I sometimes suspect that God gave us seasons not only for the farmers and their crops, or for those who like to keep an orderly calendar, but also for the poets, the preachers, and perhaps even the comedians. Every shift in the weather is a new sermon, if we are only willing to listen. And if you’ve ever tried to rake leaves in a stiff October wind or shovel snow that the city plough pushed right back into your driveway, you know that creation has a remarkable way of keeping us humble.
Fall: The Gospel of Letting Go
There’s something profoundly theological about autumn. Trees, who spend all summer working so hard at dressing themselves in leafy splendour, suddenly throw the whole wardrobe onto the ground. It’s as if creation itself is reminding us that letting go is not defeat but preparation. Prayer in the fall becomes an act of release — placing in God’s hands what we cannot control, and trusting that new life will come. Of course, if you’ve ever bagged leaves only to have a neighbour’s tree blow the next batch into your yard, you also know that letting go takes practice.
Winter: The Psalm of Silence
Winter teaches us that sometimes the holiest prayer is simply stillness. The snow muffles the noise of the world, and the long nights invite us into reflection. Prayer in winter is often wordless — resting, waiting, longing. Now, silence may sound holy, but let me assure you it’s not always easy. A quiet evening by the fire sounds romantic until the pipes freeze and you find yourself praying with great fervour over a hairdryer and a wrench. Still, winter reminds us that God is at work in the hidden places, even when the ground looks barren.
Spring: The Prayer of Surprise
Spring comes along like the choir bursting into a hymn one verse too soon — loud, joyful, and impossible to ignore. Buds appear where you thought the branch was dead, tulips pop up in flowerbeds you forgot you planted, and suddenly the whole creation is humming the doxology. Prayer in spring is thanksgiving — spontaneous, surprising, and sometimes a little muddy, because joy has a way of splashing where it pleases.
Summer: The Petition of Perseverance
And then comes summer — long days of heat where prayer takes the form of endurance. We pray for rain, for patience, for air conditioning that doesn’t break down. We pray with gratitude for ice cream and shade trees, and with lament for mosquitoes who seem to regard us as the Lord’s supper. Summer teaches us that prayer isn’t always lofty — it can be sweaty, persistent, and grateful for every breeze.
The Whole Year as Prayer
Taken together, the seasons remind us that prayer is not a one-size-fits-all activity. Sometimes it’s release, sometimes silence, sometimes joy, sometimes persistence. The world itself becomes our prayer book, turning its pages one season at a time.
So the next time you find yourself raking leaves, shovelling snow, planting flowers, or swatting mosquitoes, remember: you are already in the middle of a prayer. God is present in it all—inviting us, through the seasons, into the steady rhythm of grace.
Prayer
Creator God,
you are the Lord of every season.
Teach us to pray with the falling leaves,
to listen in the winter silence,
to rejoice with spring blossoms,
and to endure with gratitude in the summer heat.
In every rhythm of the year,
remind us that you are near,
guiding us, shaping us, and drawing us deeper into your love.
May our lives be prayers that follow your seasons of grace,
until all creation sings together in harmony.
Through Jesus Christ,
the Lord of time and eternity.
Amen.