The first of September approaches without fanfare. In Ireland, the mornings are cooling now. The fields tilt towards harvest. Leaves will soon begin to loosen their hold. Across Africa, the earth tells a different story. One of parched soil, of rains that do not come when they should, of rivers that swell too quickly and then disappear. To speak of creation is to admit that there is no single season. What we call autumn here, heralding the coming winter rains, is drought somewhere else, flooding elsewhere again.
For our Sisters across the world, this is not an abstract reflection. It is the daily reality of mission. In northern Ghana, children walk further each year in search of water. In Lagos, waste gathers in the streets after sudden storms. In small villages, women still coax crops from soil that no longer yields as it once did. Creation is never distant. It is the ground beneath their feet, the air filling their lungs, the food that sustains, the storms that unsettle.
The Season of Creation brings no sudden enlightenment. It is just another period on the calendar. For meaningful change to take place, we must first stop, become still, notice. We must sit with the discomfort of seeing the earth both beautiful and wounded. In prayer, this discomfort can become a kind of listening. In prayer we begin to hear what is usually drowned out: the sound of bees in a garden, the silence after a forest has been cut, the unease of communities who know the rhythm of the seasons can no longer be trusted.
Listening alone is not enough. But without it, our actions are hollow.
Pope Francis spoke of “ecological conversion,” a phrase that can feel heavy until we begin to live it. Conversion is the slow re-shaping of how we see, until every choice and action reflects a different awareness. Once your eyes have opened to the way climate collapse deepens inequality, you cannot unsee it. You cannot walk past the woman carrying water further and further each year without realising this is climate injustice. You cannot consume cheap goods without recognising what their production has cost the soil, the forests, and the humans who made them.
The OLA commitment to justice, peace, and integrity of creation is not a programme we slot into our calendar. It is the measure of our prayer, our witness, and our presence. In September, as the Season of Creation approaches, we are reminded that this commitment is not optional. To follow Christ is to live attuned to creation, and to stand where the damage is most severe.
In chapel, the season might look like an altar dressed in green, prayers lifted for rain and for renewal. In the field, it might be planting trees alongside local schoolchildren. In the city, it might be the quiet decision to live with less, to resist the endless pull of consumption.
There is no single way to live this season. Each action, each prayer, each choice belongs to the wider turning we are being asked to make.
For most of us, this is not about saving the planet. That language is too large and too vague. It is about staying faithful in the small places where life is lived. To tend a garden. To reduce waste. To advocate for policies that protect those most vulnerable. To teach children not only to read but also to notice the world around them. These are not solutions in themselves. But they are gestures of fidelity, reminders that creation is not separate from our faith, but part of it.
The Season of Creation is celebrated each year from 1 September through to 4 October, the Feast of St Francis. St Francis was a man who saw the interconnectedness of humanity and creation. Brother sun, sister moon, mother earth. His words sound poetic until you stand in a community where the failure of rains means hunger, and then you understand. The earth really is family. When one part suffers, the whole household feels it.
The Season of Creation does not end on 4 October. It cannot. The earth will go on speaking, whether we are listening or not. What this season offers is a deliberate space to realign our lives with what is essential. To remind ourselves that prayer without presence is incomplete, that witness without solidarity is thin, that love of God cannot be separated from love of the world God has made.
This year, as we step into the Season of Creation, may we do so without pretence. Let us admit the complexity, the grief, the urgency. Let us also remember that creation is still alive, still generous, still capable of renewal. To hold earth in our hands is to hold both fragility and promise. And to hold it faithfully is to live our mission with honesty, courage, and hope.
The theme for the Season of Creation in 2025 is “Peace with Creation”. This theme is inspired by Isaiah 32:14-18, which speaks of a peaceful habitation for God’s people, a vision that includes harmony with creation:
“The castle will be forsaken, the noisy city deserted; citadel and tower will become wasteland forever, the joy of wild donkeys, the pasture of flocks.
Until the Spirit from on high is poured out on us, the wilderness becomes a garden land, and the garden land seems as common as forest.
Then judgment will dwell in the wilderness, and justice abide in the garden land.
The work of justice will be peace, the effect of justice calm and security forever.
My people will live in peaceful country, in secure dwellings and quiet resting places.”
You can download the celebration guide here: https://seasonofcreation.org/