CountryWindow.ca - Devotions by Eric E. Wright

For the second time in several years we’ve had to call in a plumber to repair a whistle on our oil tank. “A whistle on an oil tank?” Yes, I’d never heard of such a thing either until the supplier of our heating oil informed me that he couldn’t refill the tank until I had the whistle repaired.
Evidently most oil tanks have an exhaust pipe with a whistle fitted to inform the delivery man when the tank approaches full. Without the whistle, he can’t tell if our tank—hidden from sight in the garage—is approaching its capacity.

So once again, I called for a heating specialist to dismantle the exhaust pipe in order to repair the whistle.

What did he find? A hornet blocking the whistle! For some strange reason the smell of oil attracts hornets. A hundred dollars later, the whistle was clear and we had a new screen over the exhaust pipe.

What a tiny pest to cost so much money! Like the mouse that shut down our phones by eating through the phone line. It’s often the small things that cause the most trouble. Solomon wrote, “Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom” (Song of Solomon 2:15).

It’s the missing shingles on a roof, the poison ivy in the flower bed, the unpaid taxes, the unserviced car, the tiny polyp in the intestine. The untreated gash. The fever that presages the H1N1 virus.

Benjamin Franklin had it right. A little neglect may breed great mischief…for the want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost.

In our Christian lives it’s often the seemingly small areas of neglect or the little acts of disobedience that if not dealt with fester until they become major problems. The media emphasizes dramatic events so much—murder, terrorism, war, famine—that we may become conditioned to overlook what seem to be minor areas of neglect. The neglect of daily devotional reading and prayer—not as if this is a legalistic requirement of God—but that which nourishes our souls so we can keep short accounts with God. Irregular attendance at worship services. Failure to participate in the celebration of communion. Being lax in giving; shaving 2% out of the 10% we usually give. The neighbour we fail to befriend. The opportunity that we pass over. Not bothering to vote in civic elections.

Fortunately, our God is not only holy but his mercy is ever available. Every morning and throughout the day he waits for us to commune with him; to hear our expressions of praise, to listen to our aspirations, to forgive us for our sins, to strengthen us through his Spirit.

Read Rev. 20:11-15

One afternoon the western horizon became a range of volcanoes spewing flumes of darkening cumulus. The rising wind pushed a herd of trumpeting mastodons before it until only a few patches of blue pasture remained untrampled in the sky. The crashes of their thunderous advance shook the earth and echoed from the hills. The flashes of their tusks lit up the blackening fields.

I raced to unplug the computer and microwave then settled down to watch the spectacle. Mary Helen joined me. Rain drummed on the roof, then stilled, then dominated the score once more. Gusts of wind flung the downpour almost horizontally across the land. A flood poured through the downspouts and cascaded off the roof as the volume of water overwhelmed the eaves-troughs. Rain pelted the flowers and pounded on the road. The driveway became a river and every flowerbed a pond.

We seemed to be immersed in some primeval concert from the dawn of creation. Something like that which moved Haydn to write;

How now rage with fury, clouds and tempest.
Like chaff in the whirlwind fly storm-driven clouds.
The sky is cleft by fiery lightning,
Tremendous, awful, the thunder roll.
The floods give forth at His command
The rains and showers, all refreshing. ¹

Storms provide a glimpse of God’s almighty power. “Sing praise to the Lord, to him who rides the ancient skies above, who thunders with mighty voice. Proclaim the power of God whose majesty is over Israel, whose power is in the skies. You are awesome, O God, in your sanctuary; the God of Israel gives power and strength to his people” (Psalm 68:32-35). From the shelter of a safe vantage point, Mary Helen and I reveled in the glory of another wild storm.

It’s quite another thing to be caught out in the middle of a field or on a lake during a violent thunderstorm. With rain pelting down, lightning striking all around, wind lashing the waves or thunder shaking the earth, it feels more like judgment day.

The biblical authors often use the image of a terrible storm to portray judgment. “The angel took the censer, filled it with fire from the altar, and hurled it on the earth; and there came peals of thunder, rumblings, flashes of lightning and an earthquake” (Revelation 8:5).

The prophets speak of one particularly terrible day of judgment. “The day of the Lord is coming…a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and blackness” (Joel 2:2). Paul warns the Athenians that, on that day, God “will judge the world with justice by the man he has appointed” (Acts 17:31). It will be a day “when God will judge men’s secrets through Jesus Christ” (Romans 2:16).

Since all of us have sinned against God, all will face the storm of his judgment unless we have fled to find shelter beneath the cross of Christ. There on the cross Christ endured the judgment of God in our place that we might never have to face it. And that is the good news of the gospel. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved” (Acts 16:31).

So when lightning and thunder resound through the land, I am reminded of the power of God and the future day of judgment. I feel awe and sometimes I tremble.

¹ Third Recitation, Haydn’s Oratorio, “The Creation”

I can’t remember a winter with more snow. We’ve been assailed by storm after storm. But we can be sure that spring will come. It is certain. Then will be true this poem.

