Seasons And The Church
By Norma Vera
I read an article by Kelly Bailey about the beauty that comes from the death of fall. I considered her concept and realized seasons speak volumes of Christ and His Church.
Spring comes gently stretching from her yearly nap with yawns of daffodils, and buttercups. Her anointing grace causes everything to bloom. The smells of Jasmine, honeysuckle, and orange blossoms fill the air. Releasing a mist of puppy love she sings, “O taste and see that the Lord is good!” All nature joins the chores as a new generation is born. With roars of laughter, she dances in the rain celebrating Life. When
finished she tags the hand of summer and goes to sleep.
Is that not as when we first believed? Did His grace not cause us to bud and blossom? Our hearts filled with His love hungered and thirsted for Christ. Did we not dance with joy underneath His rain of grace? Was He not our lily of the valley, and did our lives not send out a lovely scent until we were forced to tag the hand of growth and say good-bye to child-like love.
Full of zeal and life-giving energy summer comes leaping with amusement over brooks and hills. Turning on his brightest light he cries, “Let’s go, for winter comes when no one can work!” With fleshes of lightning and roars of thunder, he commands the earth to produce. An unfathomable display of provision breaks forth. Satisfied with the results he surfs the ocean waves proudly as he swiftly tags the hand of autumn.
Overzealous and often void of wisdom we declared God’s glory as we endeavor to save the world. Growing by leaps and bound, we eagerly and sometimes annoyingly turn on our brightest light in an effort to cause the blind to see. We fail to understand why others cannot see the urgency of the hour. “Don’t they know we ask that the night comes when no man can work?” In youthful strength we freely surf the waves of time. Satisfied with our own work we arrogantly slap the hand of middle age.
Autumn with breath-taking beauty waltzes into the scene with baskets overflowing with ripen crops. She neither boasts nor brags but blushes with humility. She unselfishly lays down her crowns to meet the needs of others. With her wind whistle voice, she thanks the seasons that came before her. Starting with a seed, they helped her bloom into a harvest. While being swallowed-up in death she sings with incredible grace. “O death, where is your sting? O grave where is your victory?” Fearlessly she stretches herself to touch the
chilling hand of winter.
Forsaking our youthful zeal, we waltz into a new season. From the wisdom of those who came before plus our own experience, a harvest of fruit-bearing maturity sets in. Broken many times over by trial and error we are humbled. Losing the desire to boast and brag we realize that it was never us but Christ in us the hope of glory. With that understanding, wisdom enters into our heart and knowledge becomes pleasant to our soul. A new courage steps in as we boldly tag the icy hand of aging.
Trust me whispers Mother Nature as she shortens the days and buries autumn in a blanket of snow. With captivating beauty, the earth glistens in the most divine shades of pearl whites and twilight blues. A spirit of gloominess and emptiness creeps in like a deadly serpent searching for a melancholy heart to devour. The frost covered trees bowed down and worship the Creator, breaking the power of dreariness. The doors of gladness swing ajar. The mountains sing, “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!” With a glorious grin, the heart of old-man-winter melts into a river of life-giving spring the unction to awake. Peaking at the world through a tulip scope, her stretching yawns cover the world with rose buds, apple, and cherry blossoms and once again a season ends and another begins.
“Stand still and know that I am God!” says an inner voice as our strength fails and body shrinks. Our head glistens with the most beautiful shades of silver white. Sadness and discouragement creep in uninvited. Your best years are over, they murmur. A solitary tear of regret runs down our face. Suddenly deep within a song emerges, “Let God arise and His enemies be scattered!” The door of faith swings open and boldness surfaces in the twilight hour. Excitingly we grab paper, pen, and jot down a river of wisdom. Without fear, but great audacity, our wrinkled hand passes a sea of knowledge to a future generation whose love for Christ will fill the world with His Gospel. So it goes, one godly generation leaves, but another follows.