Creation seems to whisper to slow down in Autumn

Alice Holt 'So let us not postpone living. Let us not postpone loving. Let us not postpone kindness. Let us not postpone compassion. Life is happening now' Sign up to our Offaly Live newsletter Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know you can manage your profile, and explore all of the available newsletters from Offaly Live within your account. Edit Preferences Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... There is something deeply moving about autumn. Perhaps it is the misty mornings, the crispness in the air, the evenings drawing in, or the extraordinary colours that seem to set the countryside ablaze. The trees put on their final magnificent display of scarlet, amber, russet and gold before gently surrendering their leaves to the wind. Everywhere we look, creation seems to whisper to slow down. Notice. Give thanks. Let go. Trust. I love walking, and for me walking is often a form of prayer. There are mornings such as recently while on retreat in Knock, when I simply walk and allow creation to become my chapel. The crunch of leaves beneath my feet, the movement of the trees, the changing sky, birdsong and the gentle breeze all invite me to become still within myself. The psalmist reminds us, 'The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.' (Psalm 19:1). Creation is preaching to us all the time. The question is: are we listening? As we enter the Season of Creation, Pope Leo XIV has invited us to step back from the frenzy of daily life and listen to what he calls the 'melodious voice of creation' through which God speaks. He encourages us to put the noise of our lives into 'silent mode' so that we might rediscover the profound harmony of which we ourselves are a part. Perhaps autumn gives us the perfect opportunity to do just that: to pause, breathe, listen and rediscover our place within God's beautiful creation. There is a season for everything I often find myself returning to those beautiful words from Ecclesiastes, 'For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.' (Ecclesiastes 3:1). There is a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to harvest, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Autumn reminds us that life is constantly changing. We cannot hold on to summer forever. The leaves cannot remain green forever. And neither can we remain exactly as we are. Children grow up. They leave home. Relationships change. Our bodies change. Dreams are fulfilled while others quietly disappear. People we love grow old, become ill and eventually leave us. Yet through every season, God remains. The God who was with us in spring is with us in summer. The God who walks beside us in autumn will be there in winter. And the God who holds us through every winter is already preparing a spring we cannot yet see. That is the mystery of faith. We may not understand every season, but we can trust the One who walks with us through them. The holy art of letting go Perhaps autumn's greatest lesson is the art of letting go. Look at the trees. They do not cling desperately to their leaves. They simply surrender them when the time comes. And perhaps autumn asks each of us, what am I still holding on to that God is asking me to release? An old hurt? A resentment? A disappointment? A fear? A relationship that has changed? A mistake from the past? A grief we have never fully placed into God's hands? Letting go does not mean forgetting. Sometimes it simply means saying, "Thank you, God, for what was. I trust you with what is. And I trust you with what will be." Jesus tells us, 'Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.' (John 12:24). What looks like an ending can become a beginning. Beneath the fallen leaves, new life is already preparing. Perhaps that is a message someone reading this needs to hear today: You are not finished simply because something in your life has ended. The harvest of our lives Autumn is also harvest time. Farmers gather what has been planted and nurtured through spring and summer. Perhaps autumn asks us to consider another kind of harvest, what have I been growing in my life? Have I grown in patience? Have I become more forgiving? Have I learned to listen? Have I become gentler? Have I loved more generously? Have I planted seeds of hope in somebody else's life? St Paul describes the harvest God desires from us, 'The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.' (Galatians 5:22–23). Imagine if that were the harvest of our lives. If lonely people found companionship. If grieving people found tenderness. If hungry people found food. If those who had lost hope encountered somebody who helped them believe again. Perhaps the greatest harvest God asks of us is not possessions, wealth or achievement. It is love. The cry of creation and the cry of the poor As we admire the beauty of creation, we cannot close our eyes to its wounds or to those who suffer because of them. We cannot praise God for the harvest while ignoring the farmer who cannot grow enough food. We cannot admire the beauty of the earth while forgetting the child who goes to bed hungry, the family struggling to survive, or communities whose lives are increasingly threatened by climate change. The cry of the earth and the cry of the poor are inseparable. Pope Leo XIV has reminded us that caring for creation is not simply an environmental concern; it is part of our Christian responsibility to restore right relationships between ourselves, our neighbour and the world God has entrusted to us. And he gives us a message of hope: 'It is not yet too late.' The Season of Creation calls us to conversion, not simply to admire creation but to care for it. To waste less. To consume responsibly. To share more. To protect the vulnerable. To recognise that creation is not ours to exploit but God's gift entrusted to us. St Francis of Assisi understood this beautifully. He saw creation not as something to possess, but as a family to cherish. His spirituality reminds us that love of God, love of neighbour and care for creation belong together. Perhaps this autumn we are being asked not merely to look at creation differently, but to live differently because of it. Notice those around you As the evenings grow darker and the nights become colder, I cannot help thinking of people for whom autumn and winter are not simply seasons but daily struggles. The person sleeping rough. The elderly person sitting alone. The family worried about the electricity bill. The parent struggling to put food on the table. The refugee wondering where they belong. The person grieving someone they loved. The sick person waiting for a visitor. The person smiling during the day while quietly falling apart inside. Autumn asks us not merely to admire the beauty around us, but to notice the people around us. Compassion does not have to be complicated. It might be a phone call. A visit. A cup of tea. A meal. A donation. A listening ear. A smile. A prayer. A hand held. A lonely neighbour welcomed. