"The Liturgy of the Returning Green" - 04/23/2026

Our dear friends, Dale and Nikki Roed, have just returned from their travels across Europe, yet their first instinct upon returning home was to come and tend to the church grounds. While many people in other parts of the world are currently gazing at the vibrant, sophisticated blooms of tulips, there is a profound and unique holiness in the simple return of green grass to our yard here in Minot. Seeing the humble, willing spirits of our friends as they care for this space makes this a truly thankful morning. On this Thursday in the third week of Easter, let us dwell in the gratitude of this quiet, faithful moment together.


Scripture
 "You care for the land and water it; you enrich it abundantly. The streams of God are filled with water to provide the people with grain, for so you have ordained it... the meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing." 
- Psalm 65:9, 13 (NIV)


Refleciton
The world is a vast tapestry of shifting colors and seasonal wonders. In distant lands, the earth may currently be shouting in the bright reds and yellows of tulips, demanding attention with their fleeting, regal beauty. Yet, in the quiet corners of the northern plains, the resurrection of the spirit often arrives in a more subtle hue. It arrives in the first, tender blades of green that push through the tired soil of a Minot spring. This emergence is a slow, steady miracle. It is the color of persistence. It is the color of a promise kept after a long, white silence. To witness the yard turning green once again is to observe the breath of the Creator warming the cold ground, inviting the sleeping roots to awaken and join the song of Easter.

There is a sacred connection between the tending of the earth and the tending of the soul. In the ancient Hebrew tradition, the word עֲבוֹדָה (avodah, work/worship) suggests that there is no distinction between our labor and our praise. When hands reach down to care for the grass, when feet walk the perimeter of a shared sanctuary to ensure its beauty, the line between the mundane and the divine vanishes. This humble service is a form of living prayer. It does not require an audience or the grandeur of a cathedral. It only requires a heart that is willing to be small so that the love of God may appear large. This is the spirit of sincere devotion. It is the quiet, wholehearted care poured into a task, not for the sake of recognition, but out of a deep, ancestral respect for the life that has been entrusted to our care.

The return of travelers from far-off places brings a sense of wholeness back to the community. To cross oceans and see the wonders of the world, only to return and find joy in the simple act of mowing a church lawn, is a testament to the beauty of a servant’s heart. It reflects the humility of the Risen Christ, who walked the dusty roads and shared simple meals with friends. The scent of freshly cut grass becomes incense rising toward heaven.

 The rhythmic sound of labor becomes a bell calling the neighborhood to notice that life has returned. In this space, gratitude grows as surely as the clover. The earth does not need to produce exotic flowers to be holy; it only needs to be cherished. In the middle of this Easter season, the greening fields remind us that God is always at work in the roots, preparing us for a harvest of grace that began long before we noticed the first sprout.


Prayer
O Gentle Gardener of the Soul, we give thanks for the emerald light returning to the earth and for the faithful hands that tend the soil of our community. May the humble service of our friends remind us that every act of care is a reflection of Your infinite love. As the grass rises to meet the sun, may our hearts rise in quiet joy, ever mindful of the beauty found in the simple rhythms of home. Amen.