There are few places more filled with hope than a farmers’ market on a summer morning.
Now, I realize this may sound like a rather bold theological statement.
But I am prepared to defend it.
Because there is something deeply joyful about arriving at a market in late June and discovering that creation has once again decided to be extravagantly generous.
Tables overflow with colour.
Fresh lettuce.
Strawberries.
Peas.
Radishes.
And if one is fortunate enough to arrive at the correct moment, the first local sweet corn of the season begins making its annual appearance and causing widespread excitement among otherwise sensible adults.
Now, I should confess that I love this time of year.
Winter has its own beauty.
Spring carries its own promise.
But late June and early July possess a particular kind of abundance that is hard to resist.
The gardens are producing.
The fields are growing.
And every week seems to bring some new gift to the table.
Literally.
When I lived in Waterloo Region, one of the great joys of this time of year was gettring up really early and making my way to the St. Jacob’s Farmer’s Market. It was always buzzing with life no matter how early I arrived, and the produce was just beyond belief.
Now, one of the things that has always fascinated me about farmers is their remarkable optimism.
Every spring they put seeds into the ground with astonishing confidence.
Weather remains unpredictable.
Rain may cooperate.
Or not.
Yet year after year they plant.
And somehow, most years, abundance follows.
Now, perhaps that is why the Scriptures are filled with agricultural imagery.
Jesus constantly talked about seeds.
Harvests.
Fields.
Growth.
Because these things reveal something important about the nature of God’s Kingdom.
Growth usually happens quietly.
One does not hear the corn growing.
The tomatoes make no announcement.
The strawberries do not issue press releases.
They simply grow.
Steadily.
Patiently.
Day after day.
And perhaps much of the Christian life works exactly the same way.
Now, modern culture tends to prefer immediate results.
We like measurable progress.
Visible outcomes.
Instant transformation.
But the soul rarely develops that way.
Faith grows slowly.
Character grows slowly.
Wisdom grows slowly.
Usually through ordinary days filled with ordinary acts of faithfulness.
Prayer.
Kindness.
Patience.
Showing up.
And eventually, after enough seasons have passed, one discovers that growth has happened after all.
Now, I should also admit that farmers’ markets possess one additional spiritual lesson.
Humility.
Because there comes a point during every visit when one purchases far more produce than any rational household could reasonably consume.
The strawberries looked too good.
The peas seemed irresistible.
The lettuce appeared somehow essential.
And suddenly one returns home carrying enough vegetables to sustain a modest monastery.
Grace abounds.
But perhaps even that points toward something beautiful.
Creation is generous.
God is generous.
And summer reminds us of this every year.
The earth does not merely provide enough.
It often provides abundance.
Colour.
Flavour.
Beauty.
Joy.
And perhaps one of the invitations of Ordinary Time is simply to notice these gifts more intentionally.
To stop rushing long enough to savour them.
To bite into a fresh strawberry and remember that creation remains one of God’s ongoing love letters to humanity.
Now, I realize that a theological reflection built partly around sweet corn and strawberries may not be found in every seminary textbook.
But I remain convinced that God is quite present in these things.
In gardens.
In markets.
In meals shared with gratitude.
And in all those ordinary summer moments when we remember that life itself is gift.
So perhaps this Monday, find your way to a market stand, a roadside table, or a backyard garden.
Take in the colours.
Enjoy the abundance.
Give thanks.
And remember that the God who causes seeds to grow is still quietly at work in the world—and in us.
Alleluia.
Companion Prayer
Generous God,
Thank you for the abundance of summer.
For gardens and fields,
for strawberries and sweet corn,
for the beauty and nourishment of your creation.
Teach us to notice your gifts with gratitude,
to receive them with joy,
and to grow patiently in faith as all living things grow.
And in these green and fruitful days of Ordinary Time,
help us remember that all good things come from you.
Amen.