Spring – Spirit of Nature

Spring’s Song

On this beautiful Sunday morning, when I’m avoiding church because of a nasty, chesty virus I’ve succumbed to (although, it should be said, I often stay at home on Sunday mornings just to have some much-needed quiet contemplation time, anyway!), these words on the Lectio 365 app caught my attention:

“An ancient text for Jewish believers, the Passover Haggadah, describes Sabbath as ‘the lived enactment of the messianic age’, when we may enjoy a foretaste of the coming ‘world of peace in which striving and conflict are (temporarily) at an end, and all creation sings a song of being to its Creator.’”

I love the way ancient Jewish traditions recognise the relationship between all of creation (not just humanity) and the Divine. Their scriptures often, poetically anthropomorphise Nature, speaking of trees and rivers clapping their hands, mountains bursting into joyful song, and rocks crying out.[1]

Many (or most) ancient cultures held or still hold a reverence for Nature (even if the monotheistic ones make it clear they “worship the Creator, not the creation”) because of their close relationship with and dependence on the land and, from a Judeo-Christian perspective (thinking of the Creation poem in Genesis), an innate awareness of common roots, common Divine Source, with the rest of the Universe.

Most of us now, in the 21^st Century, live lives that are tragically detached from the natural world that we are inherently part of – to the detriment of our mental and spiritual health. No wonder being in Nature helps us to reconnect with ourselves, with the Universe, and with the Divine, and has proven benefits for mental health.

I take walks into Nature every day, usually with the dog, often with my camera, and always with appreciation. The woods and fields are a kind of church, a cathedral, you might say, where I commune with my surroundings and, through them, with God (while also recognising my need for human connection).

On this sunny April Sunday, like many other Sundays, instead of going to church, a short walk out in the woods is part of my Sabbath celebration. The Lectio 365 image of creation bursting into song seems to perfectly depict the sights and sounds of this current season, when Spring is now in full display here in Southern England.

Birds are nesting, courting, and creating symphonies of mating calls. The range of wildflower species emerging is expanding every day.

Butterflies and other insects are increasingly on the wing, despite the cold, prevailing north-east wind.

The images interspersed between these words are some of the photos I’ve taken of Spring’s joyful song along my walks over the last 2-3 weeks.

Hope you too are enjoying the jubilant unfurling of Spring’s promises.

[1] E.g. Psalm 98; Isaiah 35; Isaiah 55; Luke 19.

Lion’s Teeth

Inspired by a guided meditation* on the humble dandelion and my recent purchase of a macro lens, I decided to dig out my tripod and try taking some close-up photos of this very familiar, highly successful and much-loved wildflower.

I say “much-loved” – of course, it has been and still is regarded as a weed by many. But even amongst gardeners, there’s growing recognition of its importance as an attractor of bees and other pollinators, helping to bring life to other, more “wanted” plants.

In fact, dandelions are positively good for lawns, as their wide-spreading roots loosen hard-packed soil, aerate the earth and help reduce erosion.

The deep taproot pulls nutrients such as calcium from deep in the soil and makes them available to other plants. While some people think they’re a lawn killer, dandelions actually fertilize the grass.**

And before the invention of lawns some time in the 20th Century, dandelions were lauded for their leaves and golden blossoms as a bounty of food, medicine and magic. Gardeners would even weed out the grass to make room for the dandelions!

The original French “dent de lion” was named after lions because their lion-toothed leaves healed so many ailments, and to this day, herbalists hail the dandelion as the perfect plant medicine. Amongst other properties, it’s a gentle diuretic that provides nutrients and helps the digestive system function at peak efficiency.

Each plant produces around 3000 seeds in its lifetime!

Dandelion ‘clocks’ remain an eternal source of joy to children – and many adults like me – as their wispy seeds waft away in the breeze, entrancing wide eyes of wonder.

These seeds remind me of the chimney brushes in Mary Poppins!

God, the Universe and Nature have given us so much, for our bodies, hearts and souls, that we have neglected and even destroyed – at our own peril, especially here in the West – some of which is literally right at our feet. I hope humanity can find a way to start restoring our ancient relationship with Nature and therefore with God and ourselves.

*Meditation by Anna Robinson on the Nomad podcast (subscriber content).

**Some of this material is taken from: Ten Things You Might Not Know About Dandelions, with thanks. If you’d like to know more, do take a look at this informative and delightful article.

Truth Springs

I’m no farmer or gardener, but I imagine that working with the earth might feel invigoratingly human…

….alive and whole, like getting in touch with ancient roots (pun intended).

Crocuses, in our local woods
(all photos taken in last two weeks)

…like the fulfilment of the longings sung by U2:

“Begging to get back to my heart, and to the rhythm of my soul, and to the rhythm of my unconsciousness, to the rhythm that yearns to be released from control” (Moment of Surrender).

I may not be a gardener or farmer, but I am a lifelong lover of nature and the outdoors, who experiences something of the mystical harmony of humanity and nature, through contemplative walks and photography.

In a sense, there’s nothing mystical about it, because there is no real division between humanity and nature (mankind is, after all, part of nature), except for the perceived separation that we place between the two through our sanitised lives, our exploitation of the planet and our over-inflated image of ourselves.

And yet, all things are spiritual. And the end goal of everything, according to major faiths, is the reconciliation of all things.

Through our loving contact with the earth, we participate in this eternal (re-)union.

Ancient societies, who worked the earth and were directly dependent on it for their very lives, recognised the Divine in the goodness that rained from the skies, in the crops that emerged faithfully from the soil, and the kiss between the two!

“Unfailing love and truth have met together.
Righteousness and peace have kissed!
Truth springs up from the earth,
and righteousness smiles down from heaven.
Yes, Yahweh pours down his blessings.
Our land will yield its bountiful harvest.” (Psalm 85)

Without a sense of wonder, gardeners, farmers and naturalists may miss out on the presence of the Divine, while theologians stuck in stuffy studies and books can lose sight of the pervasive presence of God to be found outdoors.

Those with awakened senses (“with eyes to see”) have the privilege of seeing love and truth kiss, as the earth yields its new growth and Spring flowers emerge.

May you see love and truth kiss during the emerging of Spring, as heralded by this robin this morning:

“The universe unfolds in God, who fills it completely. Hence, there is a mystical meaning to be found in a leaf, in a mountain trail, in a dewdrop, in a poor person’s face. The ideal is not only to pass from the exterior to the interior to discover the action of God in the soul, but also to discover God in all things.” Pope Francis