Friends,
I wrote these words late in the afternoon of February 2, a day more commonly known as Groundhogs’ Day. It was sunny out of doors and through my window I saw plenty of shadows, lengthening as the hours transitioned to evening. I don’t know if Californian shadows on Groundhogs day even count, or if early February sunshine only matters if it’s in Punxsutawney, PA, but either way, the prognostication of six more weeks of winter (or not) is hard for me to grasp right now.
I suspect it is an ailment particular to the COVID-19 era, but I’m having a hard time thinking about the future beyond, say, what’s for dinner tonight (and even that’s doubtful sometimes). I know the future will come. Winter will give way to Spring, and before too long the year will be half gone, and we might even get vaccinated and go salsa dancing in crowded bars, but the certainty I know as a matter of logic doesn’t always infuse my soul with confidence. My soul is somewhat agnostic about the future, and I recognize that as spiritual ailment.
To address this uncertainty, I have decided that I need to be disciplined about looking to the future, to claim in the marrow of my being the sure and certain hope that no matter how much things seem to remain unchanged in Coronavirus time, the dread pandemic has not halted the earth’s orbit of the sun. This week this discipline has led me to the task of planning this year’s garden.
Not that I’m a very good gardener. My thumb is far from green – it’s more like the color of a wilted, bug-eaten leaf of lettuce, but last summer, for the first time in my life, I managed to plant tomatoes that produced enough fruit to make pasta sauce, so I have ordered a bag of seeds for San Marzano tomatoes, which are rumored to make the very best marinara. I also ordered some heirloom flint corn, which I hope will produce ears sufficient to render at least one batch of polenta, which, if I’m lucky, should go nicely with sauce from the San Marzano tomatoes.
The earth’s seasons–from Groundhogs’ Day to the Fourth of July (when my corn should be about knee-high, but we’ll see) remind us that the Creator has given us a world that is in continuous motion–even when we are sequestered in the Bardo of COVID-19 separation. Buying seeds this week was my way of remembering this divine promise, and I recommend something similar for you. You may not be a gardener (even an unsuccessful one like me), but you could always invest in a kite for later in the springtime, or a new pair of Birkenstocks for when the weather is warm. Maybe now is a good time to call A Great Good Place for Books (or wherever you buy your reading material) to find out what books are coming out this Summer, and then plan accordingly for the languid days of August.
Whatever you do, know that the God of the future is calling us forth through this long and lonely winter and into future seasons of joy.
God’s Peace,
Ben