. As much as I enjoy the taste of fresh peas or the sight of thousands of flowers blooming, I do tire of the labour.
I look forward to the garden’s winter slumber. We are to cherish the life God has given us, of course, but we are not to fear death.
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For beyond it is the Garden of gardens, where there will be no sickness or sorrow, and (I fervently hope) no grasshoppers, mosquitoes or weeds.