For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins. ¹

Wildflowers will soon peek through the warming humus in a race to flower before the forest canopy closes out the warming sun. First, the bloodroot will open its white petals. Then clusters of spring beauties and hepaticas will fringe the forest pathways. Shortly, a carpet of dog-toothed violets will unveil their shy saffron flowers below the maples. The woodlands rise from their wintry rest to don a coat of many colours.

How fitting that we celebrate Easter at this season, for spring is resurrection time. On Friday of Passover Christ died upon the cross. With his body sealed in a guarded tomb, the enemies of Christ thought they had triumphed. His disciples retreated behind closed doors to nurse their despair. Satan chortled with glee. (Read John 20:1-18)

Then on the first day of the week, he arose from death. The women who had witnessed his death and burial came to the tomb to anoint his body with spices where they found the stone rolled away. “Suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. . . ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen.” ²

Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph o’er His foes;
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever with His saints to reign,
He arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose! ³

Overnight his frightened and despairing disciples became fearless preachers of the gospel. On the day of Pentecost, Peter proclaimed, “Men of Israel, listen to this: Jesus of Nazareth was a man accredited by God to you by miracles, wonders and signs . . . you with the help of wicked men, put him to death by nailing him to the cross. But God raised him from the dead, freeing him from the agony of death, because it was impossible for death to keep its hold on him.” ⁴

When the religious authorities warned them to stop preaching about Christ, “Peter and the other apostles replied: ‘We must obey God rather than men! The God of our fathers raised Jesus from the dead—whom you had killed by hanging him on a tree.” ⁵

No wonder the apostles refused to compromise their commitment to tell everyone about the risen Christ. Like the spring sun that causes new life to rise from apparently dead soil, Christ raises to spiritual life men and women who are dead to God. “God who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.” ⁶

Like the violets and trilliums in our woods that owe their existence to the spring sun, we owe every grace and gift to our risen Christ. May each of us who feels the spring sun on our faces respond to the warm love of God in Jesus Christ. May we feel Jesus’ resurrection power wash away our sins and raise us to new life and new hope.

1 Algernon Charles Swinburne, Atalanta in Calydon, 1865, st. 4
2 Luke 24:1-6
3 Christ Arose, text and music, Robert Lowry
4 Acts 2:22-24
5 Acts 5:29-30
6 Eph. 2:4-5

Throughout December we hear uncounted replays of Irving Berlin’s White Christmas. You know the one, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas just like the ones I used to know.” Now, I must admit that I love to wake up Christmas morning to a blanket of white covering field and forest. The season brings a certain nostalgia as Christmas cards start arriving with idealized villages deep in snow, kids skating on frozen ponds and sleighs drawn by high stepping stallions. In our part of the world we expect a snowy Christmas. Even south in Florida and across the globe in Australia and Fiji it’s part of the mythology of Christmas.

Of course, some Christmases are green. Temperatures stay well above freezing, balmy enough that some Torontonians can play tennis. Maybe that’s not a bad thing—reminding us to get back to the real history behind the myth. The story behind the fairy tales of Santa Claus, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer—the truth beyond the tinsel and trees, the feasting and buying. (Read Matt. 1:18-25) Merchants tell us that they sell more at Christmas than at any other time of the year. Anyone who has tried to find a parking space at a mall during December will have to agree. Christmas means crowds of often grumpy people thronging the shops.

Was the first Christmas green? Does it snow in Bethlehem? Rarely. We do know that there were no crowds around the manger. God chose only about twelve or so people to participate in the original pageant. Most of the relatives and neighbours of Mary and Joseph had no idea what was happening. The religious leaders, the priests, the teachers of the law took no note of the birth of this child until foreign visitors arrived. King Herod and the political establishment missed the event that would separate history into AD and BC time. The innkeepers of Bethlehem were too busy counting their cons to notice another arrival, even if the woman was heavy with child.

No, very few had a clue that history would never be the same. Fifteen months before the birth of Christ, an angel informed Elizabeth and Zechariah that their son John would prepare the way for the coming of the Lord. That makes two who had an inkling. Nine months before Jesus’ birth Mary, and then Joseph, became participants. On the night of his birth an angel gave the news to two or three shepherds. That makes six or seven. Eight days after his birth God moved Simeon and Anna to celebrate the arrival of a Savior. That makes eight or nine included in the drama. Almost a year later the Magi arrived. Although the text does not specify that there were three wise men, we know there must have been at least two. If we add up all the participants we find that God specifically chose eleven or twelve people to take part in the most astounding event in history up to that time—the incarnation of the Son of God.