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give another person is simply to say: 'I see you. You matter. You are not alone.' Jesus leaves us in no doubt: 'Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.' (Matthew 25:40). Perhaps the face of Christ this autumn will not always be found inside a church. Perhaps it will be found in the face of the person who needs us. When Autumn brings memories Autumn can also bring a gentle melancholy. Perhaps an empty chair at the kitchen table reminds us of someone we loved. Perhaps a particular song, smell, tree or autumn evening brings somebody back into our hearts. I remember my Nana Scully once saying that she liked autumn because it reminded her of people she had loved and lost, but that somehow, in the beauty of the leaves, she felt close to them. I have never forgotten those words. Grief and beauty can live together. We can miss someone and still be grateful that they were part of our lives. We can cry and still smile. We can experience loss and still experience love. Those we have loved remain in our memories, our stories and in the person we have become because we knew them. And ultimately, they remain in the heart of God. 'The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.' (Psalm 34:18). If autumn brings sadness to your heart this year, do not be afraid of it. Bring it to God. Let the tears come. Let the memories come. And allow God to hold them with you. Our Autumn challenge So perhaps this autumn we might make a little spiritual pilgrimage. Walk slowly. Look carefully. Listen deeply. Notice the leaves. Notice the sky. Notice the person beside you. And ask God: What are you asking me to let go of? What are you asking me to harvest? Who are you asking me to love? Who needs me to notice them? Where can I bring a little light into somebody else's darkness? Perhaps choose one thing to release and one thing to begin. Release resentment. Begin forgiveness. Release fear. Begin trust. Release negativity. Begin gratitude. Release indifference. Begin compassion. Release the need to control everything. Begin to let God be God. And perhaps most importantly, let us remember that every ordinary day is a gift. We do not know how many autumns we will see. How many more misty mornings. How many more walks. How many more conversations. How many more sunsets. How many more opportunities to say: 'I love you.' 'I'm sorry." 'Thank you.' So let us not postpone living. Let us not postpone loving. Let us not postpone kindness. Let us not postpone compassion. Life is happening now. This moment is sacred. This autumn is a gift. Thought for the week As your thought for the week and as autumn unfolds, perhaps let us walk a little slower and look a little deeper. Let us see God in the changing colours of creation. Let us give thanks for the harvest of our lives. Let us release what we need to release. Let us forgive what we need to forgive. Let us cherish those we love while we have them beside us. And let us never forget those who face a much colder autumn because they are lonely, homeless, hungry, grieving or afraid. This week, ask yourself: Who needs my kindness? Who needs my forgiveness? Who needs my time? Who needs to know that they are loved? And perhaps ask one more question: What am I holding onto that I need to place into God's hands? Maybe that is where our autumn harvest begins. Because in the end, the greatest harvest of all is not what we gather for ourselves. It is the love we leave behind in the hearts of others. So let the leaves fall. Let the old burdens fall. Let the fear fall. Let the resentment fall. And trust God with what comes next. For beneath every fallen leaf, God is quietly preparing something new. There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens. And whatever season we find ourselves in today: God is there. God has always been there. And God will always be there. So this autumn, may we have the courage to let go, the grace to give thanks, the wisdom to listen, the compassion to reach out, the courage to care for creation, and the faith to trust that even when we cannot see the spring, God is already preparing it. Let me leave you with 'My Prayer for Autumn' - Loving God, as the leaves fall gently around us, teach us the holy wisdom of letting go. Help us release the burdens we have carried for too long, the hurts we cannot heal by ourselves, the fears that keep us awake, the anger that hardens our hearts, and the need to control what only you can hold. Teach us to trust you. As the earth gives us its harvest, open our eyes to the harvest of our own lives. Help us recognise the seeds of love, kindness, forgiveness, patience and compassion that you have planted within us. And then, Lord, help us share that harvest. When someone is lonely, make us their companion. When someone is hungry, make us generous. When someone is grieving, make us gentle. When someone is afraid, make us courageous. When someone feels forgotten, help us remember them. When someone has lost hope, let our lives become a small candle in their darkness. And when the autumn winds blow the leaves from the trees, remind us that endings are not always endings. Sometimes they are invitations to trust. Sometimes they are beginnings we cannot yet see. Sometimes beneath the fallen leaves, new life is quietly preparing. God of Creation, forgive us for the times we have taken your beautiful world for granted. Teach us to care for our common home. Teach us to live more simply. To consume more responsibly. To waste less. To share more. To protect the vulnerable. To hear both the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor. May our faith never remain simply words we speak, but become love we put into action. So, Lord, as another season unfolds, help us to live fully. To notice deeply. To love generously. To forgive freely. To serve humbly. To give thanks abundantly. And when the autumn of our own lives eventually comes, may we be able to look back not at all we possessed, but at all we gave. Not at all we achieved, but at all the lives we touched. Not at how much we were loved, but at how faithfully we loved. May our lives become a harvest of mercy. May our hearts become homes of compassion. And may every person we meet leave our presence knowing a little more deeply that they are loved. God of every season, walk with us through autumn, through winter, through spring and summer, through joy and sorrow, through beginnings and endings, through life and death, until at last we come home to you. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.