One of my favorite flowers has popped up in the yard. I’ve heard it called “Surprise Lily,” “Resurrection Lily,” or, if I researched correctly, its botanical name is “Lycoris squamigera.” Funny about popular names for flowers, they are often our reactions to what the plant looks like or does.
In early spring this flower’s bulb sends up a cluster of green leaves, an inch wide and about eight inches long. By the end of spring, these leaves have withered and fallen off. Along I come planting annuals and think, “Ah, here’s a bare spot; let me dig this up,” but no. More than once I’ve put a spade into that “empty” space only to discover the bulbs underneath. Leave it alone, Dale! The area stays bare until late July or early August when stems push their way up and unfold dainty, pink flowers. They’re beautiful and these days I’m marveling at the “surprise,” the “resurrection.”
Sometimes, it seems to me, we act like the well-being of the church solely upon us. True, we are “coworkers with God, 1 Corinthians 3:9, but the church is God’s garden. “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth” (1 Corinthians 7). We come to our church meetings with agendas and minutes, with reports and resolutions – and that’s part of being co-workers with God – but how often do we talk about an issue and say, “Let’s wait on the Lord and see how He unfolds this”? Not often in my experience. We dig around and destroy God’s surprise. Parker Palmer calls it “functional atheism.”
You forest leaves, so green and tender that dance for joy in summer air,
You meadow grasses bright and slender, you flow’rs so fragrant and so fair,
You live to show God’s praise alone.
Join me to make His glory known. (Lutheran Service Book, 8111, 3)
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