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Today, the Chelsea Flower Show opens its door to the public. And looking through the sorts of gardens on display, it’s interesting that so many are presented as having a kind of moral or spiritual intention. There is a “grief kind” garden, a “survivors of torture” garden. The central London church of St James’ Piccadilly has their own “contemplative haven” garden. So what is it about gardens that lends them so readily to some sort of moral or spiritual purpose? Last week in Kew – where we have one of the greatest gardens in the world – we enjoyed a fascinating lecture from the philosopher David E Cooper. His contention was that gardening encourages the “quiet virtues” of care, patience, and humility. It is possible, just about, to have a beautiful garden without manifesting any of these virtues. You might be lucky with the weather, the soil etc. But for the most part, without taking care of your plants, tending to them, loving them - without the ability to wait patiently for something to flourish, to take the time it takes - and without the humility of knowing that you are dealing with something that does not readily lend itself to human bossiness, your garden will probably be a bit of a disaster. Time spent on your knees, hands in the dirt, the garden is a kind of moral university, helping us to understand better our place in the world, and what it is for human beings to flourish in co-operation with the natural world. Religion too has its own appreciation of gardens. The Islamic Garden is a representation of paradise, of what is promised to human beings as a place of plenty. And in the Christian tradition, the garden is where the great drama of human salvation begins – in the Garden of Eden – and reaches its climax in the resurrection, where, in John’s gospel, Mary Madgelene confuses the risen Christ with the gardener. Or perhaps it’s not a confusion at all, but rather a suggestion that in the joy of the Easter garden human beings find the kind of new life that is promised in God’s loving purposes for the world. Little wonder that many of us find a kind of church in our own gardens or allotments. Here we experience a retreat from the very different virtues of the market or the world of business where the ‘values’ of competition or technological efficiency are more to the fore. By contrast, the quiet virtues of gardening often seem far more conducive to the evocation of the good life, of human beings rooted in the natural world, more sensitive to the ways we can destroy it, and – perhaps above all - appreciating all that hope that comes with the simple act of placing a seed in the ground.