The Fruits of the Season

Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in them. - Psalm 34:8

Growing up in Colorado, I learned to look for the signs of each season—the pasque flowers heralding spring, the golden of the aspen leaves and the cool mornings of fall, and the descent of the elk into the meadow by our house every winter. Signs of summer abounded, but my favorites were always the food. When the Olathe sweet corn and Palisade peaches showed up in the grocery store, I knew summer was really here. 

My mom would buy a big bag of Olathe sweet and have my brother and I shuck the ears. We’d boil them and eat them, barely cool enough to hold, with butter and salt. I spent summers with peach juice running down my chin, heedlessly staining my favorite t-shirts. 

As an adult, I got into growing more of my own food. I still bought sweet corn and peaches, but Nat and I signed up for a community garden plot at St Thomas Denver. We grew our own kale, chard, herbs, and carrots. We grew more zucchini than we knew what to do with. Our favorite things we grew, though, were the tomatoes: big heirloom beefsteak ones, weighing down the vines, juicy Early Girls with cheerful red skins, and the plentiful cherry tomatoes, sweet as candy. 

I will always associate the happiness of eating a warm, ripe tomato with the sunlit final days of summer. There is something so decadent about an abundance of tomatoes that echoes the feeling of knowing summer is almost over, that with every day fall and all its whirlwind of activity and obligation is approaching fast. Perhaps that makes them taste even better.

This year, we haven’t had much time for gardening. With Juno in the hospital for most of summer, a lot of our usual summer milestones have passed us by. The surge of the Delta variant has dampened our hopes for a reprieve from the pandemic, but we’ve still been able to see and enjoy the fruits of the season.

 In the midst of the long stay at the hospital, we were able to get our hands on a case of Palisade peaches. Last week, Juno ate her first peach, pureed and spoonfed (she loved it). Tonight, I made a simple tomato sauce out of a slapdash assortment of tomatoes, mostly from my mother-in-law, but I was able to pluck one small tomato from our struggling container plant and add it. When Juno tried a bite, she wasn’t sure what to think. Tomatoes, fresh from the vine, are bursting with flavor, and I don’t like to skimp on the garlic. She moved her taste of tomato around her mouth, considering. But when Nat offered her a second bite, she opened her mouth for it, sure enough. 

This may not have been the Sabbatical summer I planned, but watching Juno experience these fruits of the season has reminded me that God works in and through the challenging and unexpected, perhaps even more than the smooth seasons that go just as we hoped. 

This summer, the intention for our St. Mary Magdalene community was to consider what we’ve learned during our long wilderness journey. Who are we, and what are we being called to be as we transition into a new season together? Where might the Holy Spirit be leading us next? 

I haven’t been able to be party to as many of these conversations as I had hoped, but I can say that I was reminded of who this community is during this summer nevertheless. Nat, Juno, and I are reaping a spiritual harvest, one born of the love and care we have received during our pilgrimage through two heart surgeries and many weeks of waiting. It is at precisely these times, when we need Christ to carry us, that we see what church really is. Someday soon, it will be our turn to do the same for others. 

As the letter of James has been reminding us, there is no louder statement of who we are and what we believe than what we do. What we believe about Jesus, and who that makes us together, is shown forth in how we love our neighbors. This summer, we have seen and felt St. Mary Magdalene enfold us in love and prayer– but not only our family. St. Mary Magdalene sent, along with our love and prayers, our full tithe to Locally Haiti this last month, a tangible extension of our love for our siblings in Petit Trou and beyond. We have faithfully adapted to a slow transition into our building as we finish up our long building project and make choices informed by care for everyone’s safety. The patience and resilience of this community continues to make me glad and humble to serve among you. 

As we enter this new season, change is again in the air: Godly Play, online for now but in the Education Wing before long, begins this week; our annual Stewardship campaign, launching soon; preparation to return to our beautiful sanctuary after so long away, and of course the return of Fr. Bruce, just around the corner. 

I hope that as we welcome fall, we can enjoy and recognize the fruits of this Sabbatical season. What new connections have been formed? What has sustained us, in the midst of a summer so full of both joy and sorrow? What are we thankful for, and where has God shown up– especially where we didn’t expect God to?

Here, I’ll go first: 

I am thankful for the prayers of this community, for all the texts, emails, and calls to ask how we are and to share your love. I am thankful for my colleagues, who are the most supportive team I could ask for, and for the support of Revs. Sarah and George Berlin, whose presence among us has allowed me to be present for Juno and to take a much-needed vacation.  I am appreciative of the conversations I have had in person with some of you, so refreshing after this last year. I am thankful too for the glimpses of Christ I got in the love of our friends, the skilled hands and kind heart of Juno’s surgeon, and the faithful care of all the nurses and doctors of the PICU. I am so thankful that Juno has a working heart and a smiling face. 

And yes—I'm thankful for tomatoes, and for peaches.