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.
