The Rhythm of Life: An Experience of Engaging in Daily Practice | Cultivate

Part three of my Daily Practices paper

From Design Sponge, another favorite blog.

{Cultivate}

            It was a rare sunny day in February this year that I planted seeds. Seattle isn’t supposed to be sunny in February, so I interpreted the sun’s appearance as a personal commission: it was time to cultivate. The previous year was my first time experimenting with my potentially green thumb. I planted both basil and parsley, and I came in everyday after working at the daycare and stared in gratitude and awe at how much each had grown. I could tell by my roommate’s reaction that my amazement wasn’t a typical adult response. I was spending ten hours a day with over twenty three-year-olds after all, and their curiosity and celebratory spirit was permeating my way of being.

            I eagerly planted my seeds this year, remembering the pure elation that observing the progress of the sprouts brought me the year prior. I planted both basil and parsley again, hoping for more success with the parsley this time, and placed them in the sunniest window. I watered them each morning before I left and marveled at their growth when I returned. I found joy with each new sprout—so much that I still find it difficult to pick leaves off of the basil plant to use in pasta sauce, even though I suppose the intention is to use the herb and its gift of flavor in the end.

The practice of cultivation isn’t foreign to Christianity. In fact, it’s foundational to our humanity seeing as God cultivates us as his beloved creation (I wouldn’t be surprised if God looks at us with pure elation when He observes our progress, just as I do my plants). In the forward to Craig Goodwin’s book, Year of Plenty, Eugene Peterson writes: “Care of creation…is fundamentally about this incarnation, the core doctrine of the Christian faith, God with us in the Jesus of history.” Is it not marvelous that the growth of one seed can produce 40 seeds in addition from the one from which it sprouted? Whether it a beautiful flower or the most delicious fruit, with a bit of water and a proper environment, we can bear witness as God breathes growth and life into His created world.

This can be seen in the way care and cultivation of creation translates into nourishment as well. In her book Mudhouse Sabbath: An Invitation to a life of Spiritual Discipline, Lauren Winner, a devout Jew-turned-Christian professor, highlights the relevance of food to spirituality: “Food is part of God’s creation. A right relationship with food points us toward Him.” Winner makes a case for eating seasonally, naming the practice as a form of liturgy.

God created humanity to rely on the land, and He created the land to nourish humanity. However, in this modern world of instant gratification and indulgent consumption, the food we eat seems to appear at the snap of two fingers, rather than received as a gift from God. It isn’t a coincidence that watermelon grows in the summer to give hydration against the summer’s heat and potatoes in the winter to give energy in winter’s bitter cold. When we choose to eat seasonally, not only do we decide to recognize God’s provision with gratitude—we can also feast in the abundance of His harvest!

            As I reflect on God’s cultivation of His creation and His beloved and how I can participate in that process, I am reminded of Jesus’ words in his Sermon on the Mount. “Consider the lilies,” Jesus urges, as he speaks of God’s attentiveness and cultivation of His creation. Jesus knows that the beauty of the lily is evidence of God’s care, how He “clothes the grass of the field.” Through this allusion we can be filled with gratitude and feast on God’s provision for us too.