In this post-Easter season, I have to rejoice anew that I live in a world with seasons since the very world around me speaks of resurrection and of life.
As usual, I left Kingston very early, with the sun just beginning to turn the sky from dark to light. From the bus window I was struck with the clarity of a revelation at the tree branches outlined against that sky. There are as yet no leaves but on the tip of every branch a bud was visible. There were dozens and dozens of them as we passed woodlands and backyards and country lanes. Each branch that stroked the sky said, “Death is not forever. We live!”
I am sure the atheists say, “Of course. That is nature at work.” I agree, but who tells nature that now is the hour to burst back to life? Who implanted those laws in the universe so that each plant and growth, in its turn, rejoins the throng of the living?
I meditated on life as we passed the orchards with the tiniest of green sprouts visible, the woods with an occasional burst of golden glory where some hand had dropped forsythia plants, and then we came into the city and the blossoming pear trees transformed the ugliness of the industrial west side. Every year, I have to catch my breath at this spate of beauty on 40th Street.
To the bewilderment of his disciples, Jesus came through death with a message for them: “I live and so shall you when the winter of life is over. Death is no more!”
To which I append, “Alleluia!!”