Cornflowers

A few weeks ago, I scattered cornflower seed onto the soil of a gardening tray and sprinkled soil over the top. The seed sprouted, and now, aided by the warmth of the conservatory and copious waterings, the seedlings flop against one another, jostling for space, awaiting transplantation.

I know that today when I set them out, I will need to spend time gently untangling their delicate roots. I’ve left them a bit longer than is wise, probably.

Prior to lock down, our churches were often crowded with like-minded believers. Every week we joined together with our church family and praised God and learned more about him as we also learned more about each other. For many of us, our social events and meetings involve the same group of believing friends.

Lock down has scattered us. We have been transplanted back into our neighbourhoods. It hasn’t been easy to give up our gatherings. Zoom lets us smile and chat but we are missing our church family.

But maybe our roots were getting far too entangled. Maybe it was time for us to be transplanted, to be moved into different neighbourhoods where we can at least share a nod and a wave with a neighbour as we walk by, day after day. Maybe we, like the cornflower, will be able to stretch our roots down deeper as we depend on God’s strength to move out of our comfort zone and speak to those we do not know very well. Maybe we, like the cornflower, will stretch wider and bloom more profusely as we are given more space to grow.

Maybe out of this painful time of separation, God will bring revival as we bring his fragrance into our neighbourhoods, his light into the darkness surrounding us. Today, if and when I meet a neighbour, I want to share the hope we have in Jesus rather than join in the chorus of condemnation of the government or fears for the future.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.