Why so few? The record indicates that all shared something in common. Although a young woman, Mary could say, “my soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour” (Luke 1:46,47). Joseph “was a righteous man” (Matt. 1:19) who did not want to expose Mary “to public disgrace.” Elizabeth and Zechariah “were upright in the sight of God observing all the Lord’s commandments and regulations blamelessly” (Luke 1:6). Simeon “was righteous and devout” (Luke 2:25,26). Anna “worshipped night and day” (Luke 2:37). The text reveals nothing about the character or habits of the shepherds, however, the speed with which they went to find the baby and the way they left “glorifying and praising God” leads me to believe they were very sensitive to God. The Magi undertook a lengthy and dangerous journey with the express purpose of worshipping Christ. (Matt. 2:2)

Spiritual sensitivity links these twelve participants. They were conscientious worshippers—devout seekers after God.

In his sermon on the mount Christ taught, “Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God” (Matt. 5:8). In his study on that passage, Lloyd Jones points out that the purity mentioned here denotes singleness of vision and freedom from defilement. By singleness of vision he means a focus on God or a God-centredness. This clear vision of God, in turn, leads the pure in heart to embrace what is good and true and holy—to flee defilement of any kind. In the grubby world in which we live such purity is rare. Those who treasure such purity see beyond the tinsel and trappings—they see God.

Father purify my heart that I might feel again some of the wonder of the incarnation. Cleanse me from any defilement. Lord, I know you are not a cosmic kill-joy out to spoil our celebrations, but please help me to keep from being distracted by all the holiday static that drowns out the true music of Christmas.

Suggested Reading: Lamentations 3:13-27

As summer eases into autumn, a hint of sadness frames the memories of picnics on the beach. We face the knowledge that the warm summer days are over for another year. The leaves with fall. The flowers will fade and die. Scarves and gloves will come out of the closet

Of course, there will be no more grass to cut until the spring and no wrestling with weeds. Other work will occupy the time. Tuning up the snowblower, hunting for the snow shovel and preparing the flower-beds for winter. All this is to be expected. No big deal. Just another changing season in a world of change.

The waxing and waning of the moon. The rise and fall of tides. Clouds spreading and retreating. Sunrise and sunset. Gas prices rising. New pop stars. New bulletins on healthy eating.

The mirror also reflects change. Wrinkles. Receding hairline. More gray hair. Squinting. Time to make another appointment with the ophthalmologist.

Sometimes the changes come much too quickly. New gadgets to replace ones I haven’t figured out yet—DVD players instead of VCRs. MP3’s and Blackberries—whatever they are. New computer software. The computer geek at the store telling me my CD burner is obsolete! He laughs when I protest that my computer was almost new, then winks and points to the latest model. It makes the mind spin.

Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

Fortunately, God is changeless. In the midst of Israel’s vacillating devotion, God assured Malachi; “I the Lord do not change. So you, O descendants of Jacob, are not destroyed.” Through his prophet, God reminded Israel that he could be depended upon to reward repentance with forgiveness and blessing. Not a capricious god, Jehovah keeps his promises.

In the New Testament, James warns about being deceived by comparing God with the world around. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly light, who does not change like shifting shadows.” His mercy, his grace, his love, his justice do not ebb! Instead of vacillation we discover constancy. He is changeless without being immobile; his purposes march forward toward their climax.

God pours his good gifts upon the earth as bountifully today as he has for millennia. He is the unchanging Father of light, the Giver of every good gift. The everlasting gospel saves as powerfully today as in the days of Paul. And when God redeems us through Christ, he anchors our destiny to the very throne from which he rules the universe.

Few prophets had to minister in the turmoil through which Jeremiah lived. God commissioned him to pronounce the destruction of Jerusalem and the captivity of the Jewish people. Few prophets endured the persecution he faced. What kept him sane when thrown into a well, fastened in the stocks or lampooned by false prophets? In Lamentations Jeremiah explains that although his heart was pierced with sorrow and his stomach tasted of gall, he trusted in God’s love and faithfulness. “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

Changeless compassion in a world of rebellion and hate. Faithfulness in a society of broken promises and discarded treaties. A shepherd and friend whose presence and guidance is as sure today as it has ever been. Prayer is as important a means of grace today as it was in the days of Elijah. What a God!

The worries of hobby gardeners, like me, are minor compared to the anxieties of farmers. Often on the brink of bankruptcy, they depend on the right balance of sunshine and rain for their livelihood.

During periods of extended drought I listen to every weather forecast hoping for rain as I gaze wistfully out the window at the brown lawn. Our soil is so sandy we need frequent downpours to perk up the flowerbeds and keep the lawn green. I can water the beds with the hose, but not the lawn unless I want to risk emptying the well.

Sometimes we face the opposite problem. The spring comes in late and rainy. The summer continues cold and wet. Whatever grows is spindly and watery. Vegetables lack taste. Flying, crawling, burrowing, munching insects throng the garden. We hanker for sunshine and dry days but slip into autumn moldy and miserable.

Dependence on the weather is dependence on God. Sunshine and rain are gifts of God’s common grace, the grace he extends to all people everywhere. “He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” ¹ As King Ahab discovered during Elijah’s prophetic period, God can withhold the rain. In Ahab’s case it was to punish Israel for their idolatry. “It did not rain on the land for three and a half years.” ²

We may feel proud of a border full of bright flowers or a productive vegetable patch. But too often we fail to acknowledge our dependence on God’s benevolence. If there were no sunshine and no water we would have no garden.

