Merchandisers who’ve commandeered religious seasons such as Christmas and Easter have yet to discover the Season of Creation, thank God. There could be a run, however, on those cute little statues of St. Francis that show up in gardens. He’s the 13th century monk usually depicted with a bird or two perched on his shoulder.

The Season of Creation is a global, ecumenical movement, reminding Christians of their relationship with Creator and creation. It was launched some decades ago by the Eastern Orthodox church and now encompasses Catholics, Protestants, and who knows how many other flavors of belief. It began Sept. 1 and will end Oct. 4, the feast day for St. Francis. 

Because Francis was especially in tune with all kinds of critters, on his day many churches invite congregants to bring their pets to a special worship service: a blessing of the animals. It can get quite hilarious if not unmanageable. A church I attended ultimately gave up, asking members to simply bring a photo of their pet.

In line with this season, I’ve been reading a series of meditations about getting close to nature. The emphasis is on forests, lakes, rivers, birds, and beasts. I’m fortunate that I’ve been able to explore that part of creation through the years. But in this season of my life, I’m getting closer to another kind of nature — the human part.

For decades I looked from my riverside home across a valley whose mountainous boundaries were set by the grindingly slow movement of glaciers eons ago. Now from my thirteenth floor window I look into an urban valley bordered by modern skyscrapers, clustered to create a human-made horizon. Instead of watching the flow of river currents, I gaze at the flow of human traffic —on foot, in vehicles, riding scooters and bikes — as they navigate the busy intersection of Ninth and Seneca.

At a time when wars and political strife make us wonder if humanity can ever get along with itself, watching the rhythm of city folk coming and going can be breathtaking. It’s as inspiring as any of the mountain-top viewpoints I hiked to back in the day. For one thing, there’s a mutual agreement that a simple device changing from red to yellow to green will govern who stops and who gets to go. 

From that aspect of civility my gaze wanders to towers of concrete and glass. I ponder the complexity of conceiving, engineering, constructing such edifices. I have no idea how many buildings I can see from my window. A lot. Trying to count them would be as silly as if I’d tried to count the trees growing on the riverbank across from my former home. Clear to me  is that each building expresses human creativity, cooperation and genius, all of which I believe are Creator-given.

I’m writing this on Sept. 21, the International Day of Peace. This day launches another season that cannot be merchandised: “Campaign Nonviolence Days of Action,” which ends Oct. 2, the International Day of Nonviolence. It too is a global movement involving some 5,000 marches and rallies calling for peace, economic equality, racial justice and environmental healing. War and acrimony dominate headlines and the evening news broadcasts. But we — all of humanity — hunger and thirst for peace.

And of course we know that it must begin with us individually, each in her and his own heart. Every peace activist throughout history, from Buddha to Jesus to St. Francis, from Gandhi to Martin Luther King Jr., taught that peace begins within. Palestinian Quaker Jean Zaru describes that inner peace as “not simply being nice, or being passive, or permitting oneself to be trampled upon without protest. It is not passive nonviolence, but the nonviolence of courageous action.” It takes courage — the kind of courage couched in humility — to empathize and forgive those with whom we disagree, who may have wronged us. Yet those are the strategies that open the door to true peace, which is love. Pace e Bene.