on gardening

Here’s an interview the boys did once for their school paper. They asked me about gardening. I still find these thoughts useful. Permit me to share them with you.

on gardening


When did you start gardening?

I started gardening during my theology years when arthritis struck for the second time. I have to do it to fight the disease and the lingering feeling of uselessness. In the two parishes where I was assigned when I became a priest I also made two gardens, one in the compound of Jaro Cathedral which people would refer to as my “secret garden,” and the other one in Pototan. I guess it has become a habit.

How does it affect your life?
Gardening started for me as an outlet for my frustrations with myself. When I was assigned at the Cathedral parish for example I became too frustrated with my disabilities and with a pastoral venture which flopped and I remember telling myself one day, “if I can’t make people grow, I better grow plants instead. I will make myself a garden.” Little did I know that it will not be me who will make the garden, but it will be garden that will make me.

I learned so many lessons in life through gardening. I remember even making a theology on gardening and when asked what I would teach in the seminary if ever I will be assigned there I told them that I would teach seminarians the spirituality of gardening, which my former professors naturally laughed off.

I like things that grow, most especially I always feel a sense of exhilaration every time a plant, thought to be dead, grow leaves and bloom into health. Probably it gives one a sense of achievement, a sense of purpose and a reason to wake up in the morning to live one more day even with the pain.

What does gardening mean for you?
Four things.

First, the garden in the bible is the place of revelation, the place where man meets God, and where God meets man. God revealed himself first in the garden to Adam and Eve. In the silence of my work in the garden I find solace in a God who makes things grow and beautifully at that; a God who continues to speak in the ordinariness of a blade of grass or a drop of rain; a God whose creative powers continue to transform; a God who works wonders creating awe and marvel. One day I called a seminarian to show him a beautiful cattleya bloom. And pointing at that beautiful bloom I told him, “all that the catechism books are talking about God is contained right here. Look!” He looked but could not see. His eyes were empty.

Second, it is in the garden where man received the two most important gifts of God to man, gifts which make us human: responsibility and freedom - the call to care and the power to choose. I hate it when they give work in the garden as punishment. You see life is a matter of choice. We have no absolute control of events but it is your “choice of perspectives” that spells the difference between burdensome punishment or joyful task. I see my work there as a joy. I do not see why “caring” is a punishment.

Thirdly, in the garden I get connected with my roots, our roots, from where we came from . . . from soil. We come face to face with what we are made of. We begin to see our true selves. In the garden I learned to confront myself, to see the breath of life which is the breath of God even in the dirt of which I am made of.

Fourth, in the garden I realized that there is a limit to what I can do. I have many dreams when I was younger . . . like you . . . going to barrios, walking for ten hours to say mass and even becoming like the great saints who did so much for the church. My disability distressed me and I became pessimistic with life. The garden lifted me up. The intricacies of plant care made me realize where my feeble efforts end and where God’s grace begins. It’s no longer what I should do but what I can do. I think the great Saints started from this premise. And so must everyone else. I learned my lessons from the garden.


Does it help you in your priestly ministry?

I said it was not me who made the garden, it was the garden that made me . . . and continues to do so. Yes, it does help me in my ministry. I think there are a lot of things in common between a gardener and a priest. Let me just cite some few things.

In the garden you learn commitment. Whether you like it or not, be in the mood for it or not, you have to water the plants everyday, or at the very least pray that it rains on certain days when you don’t feel like doing so. Consistency and routine can bore you at times. But they are important. Jumping from one place to the other, work which depends on mood swings, diversions becoming routine and routine becoming diversions . . . things like these do not help much in gardening.. In the garden you cannot hide your long absences or your constant neglect. The leaves will show them. Just as in the ministry.

In the garden I have learned that life is an unending venture. No work is ever finished. No work is ever completed. Weeds continue to grow in exactly the same spot where you pulled them off a week ago. It is a good reflection for the coming reshuffling of priests.

In the garden, surrender rather than control is the solution to the so many frustrations one encounters in it. For one, you can’t control the weather. Neither could you force a plant to grow or bloom though how lovingly you cared for it. It is God who ultimately makes things grow and bloom. Just like in my ministry as a priest.

In the garden you have to learn to wait. Be prepared for surprises . . . learn patience (my temperament could have been worst!) be prepared for frustrations . . . be less calculating . . . be prayerful (make it rain Lord, please!?), . . . practice detachment (flowers wilt, my dear, and the grasses cannot be always green.) . . . etc. etc. etc.

I think that’s all I can handle for now. And I think I should be more considerate with you knowing that I cannot be the sole writer in your school paper (I am consuming several pages already). I have to end.