Gardening and faith 101

Postprandial ruminations
As I mentioned back here, Jessica and I have taken up gardening - at least as much as it is possible to do so on a small, south-facing, third-floor balcony. For the last few months, we've been enjoying quite a harvest: scores of cherry tomatoes, handfuls of capsicums and chillis, dozens of beans and snow peas, even some carrots, corn and potatoes, as well as a constant supply of basil, thyme, sage and mint.*

One of the most fun bits has been our worm farm, which takes nearly all our kitchen scraps and peelings (not to mention a little paper and even hair clippings) and turns them into high quality fertiliser. I think part of the delight for hardened urbanites like us has been to witness the full cycle of growth, production, consumption and decomposition. Living in a city, it is easy to forget the connections between all these things, especially the truth that there is no "away" to which we can throw things. "Garbage" is just something that belongs somewhere else - often in the worm farm!

Perhaps even more thrilling than watching worms gorge themselves has been the experience of seeing seeds grow and turn into recognisable and edible produce. Although I studied agriculture from year 7 until the HSC, this remains a surprising delight. A simple pleasure, but it's true that there's something special about eating what you've grown yourself. Could it be that part of what's special about growing your own food is that this experience powerfully brings home the reality that you didn't grow it yourself?

Let me explain. So much of our urban environment is the result of human manufacturing and ingenuity. From pixels to plates to polystyrene, we constantly and subtly receive the message that we are the fashioners of our own space and the makers of our own destiny. But the mystery of a growing seed explodes the myth of self-sufficiency, either individual or human. We rely on others all the time: not least to grow, harvest, transport, store, (often) cook and dispose of our food; we rely on the non-human all the time: the rains in season, the sunlight that freely bombards our planet twenty-four seven, the soils ground up or belched forth from the earth. Growing food yourself reveals that we don't grow our own food.

Jesus once told a story:

"This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. As soon as the grain is ripe, he puts the sickle to it, because the harvest has come."             – Mark 4.26-29

What is true of our lives and basic sustenance is also true of our hope in God's kingdom: we are primarily audience, recipients, beneficiaries. In the life of faith we are simply surprised and delighted farmers, dole bludgers on God's grace, children receiving his fatherly care. And thank God for that!
*If you compare this list to the one back here, you'll be able to work out all the things that sadly didn't make it.