We make the same mistake in the spiritual realm. If God had not sent his Son to die in our place, for our sinful, selfish hearts we would have no salvation. We would be eternally lost. “When the kindness and love of God our Saviour appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.” ³

We cannot rely upon our own works to save us any more than we can rely on our own skill—irrespective of sunshine and rain—to produce a good garden. If we want our spirits to flourish rather than shrivel, we must put our faith in the work of Christ. It is God who plants new life in our dry and barren hearts. From beginning to end salvation depends on God’s free grace. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.” ⁴

Admittedly, there is a distinction between the faith that leads to salvation and trusting God for rain. The first requires us to make a choice. (I trust you have made that choice and asked Jesus Christ to become your Saviour.) The latter usually happens whether we trust God or not. God sends his rain even on atheists! Nevertheless, like the wise gardener who recognizes God by placing his faith in God’s sunshine and rain, the growing Christian continues to trust God for his day-to-day provision of spiritual energy. As Jesus said, “I am the vine; you are the branches . . . apart from me you can do nothing.” ⁵ Without that ongoing faith we cannot grow in our Christian lives.

While good works play no part in moving God to save us, once ignited within us, genuine faith moves us to do good works. Faith that does not motivate us to love God and our neighbours is a chimera.

Like the counterfeit Christian, the naïve gardener who says he trusts God for a good crop but neither plants nor weeds his beds is not exercising faith but presumption. Christ warned us, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven . . . by their fruit you will recognize them.” ⁶

As wise gardeners, we thank God for good soil and believe that good things will happen. We trust that God will germinate the seeds, water our plants and energize their growth. And all summer we work hard to cultivate the soil, root out the weeds and fertilize the garden.

Wise Christians exhibit the same balance between faith and works in their own lives. Having being saved freely by God’s grace they demonstrate the genuine nature of their salvation by a life overflowing with good works.

¹ Matt. 5:45
² James 5:17, from 1 Kings 18
³ Titus 3:4,7
⁴ Eph. 2:8
⁵ John 15:5
⁶ Matt. 7:21, 20

Giant rainbow trout have been leaving the deep places in Lake Ontario to search out the mouth of the Ganaraska River. A grand variety of birds, also led by instinct, arrive from sunny climes far to the south.

A-a-a-h, it’s that time of year again. Lord, how wonderful you are. “You renew the face of the earth.”¹ You send your winged heralds to introduce the arrival of this wonderful season. I stand in awe of the instinct you created in birds that moves them to leave the warmth and bounty of the south to wing their flight north even before the snow is melted.

While mammals and fish return to their places each year, we often fail to return to the God who created us. Yet there is something unquenchably religious programmed into human DNA.

Atheists deny any inherent instinct to acknowledge, even seek, God. In their view, belief in the supernatural is a primitive evolutionary response to fears of the unknown. Atheists hope that, as science expands our understanding of the universe, religion will die away. They remain disappointed.

But the fact is that: “90 percent of the world’s folk religions are permeated with monotheistic presuppositions” much more ancient than their current practices.² The Inca, for example, had an almost extinct memory of Virachocha—the Lord, the omnipotent Creator of all things. The memory of the Santal of India concerning their original worship of the Good God, Thakur Jiu, has almost faded away.

“Dr. Wilhelm Schmidt set out in the 1920s to compile every ‘alias of the Almighty’ which researchers had discovered around the world. . . . It took six volumes totaling 4,500 pages to detail them all! And at least a thousand more examples have come to light since then.”³ Unfortunately, while the National Geographic Society bombards us with tales of evolution—and very beautiful videos—research such as this has been consigned to oblivion.

The student of the Scriptures, of course, is not surprised with Schmidt’s findings. Believers know that God created people in his own image with a heart that is restless until it finds rest in God. How could God’s image bearers be content with material things when, “He has also set eternity in the hearts of men?” ⁴

Yes, the more we deny it, the more the facts lead us to conclude that within all peoples is a thirst for intimacy with the Most High.

¹Psalm 104:30b
² Don Richardson, Eternity in their Hearts, Ventura, California: Regal Books, 1981, p. 44
³ Ibid
⁴ Ecclesiastes 3:11

As we headed for church on a cold, winter Sunday several years ago, we saw that our Heavenly Artist had been busy again. Over night he had transformed our world into a crystal garden. Brilliant sunshine sparkled off the hoarfrost clinging to trees and bushes, houses and fields.

Then rounding the corner at Turkey Hill, we stared in amazement at a phenomenon we had never seen before. A winter rainbow. Shining through a cloud of ice crystals rising from Lake Ontario, the light of the sun created a corona of colour. To the left and right the colours of the rainbow were intense. In the centre of the arc it seemed as if two dazzling new suns blazed forth.

