Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies…
Standing on tiptoe, scanning the horizon for signs of new
life. Watering the toilet rolls, searching the black earth for signs of a
sprouting seed. Watching. Waiting.
Jesus turned his face to Jerusalem. He rested his tired body
on a borrowed donkey and received an ecstatic welcome from a parched and weary
populace, beaten down by a ruthless empire and the rigid rules of religiosity. Weary
people, scanning the horizon. Watching. Waiting.
As he approached Jerusalem, their hearts soared. They glimpsed
their redeemer king. But as the week wore on, their perception was distorted. They
saw Jesus, as it were, in fun-fair style mirrors. Caricatures of who he was. It
only took a few days until some of them were shouting for his death.
Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies …
I will not let covid-19 define my life. Politicians scatter
like ants in a squashed anti-hill, searching for safety, searching for
something that will restore life as we knew it.
The grain of wheat is planted. Maybe we will see a new plant
sprout, different but carrying life. Standing on tiptoe, scanning the horizon
for signs of new life.
Watching. Waiting. Assured that God’s with us, and that his
timing is perfect. Resting in his peace. Knowing that Resurrection Day is
coming.
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