There is something rather strange, yet wonderful, about this year’s garden.

The grass that turned brown and crunchy is again greener than ever. We are taught that in summer we need to water the vegetables, flowers and fruit trees. When the weather is hot, we worry about everything drying out.

And yet, despite the extraordinary heat, our garden has produced an abundance. The rhubarb has flourished, the apple trees are laden and the plums have been plentiful.

There has been so much produce that I have had to become inventive. There has been plum wine, rhubarb crumble and apple pie. Then I was challenged to use some of the beetroot grown in the school garden. After researching what to do with a large quantity of beetroot, I opted for a beetroot chocolate cake.

It was, I have to admit, really good. And because the recipe called for olive oil rather than butter, I have decided that this cake was basically a salad.

Of course, plants need water. But they also need light and warmth. Perhaps we sometimes concentrate so much on one thing that we forget about the other things that make life possible.

There is something rather beautiful about that when we think about faith.

We can sometimes imagine that we know exactly what faith needs to grow. We might think it needs peaceful circumstances, certainty, plenty of time and everything going well.

But God doesn’t always work like that.

Sometimes growth happens in circumstances we wouldn’t have chosen. Sometimes something that looks difficult or unpromising can still produce an unexpected harvest.

Jesus often used the natural world to help us understand the Kingdom of God. Seeds, soil, vines, wheat and fruit appear again and again in his teaching. He tells us, “By their fruits you will know them.”

Perhaps that is a good question for us as autumn approaches: What fruit is growing in my life?

Not how successful do I look? Not how busy am I? Not even how many prayers have I said?

What fruit?

Am I more patient than I used to be? More generous? More forgiving? More compassionate? More willing to help someone who needs me? Perhaps even more able to let go of something I have been holding onto?

These are the fruits that matter.

There is something deeply Catholic about looking at a garden and seeing more than a garden.

Creation is God’s gift. We can plant, water, prune and care for it, but ultimately we don’t make the fruit. We cooperate with something that is already happening. We receive the gift and, in gratitude, return it to God.

Perhaps that is why autumn is such a beautiful season.

Spring is about beginnings. Summer is about growth. Autumn is about fruit.

The garden doesn’t try to hold onto summer forever. The leaves change. The fruit falls. We gather what has been given and give thanks.

The Christian life has seasons too: times of beginning, growing, abundance and letting go.

The Cross reminds us that what appears to be an ending can become the beginning of something entirely new.

So as we look around our gardens this autumn, perhaps we can pause before the harvest and ask:

Not simply, “What am I growing?”

But, “What is God growing in me?”

Deacon Eddie White