God’s Gardening Tips for Summer

With summer now in full swing, we are nearing the peak of fruit season. Sinking one’s teeth into a ripe plum right off the stem can be as satisfying as any high-end culinary experience. And yet, fruit has its frustrations. It takes forever to grow and spoils quickly. Taking a bite a day too early could diminish a peach’s flavor by half, but wait a day too long and it will have gone soft. Even if it is enjoyed at the height of ripeness, its pleasure is momentary. The sensation and flavor fade as the summer sun blazes on.

To our post-industrial society, the toils of gardening might seem like an unpromising place to ponder the perplexities of life, but it is one of the Bible’s most common metaphors. Isaiah portrays God as a vineyard worker; Jesus calls himself the true vine; Paul describes a life guided by the Spirit as marked by fruit. It’s been said before that Christ’s parables were fixated on farming imagery when describing the kingdom of God. The Lord’s work is not constructed but cultivated. A seed sown has a life of its own; the earth produces of itself.

At the root of these metaphors (ha) is the claim any fruit in our lives is almost always the result of another person’s labor.

A person’s sense of curiosity and zeal for learning is usually the result of a teacher who poured her heart and soul into her lessons. A star athlete is almost always indebted to the guidance and devotion of a coach. An innate desire to be in a long-term, committed relationship can come from observing one’s own parents’ healthy marriage. And yet, the effort of the gardener does not guarantee a good harvest. External forces like weather, pests, and disease can easily lead to a fruit tree perishing despite the farmer’s best intentions. Pesticides can help ensure that a strawberry comes to fruition, but at a high cost. Like the human heart, one cannot wrestle a good piece of fruit into existence. In order for it to successfully grow from seed to harvest, there seems to be a higher power at work.

Now, many Christians have been trained to be hyper-fixated on fruit as evidence for our faith. After all, a good tree bears good fruit. How do we know if we are righteous? If our lives exude love, joy, peace and patience. As a result, we often feel solely responsible for our crop. But if these spiritual fruit are the sole evidence of a lively, saving faith, it won’t take long for the crop to spoil, either leading to self-righteousness, entitlement and fatigue, or fear and anxiety.

Which is why summer happens to be a theologically ripe season. The heat of summer brings a natural passivity to gardening life. Whereas spring and fall are generally intense working periods — long days are spent tilling, planting and watering and clearing — summer is too hot for strenuous labor. Abraham Lincoln once described the passive approach to harvesting a fruit tree. “A man watches his pear tree day after day, impatient for the ripening of the fruit,” he said. “Let him attempt to force the process, and he may spoil both fruit and tree. But let him patiently wait, and the ripe pear at length falls into his lap.” What’s the secret to success in God’s garden? Do nothing. If anything, get out of the Gardener’s way. Pray and watch and wait.

The apostle Paul wrote that faith rooted in Christ always bears fruit. He’s not simply talking about the fleeting pleasure of a ripe peach, but, rather, fruit that will last. The bearing of fruit, in other words, is not simply one and done. In the same way that grape vines live between fifty and one hundred years, so the gospel will yield fruits throughout a person’s lifetime — even despite evidence to the contrary. Because while the vine continually supplies nutrients to the branches that have no choice but to yield a healthy harvest, no vine ever produces fruit in the winter. The gospel is a continuous wellspring, an organic power that brings life to whatever is fastened to it. The fruit may come and go, but the branches are always sustained.

Considering all of the frustrations and rewards of farming, it is no wonder why fruit is a near-perfect illustration for how people respond to love. The key ingredients: patience, perfect timing, and a little bit of magic. The moment may come and go, but nothing in the world tastes so sweet.

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Paul Cowley grew up in Manchester, England, in the 1950s. His father, a bare-knuckle boxer, was a vicious alcoholic. Having been verbally and physically abused, Paul ran away at age 15. It wasn’t long until he was involved in crime and had to spend time in prison. Somehow, however, he managed to turn his life around. While running a health club in London, after being an atheist for almost 40 years, he became a Christian. Shortly after, something made him want to be in a relationship with his dad again. After years of not speaking, Paul tracked him down. He was hoping his father had changed like he had, but, instead, found that he was drinking more and even grumpier and more vulgar than before.

Occasionally, Paul would invite his dad to his family’s home in London. When he would pick him up at the train station, his father was usually drunk and always whining and complaining, mostly about money. In an interview, Paul recounts a strange thing that happened after one of these visits:

One day, I took him to the station and put him on the train. And right in the middle of the carriage I had this overwhelming feeling of love for my dad. And it was really weird. And I almost started to cry. I looked at him and felt really sad for him and that we never had a relationship. I don’t even remember eating a meal with my father. And in my mind came this idea to upgrade his ticket to first class. And I bought a very expensive single and walked him to his seat and kissed him on the forehead.

As Paul is standing back on the platform, his wife asks him, “What on earth did you just do?” and he responds, “I have no idea. I just really wanted to see my dad happy.” Looking at his father through the window, he sees his dad take his hat off, recline in his leather seat, snap his fingers for a cup of tea and start to read his newspaper. As the train pulls away, his father turns out the window and looks at Paul, he has the biggest smile on his face. Paul says it was like every Christmas and birthday rolled into one huge grin. It was the last time Paul ever saw his father. Three weeks later, the man would die of a massive heart attack.

I always think, “Was that me just making up an idea that I thought I might buy him a ticket or was that God guiding me?” I have a real peace with my father after all those years of arguments and fighting and drinking and womanizing. The only image I have of my father is that picture of his face looking through the window of that railway carriage as it rolled off.

What began as a tiny seed would be buried and, to Paul Cowley’s surprise, eventually germinate, sprout, and grow. It was not the result of years of him laboring and cultivating his own crop. With patience, perfect timing, and a little bit of magic, the fruit ripened on its own. Looking back, Paul sees that he, in fact, was the one being cultivated. The fruit of his faith may have only lasted as long as a smile, but its result is eternal peace. Nothing in the world tastes so sweet.