As April unfurls its tender green leaves and May adorns our world with blossoms, I find myself drawn to my garden like a pilgrim to a sacred shrine. There’s something deeply spiritual about this season — when the Earth emerges from winter’s tomb, stretching toward sunlight with the same triumphant energy that rolled away the stone from Christ’s sepulcher. For Catholics, this beautiful convergence of Easter and spring offers more than mere coincidence; it presents a living parable of resurrection that we’re invited to participate in.
When God said, ‘Let there be green’
On a recent dewy morning, I knelt in soil still cool from winter’s grip. As I planted seedlings — fragile things with more hope than substance — I thought about Pope Francis’ words in Laudato Si’, his encyclical on care for our common home: “The earth was here before us and it has been given to us.”
The Easter season offers a perfect opportunity to recognize this divine arrangement. Just as Christ rose transformed but still bearing the wounds of crucifixion, our Earth continues its cycles of renewal while bearing the marks of our sometimes careless handling. The resurrection story isn’t just about Jesus; it’s about God’s commitment to renewal and redemption for all creation.
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The Easter garden connection
Early Church traditions beautifully linked gardens with resurrection. Mary Magdalene, after all, initially mistook the risen Christ for a gardener — a detail that has delighted spiritual writers for centuries (John 20:14). The Garden of Eden, where humanity first walked with God, finds its redemptive echo in the garden of resurrection, where humanity’s relationship with God begins anew.
When my children and I plant our “Easter garden” each year — a tradition we began after learning about it from our parish’s environmental ministry — we’re participating in this ancient connection. We dedicate a small section of our vegetable patch to plants mentioned in Scripture: herbs like mint, dill, and cumin that Jesus referenced; mustard seeds to remind us of faith; lilies to celebrate Easter joy. It becomes our family catechesis, a hands-on way to talk about faith while nurturing life.
Sacramental dirt
There’s something beautifully Catholic about getting your hands dirty in spring soil. The sacraments themselves use material elements — water, oil, bread, wine — to convey spiritual grace. Working with soil can become a kind of informal sacramental experience, a tangible encounter with God’s creative presence.
Sister Mary Annette, my fourth-grade teacher who first taught me about composting, used to say, “In God’s economy, nothing is wasted — not our struggles, not our failures, not even our banana peels.” She showed us how compost transforms what seems dead and useless into life-giving sustenance, a perfect metaphor for resurrection. Now, decades later, tending my own compost pile feels like an act of faith — believing in renewal even when all I see is decay.
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Finding community in creation care
Spring’s work isn’t meant to be solitary. Just as the early Christians gathered in community after the resurrection, caring for creation becomes more meaningful when shared. Last April, our parish organized an “Earth Week” between Earth Day and Good Shepherd Sunday. We cleaned local waterways, planted native species on church grounds, and shared seeds and saplings after Mass.
The conversations that emerged were as fruitful as the work itself. Elderly parishioners shared wisdom about seasonal rhythms and sustainable practices learned during more frugal times, while children brought unbridled enthusiasm and awe.
You needn’t have acres of land to participate in environmental care. One parishioner transformed her tiny urban balcony into a container garden that provides habitat for pollinators. Another family, unable to garden themselves, “adopted” a community garden plot that grows vegetables for the parish food pantry.
These small acts might seem insignificant against global environmental challenges, but they matter deeply. As Pope Francis reminds us, “All it takes is one good person to restore hope.” The resurrection began not with universal cosmic transformation but with one person rising from death, bringing hope that gradually changed everything.
From Easter joy to Pentecost purpose
As we move from Easter and toward Pentecost, our environmental awakening can follow the liturgical pattern. Easter shows us God’s power to renew; Pentecost empowers us to participate in that renewal. The same Spirit that hovered over the waters at creation and raised Jesus from the dead now dwells in us, empowering us toward purposeful action.
This progression from contemplation to action mirrors the natural rhythm of spring itself — beginning with the miracle of tiny sprouts breaking through soil and culminating in gardens lush with life and purpose. Our environmental commitments, rooted in Easter joy and empowered by Pentecost’s Spirit, become not burdensome obligations but natural expressions of resurrection faith.
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A living prayer
At its heart, caring for creation during this sacred season is a form of prayer — an embodied “thank you” to the Creator who entrusted this world to us. It’s also a way of proclaiming resurrection hope in a world that often feels broken beyond repair.
When I teach my children to identify birdsong, plant milkweed for monarchs, or simply sit in wonder under the dogwood’s Easter-white blooms, I’m teaching them the language of hope — that death never has the final word, that renewal is always possible, that God’s creative love continues to pulse through everything.
