In the garden

It was a little past 5 in the morning when I was jarred awake by a wet tongue licking my nose.

We were dog-sitting our daughter’s pit bull, and this was my morning wake-up call. Being quiet for my husband’s sake, I grabbed my slippers and jacket and headed with Gus to our fenced-in backyard.

I am not an early riser. As Gus scurried off to do his business, I was stunned by the chill in the spring air and the realization that it was still eerily dark at 5 a.m. There was a stark beauty about the big trees silhouetted against the dark sky, an expectation at just the hint of light in the east. I experienced a sudden sense of peace and awe.

I suppose the fact that it was Holy Thursday had something to do with that. I had been reading the Passion and Easter narratives where dark gardens figure in the action. Now we’re well into the joyful Season of Easter — 50 days of delight in the Risen Lord and the stories of the early apostles in Acts.

But spring always brings us to gardens, and we can still go back in prayer to the gardens that featured in Jesus’ life and death.

Jesus retired to the garden of Gethsemane after the Passover meal to pray desperately over his fate, as the encroaching darkness and perhaps the dinnertime wine caused his oblivious disciples to nod off. Soon, the ominous sound of guards being led by Judas punctured the night.

Then there is the garden Mary of Magdala visited to find the tomb of Jesus and anoint him. How far, I wonder, was Golgotha, the site of crucifixion, from the garden and burial site where Nicodemus donated a grave for Jesus?

In my prayerful imagination, this garden, a gracious burial site, is a beautiful place with fresh grass.

In John 20: 11-18, Mary turns from the tomb to see the Risen Jesus but doesn’t recognize him. “Imagining him to be the gardener” the text reads.

It was also, the text says, “still dark,” like my backyard on an April morning.
Would I recognize the Lord out here, I wonder, in the chilly darkness? Have I ever heard him call my name?

On May 14, we observe the feast of the Ascension. This took place on the Mount of Olives, with the Garden of Gethsemane on its slopes. Jesus often prayed in these gardens, and it was here, on this ridge near Jerusalem’s Old City, that we are told he ascended.

Jesus’ Ascension seems so soon, only 40 days, after the resurrection. Our faith leads us to the Eucharist and to the real presence of Jesus still in our lives. But don’t we all sometimes wish for the Jesus we can see and touch?

Gus is a rescue dog, and scars indicate a tough early life. He’s a quiet dog. Our neighbor dog, Molly, barks at Gus when they meet through the fence, but Gus never barks back.

Gus barks only when he realizes someone is leaving the house. At the sound of keys being picked up, Gus goes on alert and barks by the door. I imagine it was early abandonment that instilled such acute fear of being left.

Aren’t we all a bit like Gus sometimes, standing in the darkness, yearning for presence? It’s spring. Let’s take our prayer to the gardens where we hear the voice of someone who promises never to leave us alone, and who calls our name in the shadowy dawn.

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