In the Garden
A symphony of floral color bursts against a botanical backdrop of greens, every direction you look an endless panorama of carefully tended life. The sound of a distant fountain’s song and a bufflehead duck’s wings skimming the pond’s surface interrupt the otherwise gentle hush lingering over the haven. The breeze carries the sweet scent of camellias, cherry blossoms, and loblolly pine, which grows bitter in the cloud of dust you kick up as your feet brush the red clay path. Across an arching bridge, you spot a vining arbor inviting you to “come and see.” You traverse the shaded passageway and discover a tucked-away bench, the evening sun painting over everything in a soft but vibrant gold. All creation seems to be conspiring, not against you but *for* you… a divine collusion of earth’s vitality and your senses to deliver a message to your soul: “Stay and rest in the garden.”
At the heart of Duke University’s Campus in Durham, North Carolina sits a 55-acre botanical sanctuary called Duke Gardens. The garden grounds are so large and centrally located that they divide the campus into two distinct halves: East and West. From morning to night, buses divert around the expansive greenspace to shuttle students and faculty from one side of campus to the other. That extra 10-minute commute standing on the bus as it skirts around the circumference of Duke Gardens can feel like an eternity... like the gardens are an obstacle to efficiency, the epitome of poor placement. Couldn’t they have selected a less disruptive plot for a garden?
Adding to the inefficiency, the internal layout of the garden grounds necessitates a slow pace. Five miles of curved alleys, walks, and pathways meander lazily in every direction, leading visitors to every nook and cranny of the gardens’ four distinct quarters. Whichever path you take, seemingly by design, there’s no direct route from one side of the garden to the other. It’s as if the network of trails is more interested in getting you lost in its maze than in facilitating a timely commute. Add the countless natural stimuli that delight the senses, and it’s simply not a place one rushes through. If you find yourself in Duke Gardens, you likely intend to stay there awhile, purposefully unhurried. To mosey. Linger. Pause. Wander. Explore. Notice. Maybe even dilly-dally. Drawn by its gravitational beauty, people come from all over for a variety of reasons:
• Some come distressed in search of refuge
• Some come energetic in search of play
• Some come lonely in search of connection
• Some come joyful in search of celebration
• Some come overwhelmed in search of solitude
• Some come hopeful in search of beauty
• Some come unsettled in search of peace
• Some come uncertain in search of direction
There’s something about a garden that invites our bodies and our souls to linger and mend awhile, isn’t there? Philosopher and poet Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “All my hurts my garden spade can heal.” Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw put it this way: “The best place to find God is in a garden [because] you can dig for Him there.” Where do you go in your own life when you need a set-apart place to sit unhurried in the presence of God? Throughout the Bible, gardens serve as sacred places—spaces of rest, prayer, spiritual renewal, quiet surrender, and communion with God. Let’s look at a few of these gardens in scripture and see what they have to teach us about abiding unhurried in God’s presence:
After the Last Supper, “Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, ‘Sit here while I go over there and pray.’ He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee and began to be grieved and agitated. Then he said to them, ‘My soul is deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.’ And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me, yet not what I want but what you want’” (Matthew 26:36-39).
Why do you think Jesus chose a garden as his place of deep prayer before the crucifixion?
What does Jesus’ solitude in Gethsemane teach us about seeking God in moments of distress?
How can we create garden-like moments in our own lives for intimacy with God?
What do gardens teach us about God’s desire for quiet moments of fellowship with us?
After Jesus’ death on the cross, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus took his body and prepared it for burial. They embalmed Jesus’ body with a mixture of myrrh and aloes, wrapped him in linen, and laid him in a tomb just outside of town. The large stone that covered the entrance to the tomb sealed the deal, making the Messiah’s death feel final. Creation without Christ? Jesus wasn’t the only one to die that day; with him died the hopes of a people in need of a Savior. But, an easy-to-miss detail in the Gospel According to John gives us reason to hope again: “There was a garden in the place where Jesus was crucified...” (John 19:41).
On Good Friday and Holy Saturday, the world holds grief and hope together, and gardens make space for both. Which spaces and people in your own life make it safe for you to hold grief and hope, joy and suffering together?
What grief are you carrying? How might God be sowing seeds of hope in and among your grief?
Three days after his burial, Jesus rose from the grave and walked through the garden while “Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away. Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’ (which means Teacher)” (John 20:11-16).
Why is it significant that Jesus’ resurrection was revealed in a garden?
How does this moment show that gardens are places of transformation and renewal?
What areas of your life need resurrection and renewal through time spent with God?
Creation begins in the garden. Jesus prays and discerns in the garden. Grief turns to hope in the garden. Resurrection happens in the garden. These gardens remind us to find rest in God’s presence, whether we’re in a season of joy (Eden), struggle (Gethsemane), grief (Garden Tomb), or renewal (Resurrection Garden). The more time we spend lingering “in the garden”—being still in the presence of God’s creative and renewing love—the more we will start to see signs of new life in Christ blooming all around us. Jesus knew this truth when he said to his followers, “Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me” (John 15:4). Songwriter Charles Austin Miles knew it too when he penned the hymn, “In the Garden”:
Maybe the placement of Duke Gardens—disrupting efficiency—is more gift than burden, inviting souls to linger. This Holy Week, find a quiet, set-apart place to spend quality time with God. Abide awhile. Wander. Explore unhurried. Notice. Maybe even dilly-dally in God’s presence. The joy we’ll share as we tarry there is beyond even our deepest hopes!
