It’s March now with so much already in place. A tree at my door, for instance, with all its leaves packed and about to be unpacked.
Who is this God of Creation constantly showing his hand in the repeat calls of our wood pigeon; in the building of that high wire nest for a new family to move into; or in the gathering of lesser celandine in the corner of a city garden.
John Moriarty asks, why do we persist with such a grey mind when we might live with the yellow consciousness of daffodils? In a word, he is exhorting us to let spring happen for us too. It’s not only a playtime for frogs and birds and plants who are besotted with the season. It’s also a time for us!
May we never get used to it! May it always be an Eden for us – our eyes washed clean, ears opened – as we listen in to God-chat, to that ongoing conversation ‘filled with words of love’, (Laudato Si’). Of course we have no skipping lambs on city streets nor many trees for thrushes and blackbirds to fine tune their voices. Still there’s more than enough to enthral those on the look-out for life’s endless ‘small’ miracles.
‘What is all this juice and all this joy?’ enquires the poet, Hopkins. But God calling to us to be nourished by a deeper looking and listening as we walk with him in the gracefulness of his garden season by season.