The Forgotten Season: Why Rogation Days Still Matter

As the blossoms of May unfold, there passes almost unnoticed an ancient and vital observance of the Christian calendar: Rogation Days. For most modern Christians, even those within the liturgical tradition, Rogationtide has become an echo barely heard, a footnote to the grand seasons of Lent, Easter, and Pentecost. Yet for the faithful who would seek to live fully in the rhythms of God's creation and providence, Rogation Days offer a profound call to prayer, humility, and dependence on the Lord.

The word "rogation" comes from the Latin rogare, meaning "to ask." Rooted in both Scripture and ancient Christian practice, Rogation Days were times set aside to pray for the crops, the weather, and the blessing of the land. In an agricultural society, this was not mere ceremony—it was a matter of survival. The Church led processions through the fields, chanting litanies and asking God to grant a fruitful harvest. It was an annual act of confession that, for all man's labor, it is ultimately God who gives the increase (1 Corinthians 3:7).

The formal observance of Rogation Days dates to the 5th century when, following a series of natural disasters, Bishop Mamertus of Vienne called for three days of prayer, fasting, and penitence. These were later codified into the Church's calendar: the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before Ascension Day. In Anglican tradition, as reflected in the 1662 and 1928 Books of Common Prayer, the Rogation Days are marked by prayers for "the fruits of the earth," for "seasonable weather," and for the "protection of the Creator upon all our labors."

Why, then, do Rogation Days still matter in an age where few of us sow or reap by our own hand?

First, they remind us of our creatureliness. In a technological age intoxicated with its own ingenuity, Rogationtide returns us to the ancient truth: "The earth is the Lord's, and all its fullness" (Psalm 24:1, NKJV). We are not gods. We are stewards, utterly dependent on the mercy and providence of our Creator.

Second, Rogation Days cultivate gratitude. Even if our sustenance now arrives via supermarkets and supply chains, it remains no less a gift. Behind every loaf of bread, every glass of milk, every basket of fruit, there remains the hidden hand of God, ordering the seasons, sending the rain, and blessing the labors of unseen hands.

Third, Rogationtide rekindles local prayer. Historically, processions wove through the parish boundaries, blessing not only the land but also binding communities together in prayerful acknowledgment of their shared dependence. In a fragmented world, recovering local, visible prayer—prayer that blesses the land, the community, the neighbor—is an act of quiet rebellion against isolation and secularism.

Finally, Rogation Days turn our hearts toward humility and repentance. As Bishop Mamertus knew, disasters of nature often call for the confession of sin. The disorder of creation is not random; it is a groaning for redemption (Romans 8:22). In this fallen world, prayer for the land and for the mercy of God is not outdated; it is urgently needed.

The Rogation Days pass by in May's brightness, quiet and often ignored. Yet for the Christian attuned to the ancient wisdom of the Church, they offer a vital summons. In them, we remember our place under heaven. We give thanks for the provision we so easily take for granted. We join our voices to the prayers of countless generations, seeking the blessing of the Lord who causes the earth to yield her increase.

Let us not allow this season to slip away unnoticed. Let us ask—with humility, with gratitude, with hope. For our God is still the Lord of the harvest.