back to the garden

recapturing joy

“I’ve never done this in April.”

That’s what Banu said to me with a look of contentment as she stood in the midst of her herbs. Truly, never in April. Living as we had for twenty-five years in places where snow is a routine occurrence during this month, planting herbs would not be recommended!

Clearing out a spot in the back yard, including making place for a fire pit, has provided an enlargement. It is an enlargement of room, of mental accommodation, of expansion of mind, of a breath of fresh air. (I’ll admit the mind-expanding bit might be a tad grandiose.)

A lush subject indeed is the garden. The scriptures feature — of course — the Garden of Eden and, among others, the Garden of Gethsemane.

Where would the Song of Solomon (or Song of Songs) be without the garden? The Hebrew word is גַּן (gan), and it appears in places which have prompted questions of what this book is even doing in the Bible. Translation: on occasion it is much more than a bit suggestive.

“A garden locked is my sister, my bride, a garden locked, a fountain sealed… A garden fountain, a well of living water, and flowing streams from Lebanon… My beloved has gone down to his garden, to the beds of spices, to pasture his flock in the gardens and to gather lilies.” But before fleeing to the garden, “My beloved thrust his hand into the opening, and my inmost being yearned for him. I arose to open to my beloved, and my hands dripped with myrrh, my fingers with liquid myrrh, upon the handles of the bolt. I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had turned away and was gone” (4:12, 15, 6:2, 5:4–6).

Once upon a time the book was explained as being about Yahweh and Israel or Christ and the church. We today understand it is about the love between woman and man. To the degree sexual imagery is involved is a matter for debate.

Still, aside from all that, gardens are places of rest. At least, that’s how I’ve experienced them. As mentioned before, there is a sense of contentment. There is joy recaptured. Joy is remembered.

And there is the note about a breath of fresh air. The plants themselves glory in it. Fresh air is denied to those caught in constriction. Free flowing water is welcome. Isaiah 58 speaks of being “like a watered garden, like a spring of water whose waters never fail” (v. 11).

Yet gardens require work. They require care. It can be painstaking care, attentive to the most minute of details. Gardens are not without their share of sorrow. Sometimes things grow; sometimes they don’t. There can be invasive species with which to deal. Critters of all sorts pose risks.

The prophet Isaiah tells the story of a garden that failed and even desecrated. “The vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the people of Judah are his cherished garden; he expected justice but saw bloodshed; righteousness but heard a cry!” (5:7). The servant of God issues his dire warning. Maybe we can step back a bit, short of engaging in malevolent behavior, acting with ill will, to have a planting turn out not quite right.

We might see Job making the opposite point. He protests his innocence amid disaster after disaster. In chapter 31, he delivers a final summation of all the evils he has avoided. Think of it as a poetic capstone. “If my land has cried out against me and its furrows have wept together, if I have eaten its yield without payment and caused the death of its owners, let thorns grow instead of wheat and foul weeds instead of barley” (vv. 38–40).

His cropland isn’t exactly a garden, but perhaps his case is made. A garden can hold great sadness.

Nonetheless, sadness can vanish in an instant. It can be transmuted into euphoria. On that first Easter, Mary Magdalene traveled into the garden which held the tomb of Jesus. She had a sorrowful and necessary task — to anoint his body with spices to control the stench of decomposition. Mary saw Jesus risen and walking around but she thought he was the gardener. It was only when he spoke her name that she realized who he was. Mary was filled with joy inexpressible.

There is magic in the garden.

When we return back to the garden, wonders await. We rediscover joy; we recapture it.