My first experience of community gardening was in the family backyard. My mother loved to garden — as did her mother, and one year she gave me and my two younger sisters small plots of her precious garden to grow whatever we wanted. She told us that if we planted something in our own garden, then it was our responsibility to take care of it. We all grew flowers. I chose zinnias, and we started with seeds, not plants. Our first test as new gardeners was learning to be patient! This was tough, and I recall that one of my sisters dug up her seeds to check on them with disastrous results. I’m sure that there was plenty of grumbling and whining about weeding, but I also recall the thrill of seeing my zinnias bloom. One day I even had enough flowers to cut some for the dining room table, which made me feel very proud.

I was an adult the next time I joined a community garden. My husband, our two-year old son, and I had moved to Ann Arbor, Michigan. We lived in an apartment complex on the edge of the city. Some of us went to the manager of the complex and asked if we might use some of the land behind our building for a garden. He agreed and even had the land cultivated for us so that we didn’t have to do this heavy work ourselves.

I learned a lot about the joys and pitfalls of community gardening in the two years that we lived in Ann Arbor. There were strong differences of opinion about all sorts of things: the use of organic vs. chemical fertilizers; controlling weeds — some gardeners did and some didn’t; and some tricky territorial issues — such as, if your rambling zucchini vine crosses into my garden and produces a squash, is it mine? It was fun to see what everyone planted, each according to his or her preferences, family traditions, and heritage. Ann Arbor, like Blacksburg, is a university town with many foreign students and faculty. This meant that some of the plots were filled with exotic items from other lands. I recall the joy of a young man when a long-awaited box of seeds arrived from his mother. Now he could eat the foods he really loved!

Despite our differences, there was a strong sense of camaraderie amongst the gardeners. We rejoiced together at first tomatoes, and we mourned our losses after a fierce summer hailstorm. Experienced gardeners would give advice to those who were trying their hand at growing their own food for the first time. We hauled water together and shared hoes, weeders and shovels. Our children made friends, even if they didn’t always speak the same language. Friendships bloomed and bore fruit. Things weren’t always rosy, but I think that for most of us this was a happy experience. Our lives were nourished and filled with simple pleasures that we would not have known had we been tending isolated plots on our own, day after day.

It strikes me that our Congregation is much like a community garden. I’ve always resonated with the words of Unitarian minister, A Powell Davies, who said that life is a chance to grow a soul. My take on these words is that our essential human task is to grow beyond the small self-centered focus of individualism into a more expansive sense of connection and compassion.

Our beloved Congregation provides the rich soil and the good companions that we require for this work. Each of us has our own needs and desires, our hungers and our preferences, our hopes and dreams for our lives. We carry these precious seeds with us each Sunday when we gather together. Each of us longs to plant whatever seeds we can in order to produce the fruits that will strengthen us as we grow our souls, our minds, and our relationships.

Our individual plots will be unique. Some will contain the seeds of social justice, a rational take on human life and experience. Others may focus more on music, art, and that very fuzzy thing we call “Spirituality.” Sometimes our plots overflow with good fruits, and we feel that our community garden meets our needs. Other times the seeds we sow fail to take root. Our vision, our desires, and our hopes seem to shrivel up for a lack of attention. Now we view our small plot with a sense of frustration and failure. Is all this hard work worth it? Will our precious seeds fail?

As Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hahn reminds us, the lettuce doesn’t always grow as well as we would like. The garden doesn’t always bring forth abundant fruits. Sometimes the cause is beyond our control: too much rain, not enough sun, too much heat, a late frost. There’s not much we can do except remain devoted to our plot, and prepare as best we can for better times ahead. This is true for our Congregation as well: There are times of abundance and growth. There are times of pulling back, reflecting, waiting.

But often we can affect the conditions in the garden. We can respond to our problems with renewed efforts to improve the soil that is fundamental to the garden’s ability to produce nourishing food and lovely flowers — or in the case of the Congregation, healthy relationship and a shared commitment to the mission and vision of the Congregation. We may decide that we don’t have some basic knowledge about the needs of particular plants. The same may be true of our understanding of our way of the spirit. No one hands our faith to us through creeds and doctrines in a tidy package like one of those “salad garden kits” you can buy that provide an assortment of three kinds of lettuce and other veggies for a summer salad. We have to figure out what will best feed us, and then we can till the soil and plant the seeds and watch over their development with patience and mindfulness.

At times we may work alone, but always with an awareness of the whole; reminding ourselves that whatever we cultivate will affect the other gardeners. If I enrich the soil in my little plot, then surely the rain will carry some of the nutrients to the plots around me. If our covenant is to promote a healthy garden through organic methods of right relations, and someone ignores this decision and shares rumors, or fails to address the weeds of conflict, then the whole is inevitably affected and may be damaged. When a generous gift of time, talent, or treasure is poured out upon us, we are all strengthened.

Today we celebrate our special community garden — our Congregation. As you select your flower, consider it as a token of esteem from someone who is a fellow gardener, working side by side with you to make this beloved community a source of nourishment for your soul, your heart, your mind, and a place of beauty for all who come through our doors.