I Want Daffodils

When anyone is in Christ, that person is a new creation. The old has passed away. Everything has become new.

II Corinthians 5:17

One of the recurring themes of my life is that things seem to sneak up on me. Birthdays and anniversaries always arrive sooner than I expect them to. Events, meetings and reporting deadlines all seem to fly into my life without so much as a warning blip on my radar screen. It is not a calendar problem or a schedule problem. My planner is always up to date and I review it compulsively. But somehow, sometimes overnight it seems, events that were months away are suddenly piled up right in front of me.

This year, however, I find myself waiting impatiently for Easter. Let’s be honest, for me this year it’s more about spring than Easter. I want winter to be over. Technically, winter ended last weekend. But as I write this (Monday morning, March 23), the ground is still frozen and there are huge piles of snow.

I want flowers and sunshine and warm breezes. I want to see buds on the trees. I want daffodils. Aesthetically, it is wonderful to have the approach of Easter and the spring-time renewal of the earth running parallel to one another. But I need to remind myself that our celebration as Christians is quite different from the universal enjoyment of spring flowers and new leaves on the trees.

Heaven knows, it looks like a Good Friday world. And that appearance is never more evident than in the bleak days of late winter. The bare trees and the brown fields are appropriate reminders of a world in which there is often too much suffering and too little comfort. We know that personally, and we know that globally. From the strife in the Middle East to the soup kitchens around our state, the evidence of Good Friday is all around us.

We can tell ourselves that in a few weeks we will feel better. It will be less depressing when there are flowers and leaves and warm sunshine. But Easter is not about forgetting the world or feeling happier. It happens (impossibly and unbelievably) at the very center of our Good Friday world. Love overcomes hatred, reconciliation overcomes alienation, liberation overcomes oppression, joy overcomes pain, and life overcomes death-- even in the deepest winter of our souls.

I hope Easter will be an amazing gift for you this year. I hope it will stop you short and take your breath away. I know I need that, and I suspect that you do, too.

Easter is more than daffodils.

But if we only had the daffodils; it would be enough.

If It’s March, then It Must Be Lent

My beloved speaks and says to me:
“Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away;
for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth;
the time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.
The fig tree puts forth its figs,
and the vines are in blossom;
they give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my fair one,
and come away.
Song of Solomon 2:10-13

In his hymn to love and to spring, the writer of the Song of Solomon announces joyfully that the winter is past and the rain is over and gone.

Sadly, our winter is not past.

Easter is in April this year, as it most often is. And that is a good thing. Easter belongs in April. April has daffodils. And warm sunshine. And green grass. In this winter of  unending cold, we can’t wait for April and Easter.

In March, most of the time, the wind is still cold. The branches on the trees are bare. We gain more sunlight in March and in any other month, but it does not really warm up until it is nearly April.

This year especially, March is the time when we are almost ready to give up, and resign ourselves to endless winter. March is the time when we can hardly believe that spring is possible.

Lent is always in March. Lent belongs in March. The stark themes of repentance and suffering fit the landscape. Bleak and barren. A time of sharp contrasts. It is too cold to spend much time outside. But in the few days when the sun is warm and it feels like spring, it is a gift. Something unexpected.

I am not sure whether we really need another cold month, but we need Lent. We need some time to sing our songs in a minor key. We need reflection and the renewal that comes with it. I love that time in late April or early May, when in the space of a week the buds turn into leaves. I love it when the daffodils burst into bloom.

But the changes of March are largely unseen. Beneath the surface bulbs are turning into flowers. Without the unseen changes of March, the visible beauty of April and May would be impossible. Our spirits need that same time for unseen growth and change. In the cold darkness, God is at work. Frozen spirits are opening. New life begins.