Tulips in the Front Yard

For with You is the well of life, and in Your light we see light. Psalm 36:11

In spite of the CNN, BBC and NPR-induced bleakness we wade through each day, somehow, inexplicably, hope beats eternal in the breast of man.  It is something totally non-materialistic.  Hope, in the same vein of faith and love, declares a Living God. 

Hope is a pulse that flows through nature and society equally.  As tornadoes rip through the South and flatten woods and homes alike, fresh green sprouts declare, “We shall rebuild.” A million people were displaced from their homes during the Ivory Coast civil war, and yet the EU humanitarian commissioner declares, “The Ivory Coast is passing through a very difficult period, but now there is a chance to turn a new page.”  And as tales of inflated bonuses and cozy Congressional behind-closed-doors decisions, folks still sign up their kids for Little League teams and plant tulips in the front yard.  Is it all foolishness?

Nope.  Woven into the very fabric of existence is the cycle of birth and death and birth.  It’s how it works. In the midst of roiling solar flares. In the deepest oceanic crevice. And tangled up in the strings of subatomic energy.  Whatever “it” is. Life and light. 

And as we reflect on the small group of men and women huddled at the base of Golgotha so many years ago as rigor mortis gripped the embodiment of all that was hope and was laid inside the cold hard grave of reality, we cannot imagine a darker night. 

And yet.  Early on Sunday morning, while it was still dark, He asked the question, “Woman, why are you crying?”

And a week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them.

Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” 

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”

Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!”

My Lord and my God.