Whatever the scientific explanation for this corona of refracted light, the effect was breathtaking. It was as if Christ, “who is the radiance of God’s glory,” was giving us a preview of his return to claim his bride. (Heb. 1:3) In his Revelation, John writes of falling down in worship before Christ whose “face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance”(Rev. 1:16). In chapter four he describes a rainbow that encircled his throne. (Rev . 4:3)

Years earlier Ezekiel had written of his glory high above a throne of sapphire, “A figure like that of a man . . .he looked like glowing metal, as if full of fire . . . brilliant light surrounded him. Like the appearance of a rainbow in the clouds on a rainy day, so was the radiance around him. This was the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord” (Ez. 1:26-28).

The rainbow signals the promise and hope that comes through the triumph of the Son of God. But a rainbow in a Canadian winter! When the maples stand stark and bare? When the earth is griped in the frigid clutches of ice and snow? When the sun rises late and sets early? When north winds rattle the windows?

Our corona was a promise that winter is not the end. It precedes the spring. Beneath the ground vibrant life waits to spring forth. In the stark maples, sap awaits the stirring that will inevitably come. Slumbering raccoons and chipmunks and bears await the warming sun.

Winter is not a hopeless season. Winter is waiting. Winter is expectation. Winter is the faint light before the dawn. As if even nature stands on tiptoe waiting breathlessly for the coming of the Son of Man.

Meanwhile many of us face our own personal season of winter. Dimming eyesight. Aches and pains in new places. Ebbing strength. More frequent visits to the doctor. Tests. Cancer. And then that last enemy—death.

Winter is not gloom. It means hope’s harvest is at hand. Christ has plucked the stinger from the scorpion of death. We are closer to “Emmanuel’s land,” the place where glory dwells. The place where tears are wiped away, where there is no sadness, no pain. The place concerning which Paul wrote, “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9).

Paul, who ascended to the third heaven to receive unfathomable revelations, understood more than any the astonishing grandeur that awaits all who are saved by the blood of Jesus Christ. For there before our redeemed vision will be the Lord Jesus Christ shining brighter than any rainbow.
Isaiah writes, “The sun will no more be your light by day, nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you, the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory. Your sun will never set again, and your moon will wane no more; the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your days of sorrow will end” (Is. 60:19,20).

Rare phenomena, such as our winter rainbow, occur as if the curtain separating heaven from earth is very briefly drawn aside to let a tiny beam of heavenly glory fall on earth. Since the glory of God is more dazzling than the unshielded light from the sun, in our earthly state we dare not see more than an occasional flash. Our fit response to a vision such as Ezekiel and John and Isaiah received is to fall down in worship and then to rise up in hope. A Canadian winter is not really so bad. Ice and snow cannot keep hope from breaking out.

I woke to the sound of rain drumming on the roof. Not April showers. Not a drought-busting July torrent. A bone-chilling November deluge. It had already drizzled for three days. My joints ached as I made my way through the chilly house to peer outside at the grayness. This will not be a good day, I thought.

It's November. Optimism has fled. Summer days are a memory. The golden garments of autumn lie wet and ugly beneath the naked trees. Winter's snowy gown may soon be woven, but November's drab coat has no ermine fringe. Spring is beyond hope.

I brewed coffee and settled down by the window to concentrate on my morning devotions. A couple of verses kept threading through my thoughts. "Give thanks in all circumstances." "Rejoice in the Lord always." In everything give thanks, Lord? Rejoice in this miserable November day? That seems hardly reasonable.

In my efforts to rise above the weather, I was reminded that the text calls us to rejoice in the Lord not the circumstances." That observation sparked meditation on God’s attributes. And, I must admit, pondering God’s majesty—instead of the weather—did lift me into realms of glory. "I will exalt you, my God the King . . . every day I will praise you . . . Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise; his greatness no one can fathom . . . The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love. The Lord is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made."

After my devotions, since it was a Saturday, I headed out to pick up the weekend paper and gas up the car. My trip didn’t begin well. At the gas station, Fred took my credit card and mumbled, "Isn’t this miserable weather?"

"You can say that again!" I responded before I could catch myself. So much for my resolution to rejoice in the Lord.

It’s not easy to put look beyond the weather when everyone complains about it—especially in November. In temperate zones there seems to be a universal animosity towards November. When the novelist Georges Simenon wanted a setting that would depict misery and mystery in the life of a family outside Paris, he chose a rainy November. Indeed, the title he gave to his psychological tale of family horror was—you guessed it—November!

The wipers beat a dirge as I left the gas station. I wondered whether there could be anything attractive in a November landscape. After all, God has left the marks of his creativity and beauty on the whole universe. As the rain began to ease, I looked more closely at the passing scene. Dogwood stems lent splashes of burgundy to the lowlands where willows radiated yellow warmth. Paper birch supported fans of wine filigree. Red fruit festooned a wild apple tree. Milkweed pods trailed streamers of parachutes.

