Spring Surfacing

March 15, 2024

March 15, 2024

March 30, 2024

April 12, 2024

April 12, 2024

I cannot read the opening chapter of the Book of Genesis without breaking down. To be present at the birth of creation, to witness its wonder-- what greater gift could there be!

And yet, we receive this gift every year, as the earth comes full circle to renew itself. Creation really has no beginning and no end point; it is an act that is continually arising, forever arriving.

On a cosmic scale, to witness the birth of a star.
On a microcosmic scale, to witness the birth of a meadow, like the one in the pictures above, returned to us after the long sleep of winter.

​"Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters." (Genesis 1:2 NIV)
For the meadow is there, drawing from the regenerative power of nature, but we do not see it, except as a memory.

"And God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear. And it was so." (Genesis 1: 9 NIV)
The meadow lifts from the depths, reaching into the light not all at once but incrementally. Rising, drawing back, thrusting upward again, perhaps to stay for a season.

"The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good." (Genesis 1: 12 NIV)
Ah! That is not yet, but it comes so soon. A hint, a cautious leaf protruding, and soon there will be deer grazing in the evening, song birds flitting among the reeds seeking seeds or insects, ducks nesting near the water.
And yes, it will brown and wither and fade and withdraw beneath the waters again.
The meadow is there beneath the surface, sleeping and dreaming of what has been and what will be. Spring acknowledges destruction and crucifixion as it calls us into creation and resurrection.

I acknowledge that this is a little late for an Easter reflection. It is never, however, too late or the wrong season to celebrate the miracle of natural law, forever in balance in itself, forced out of shape by us and yet we wait for God to fix it. 

Spring will come, with or without our blessing, perhaps a crippled spring struggling to surface in a wasteland,  elsewhere lithe and supple in a new world. 

Spring is waiting beneath the surface of the waters, listening for the spirit that forever hovers across the surface. 

Spring is an unborn idea or dream or story, awaiting its moment to be drawn up into the world.