The Eternal Hope of Spring
The Eternal Hope of Spring
A collection of thoughts on the season
Let’s face it, watching the 24/7 news cycle is depressing. It makes one believe the world has gone mad, that there’s no hope for the future. There is, after all, no profit in good news. And our ancient brains are hard-wired to evaluate new stimuli as prey - it is always potentially harmful, even fatal.
But, every now and again we are inspired by the majesty of nature. There are few universal moments which engender these feelings more than Spring - the rebirth of the natural world. Our early ancestors watched in magical awe as the trees which were dead were reborn. As the seasonal plants and flowers that had laid dormant for so long were suddenly alive and blooming. The sun returned from its near death to the North, and warmed the land and the people that depended on it for survival.
Perhaps the greatest myth of modern life is that we’ve somehow escaped this miracle because we are so disconnected from nature. But our rituals and religions have been based on the turning of the seasons since their beginnings as far as any one can tell. Ancient religions worshipped nature and the seasons, and modern religions have cleverly disguised that practice.
Christians are now celebrating Easter, which tells the story of Jesus’ rebirth on the Sunday after the Spring Equinox, a message of transformation and healing:
John 3:3
Jesus replied, “Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again.”
Psalms 1:3
And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.
Psalms 85: 11-13
Faithfulness springs forth from the earth, and righteousness looks down from heaven. The Lord will indeed give what is good, and our land will yield its harvest. Righteousness goes before him and prepares the way for his steps.
Psalms is of course from the Torah/Old Testament, and while the Hebrew calendar puts Passover into late April this year, it has some historical relation to the Canaanite festival of Spring:
Deuteronomy 11:14
…then I will send rain on your land in its season, both autumn and spring rains, so that you may gather in your grain, new wine and olive oil. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone.
Song of Solomon 2:12-13
Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.
Muslims celebrate Eid al-Fitr at the end of Ramadan. A beautiful poem by Hafiz (excerpt):
Spring and all its flowers
now joyously break their vow of silence.
It is time for celebration, not for lying low;
You too -- weed out those roots of sadness from your heart.
The Sabaa wind arrives;
and in deep resonance, the flower
passionately rips open its garments,
thrusting itself from itself.
The Way of Truth, learn from the clarity of water,
Learn freedom from the spreading grass.
For more secular types, today is Opening Day in America. The nation’s oldest pastime returns the Boys of Summer to celebrate a beautiful day at the park.
Perhaps the greatest words about the old game (from Field of Dreams):
Ray, people will come, Ray.
They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past.
"Of course, we won't mind if you look around," you'll say. "It's only twenty dollars per person." They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it. For it is money they have and peace they lack.
And they'll walk out to the bleachers, and sit in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game, and it'll be as if they'd dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they'll have to brush them away from their faces.
The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.
America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.
This field, this game -- it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.
Oh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.
This weekend, may we all reflect on the past and let it go. May we all wash away our sins and seek the Lord’s peace. May we remember what it was like to be a kid at the ballpark, and to run through a field of freshly bloomed flowers. May we be a tree planted by the rivers of water that brings forth fruit in our season. May our winters pass and may we be dipped again in magic waters. May we be reminded of all that once was good, and could be again.
God bless us all, and these United States.