The landscape projected a beauty I had never seen. Here and there evergreens softened the edge of the woodlands where the hardwoods stood exposed. But instead of seeing a chaotic jumble of branches, they became a gossamer gown clothing the hills.

A row of white pines stood silhouetted against the sky. They all leaned away from the prevailing wind. On the northwest side their branches were stunted and twisted while on the southeast they looked like the bony arms of mothers pleading for their refugee children, or could they be dancers in a ballet?

The earth’s physique lay spread out before me. Autumn’s vivid wardrobe had been set aside to unveil the undulating beauty of the land. November became a nightgown woven with subtleties of texture and tint invisible until now. The scantily clad earth waited for winter to spread its blanket over the land. Why had I not noticed November’s beauty before? Probably because only praise can draw back the curtain that keeps us from viewing our world from a proper perspective.

Butterflies and Weeds

A yearly warning to get rid of noxious weeds on our property arrives along with our municipal tax bill. An unspecified fine is threatened.

Noxious weeds? Scary but puzzling. Which are noxious and which harmless? Unfortunately, they don’t append a list. I know from experience that poison ivy is a menace. I’ve had its blisters pop up too often to ignore it. And ragweed seems to cause the misery of hay fever. But what about lamb’s quarters and goldenrod and milkweed?

Take milkweed for example. As children, the milk fascinated us that oozed from it’s broken stem. And in craft classes we’d often decorate the pods for Christmas. Otherwise the plant seems useless—a noxious weed. However, researchers discovered that the milkweed leaf is the only food that monarch caterpillars eat. Since the milkweed is poisonous to most predators, it keeps the spectacularly coloured monarchs safe. What if we had obliterated all the milkweed in Ontario? Ergo, no monarchs!

The absence of these magnificent butterflies wouldn’t cause a ripple in the financial markets. But I would be sad along with thousands of others all over North America, including Mexico. I look forward to these butterflies flitting around my garden. Is the beauty of the monarchs and the pleasure they bring enough to agitate for the survival of milkweed? Or must something be useful to be conserved? To broaden the question; would the world be poorer without whales and orchids, royal Bengal tigers and coral reefs, caribou and ferns?

Beauty or utility? How is the Christian to approach questions like these that raise issues of conservation? We must first search the Scriptures for guidance. In Genesis One we discover that God gave Adam and Eve responsibilities. “Be fruitful and increase in number, fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground.” ¹ Chapter two describes a garden where God placed them, “to work it and take care of it.” ²

Clearly, God gives mankind permission to utilize the earth and its resources for human benefit. But don’t the words “subdue” and “rule over” sound ominous? Could this command include permission to rape and pillage the earth? To burn its rain forests? To deplete the seas of fish? To hunt bears for their body parts? To fill our oceans with PCB’s? To clear all agricultural land so mammoth machines can sweep over the land unhindered for miles? To confine farm animals to narrow pens in vast factories that pollute the ground water for miles around? No, a thousand times no!

God calls us to treasure and care for the earth, including all its resources—animal, vegetable or mineral. Eventually, he will judge us for our stewardship, including the legacy we leave. We have no right to disrupt earth’s fragile balance for short-term gain. We have no right to allow the extinction of a species just because they seem to serve no useful purpose.

Who but God, the creator of all, can really understand what some call, “the balance of nature”? God created a world of living things inter-connected by their dependence on each other. At the very beginning God said, “To all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and the creatures that move on the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” Bio-diversity and ecological balance are creation concepts.

Failure to conserve the unique habitats of the earth will harm mankind. Not only will the destruction of the rainforest deplete earth’s store of oxygen, but it will diminish the gene pool. Perhaps the cure for malaria, cancer or Alzheimer’s disease is out there somewhere waiting to be discovered.

Even if no use is ever found for obscure species, we have a responsibility to preserve their existence because God declared them good. “God called the dry ground ‘land’ and the gathered waters he called ‘seas.’ And God saw that it was good.” ³ “And God said, ‘Let the land produce vegetation’ . . . And God saw that it was good.” ⁴ “And God said, ‘Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth.’ . . . And God saw that it was good.” ⁵ “And God said, ‘Let the land produce living creatures.’ . . . And God saw that it was good.” ⁶

Surely, we don’t want to be found guilty of destroying what God has declared good. Frequently, we’ll be unable to point to any utility in a plant or creature. Perhaps some things exist only because God delights in creating complexity and beauty. Preserving living things that project the artistry of the Creator is a Christian duty.

To return to the monarch butterfly, who can deny that God declared it good? Who can deny that God has given it the milkweed for food? Still monarchs remained a mystery until recent times.

Until 1975 it was not known that the monarch butterflies of eastern North America migrated. After all, they lacked the size and sturdiness of birds. And how could they possibly find their way? When they disappeared in November, pundits assumed they died out and a new flock was born in the spring.

First, Fred Urquhart used tiny tags to trace their migration to the Mexican border. Then a young couple discovered their winter habitat two miles high in the Michoacan Mountains of Mexico. What a sight met their eyes! Tens of millions of butterflies thronging groves of oyamel trees. They had migrated from as far as James Bay, 1800 miles away. Astonishing!

Logging threatened to decimate the groves. Fortunately, an international effort led to the creation of a Mexican butterfly sanctuary 216 square miles in size. The future looks promising for the monarch butterfly. Is God pleased? I believe so.

Followers of Christ rightly give priority to spreading the good news. The Great Commission has eternal significance. But too often we neglect the other commission, the cultural commission which calls us to be stewards of the earth. While we should not neglect praying for God to thrill people all over the world with the good news of salvation through Christ, another prayer is also valid—for God to help us become more responsible care-takers of the earth.

¹ Gen. 1:28
² Gen. 2:15
³ Gen. 1:10
⁴ Gen. 1:11,12
⁵ Gen. 1:20,21
⁶ Gen. 1:24,25

Is Beauty a Gift of Grace?

A mother and daughter, poorly dressed, walked down a dirty alley. Trash and weeds lined the lane: rusty barrels, broken glass, scraps of cardboard, even the burn-out hulk of a car. Suddenly the little girl stopped. She knelt down and pointed. "Look mommy. Isn’t that yellow flower pretty?"

A flower blooming in the midst of trash entranced the little girl. But it was just a dandelion! To most of us it would be a weed. Why did she react so? She was probably starved for flowers—for beauty.

Would it be an exaggeration to claim that all humans need flowers in their lives? Every culture has its flower markets. Wherever we go we find gardens. Somewhere deep in our psyches a longing for beauty resides—a longing that flowers often assuage. I’ve never heard of a psychological condition brought on by the prolonged absence of flowers, but I imagine much human villainy could be laid at the feet of those with souls incapable of esthetic enjoyment. I can’t cite chapter and verse to prove this contention, but the Bible does begin and end with a garden.

Surely absence of beauty and its appreciation, stunts a life. And yet beauty is not easy to define. We would be hard put to separate what is ugly from what is beautiful. Are dandelions ugly because they spoil the green carpet of a lawn? Is skunk cabbage ugly while iris are beautiful? What about a rock, a leaf, an alligator, an old man, a river, a snake? Are all these things beautiful in their way? How do we know? We are told that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

And yet there must be room for common sense, the kind of instinctive evaluation exhibited by the child in the alley. After all, the combination of intense yellow colour, pleasing texture and symmetric shape exhibited by the dandelion would appeal in many contexts. The art reflected by the carvers of Athens or Rome or Delhi still appeals almost universally after centuries.

What is beauty? Webster defines it as, "the quality which makes an object seem pleasing or satisfying in a certain way; those qualities which give pleasure to the esthetic sense, as by line, color, form, texture, proportion, rhythmic motion, tone, etc. or by behavior, attitude, etc."

Pleasure through colour, form, texture, proportion—and scent. I sit on my veranda and drink in the beauty that surrounds me. Light shining through the fine filigreed needles of the hemlock. The rough texture of the white pine’s bark contrasted with the smooth texture of the beech. The pyramidal form of the cedar. The lacey glory of the iris. The bold spikes of the lupin. Tiny pink filaments rising from the coral bells. The heady scent of petunia.

Sometimes we just need to sit back and celebrate the beauty that God has spread out on every hand. We’re often so preoccupied with what is wrong with the world—the murder and corruption—that we forget to give thanks for natural beauty.

The poet Luci Shaw rightly believes that beauty is an aspect of the grace that is inherent in creation. It might have been enough for God to create a functional universe—but he didn’t. Instead he added to function the gratuitous grace of beauty.

Yes, we live in a fallen world. There is ugliness. But behind the stain left by the fall, everything still bears the stamp of God’s artistic genius—not just flowers but snowflakes, creatures, stars, minerals, oceans, meadows and mountains—a complete list would fill this whole book.

Michael Card recounts the testimony given by a young Chinese woman. "She spoke of the spiritual struggle of growing up in the shadow of communism . . . that ever since she was a little girl she had found her heart resonated with the beauty of nature. She described a series of epiphanies. First there was a sunset that caused a deep stirring in her soul that she could not put into words. Then there was a time when the simple beauty of the flowers in her mother’s garden spoke to her of a simplicity for which her heart yearned. Simply by observing the beauty in nature she had become convinced of the existence of not simply a benign god but a loving, caring Father."

She concluded her testimony, "Imagine the joy I experienced when I learned that he had a name and that it was Jesus." Almost everyone else in the room where she gave her testimony told nearly identical stories. Card discovered similar accounts all over China.

Our hunger for beauty may actually be a longing for God as illustrated by these Chinese seekers. When enemies advanced against David and his life looked bleak, he wrote of his heart’s longing. "One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple."

Perhaps this hunger for beauty is one reason why I love the spring so much. Everywhere I look flowers appear. Early, before the forest canopy blocks out the sun, wildflowers poke through the humus. First bloodroot reaches up with its snow-white flowers followed by hepaticas and spring beauties. Soon trilliums carpet the hillsides.

Meanwhile in our garden, crocuses and snowdrops shame the last ragged remnants of winter into fleeing. Emboldened, daffodils, tulips and hyacinth break into their spring flamenco.

Soon the whole countryside is singing an ode to the creator. Can you hear it? Every tree unfurls its flowers; some, like those on birch and maple and beech and oak, almost invisible to the eye. Dogwoods and vibernum burst into exuberant bloom. As May advances into June, the wind carries a message, "It’s lilac time." Along every country road at the points where pioneers cleared the forest and built their houses clumps of lilac burst into bloom. At this time of year we take meandering detours down any country road where lilacs crowd the verge. We roll down the car windows and slow to a crawl so we can drink in the perfume.

As June advances, buttercups and daisies cheer the eye soon to be followed by Queen Anne’s lace, wild aster and goldenrod. The pageant continues through the summer

But beauty is not limited to flowers. Beauty is found everywhere—in every season. Snowflakes and hoarfrost. Rainbows and Northern Lights. Clouds and lakes. Mountains and meadows. Goldfinch and bluejays. Salmon and dolphins. Trembling aspen and pyramidal cedar. Towering white pine and spreading juniper. Chattering brooks and waving fields of grain. And people—men and women—beautiful!

Sometimes, unless we have the discernment of the little girl in the alley, all we see is trash and heartache—and there’s a lot of that to go around. Perhaps knowing that, God filled the earth with beauty to ease the pain. Let’s give thanks for the grace of beauty.

Prayer: Father thank you for beauty—your beauty and the beauty of the universe you created. Help me not to take your creative majesty for granted by stumbling past all your handiwork in a dark fog of selfish distraction. Help me to recognize your fingerprints everywhere. And Lord, when disappointment or tragedy encroaches help me to find perspective in the knowledge that goodness and beauty and truth will ultimately triumph. Remind me that we see reality through a glass darkly, but one day, because of the redemption that is ours in Christ, we will see clearly. I look forward to that day when my mouth will hang open in wordless awe. In the meantime, thank you for all the glimpses of glory in the flowers I see. I worship you. I praise you. And especially Lord, thank you for giving me eyes to see the beauty you spread throughout the universe!

Giving Thanks for Green

For weeks—no months—the landscape lay grey and brown. Prison grey. Dirt brown. Grey trees lifted imploring fingers toward the wane sun. Fields were wrapped in listless brown blankets. Even the evergreens, the spruce and pine and cedar, straggled into spring in tarnished dresses of dingy olive-drab.

Every day I watched for the miracle. The awakening. And then, one day—an April day—I discovered that, overnight, blades of new grass had sprouted and the poplar buds were bursting.

Grey days quickly become magical green days. Every morning became an Amen of praise to the Divine Artist, a gentle symphony of awakening life heralded by the blush of spreading green. Gentle green. Subtle. Fresh. Vibrant.

Almost overnight grey was banished from the fields of winter wheat. The ditches come alive with shoots of green. The crocuses flowered. Tulips and daffodils brightened the brown border. Wildflowers rose from the litter. The twigs of all the forest trees, according to a timetable choreographed by the Creator, began to swell and stretch. Slowly, the leaves unfurled and stretched toward the warming sun.

Spring is like a smile, suddenly transforming a face tight with sadness. Or a subtle blush spreading on the face of a young woman at the sight of her beloved.

Every spring I’m bursting with thankfulness for . . . green, yes, green, as a pigment, green as a symbol of life and hope. What would our world be without its soothing shades? And yet in a few short weeks, I forget—take it for granted, like so much else that comes from the Creator’s Hand.

Forgive me Father for everything I take for granted! And now that I think of it, what about blue, the colour of sky and water, red that announces cardinal and rose, orange the hue of pumpkin and tangerine, and violet the colour of lilac and amethyst?

If I take colour for granted, what about apples and zebras, bread and butter, coffee and x-rays, dandelions and water? After all, Paul wrote, "Always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." Clearly, I’ve got a long way to go before I reach the borders of thanksgiving.

From Philippians we learn that a dearth of prayer laced with thanksgiving promotes anxiety. Colossians teaches us that "overflowing in thanksgiving" acts as a catalyst to encourage our growth in Christ. Colossians also links vigilance to thankfulness. Failing to count our blessings, to name them one by one, makes us careless, spiritually lazy, and dangerously naïve—the dark territory into which I stray too often.

I need to remind myself of David the fugitive, who struggled with fears and failures, the treachery of friends and the power of kingly office. He understood the importance of thanksgiving. He wrote; "I will give you thanks forever." In the Psalms other authors urge us to, "come before him (the Lord) with thanksgiving," "enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name," "sacrifice thank offerings and tell of his works with songs of joy."

It strikes me that if I learn to thank God for simple things—all the things I take for granted—I may create a godly habit that will carry me through times of trial like those David suffered. But even if there is no benefit, I want to be thankful anyway. Without thankfulness I am blind.