Early spring tends to be a challenge for me. Warmer locales enjoy the delights of spring much earlier than we do in Minnesota. In fact, I was in California recently and was mesmerized by the show. On a morning run I ducked under branches heavy with blooms, passed gardens filled with roses and fell in love with the scent of orange blossoms. My favorite was the pink carpet of flowers that stretched along most highways. Then I returned to Minnesota where the temperatures dropped and we endured yet another snowstorm. Twelve inches to be exact. And a forecast of another week of bitter cold to punctuate the experience.
Each year I grow less and less patient with the Minnesota weather. I know some people embrace the cold. My son lives for the opening of snowboard season and often eschews a jacket in favor of sweatshirts. When the temps hit the high 20’s he even “goes T-shirt.” I tend to let this be unless it is below zero, then I refuse to drive him unless he puts on a coat.
I like the first snowfall like everyone else. And who doesn’t love a white Christmas? But after that, I get sick of it real fast. I once tried the hygge practice of embracing the cozy aspects of winter and making peace with it. But I failed. And my attitude along with it. I get sick of sweaters. Sick of cold winds hitting my face whenever I step outside. Sick of bundling up for runs. Sick of the way it seems spring refuses to come at a reasonable hour.
Today is no different. It is early April and I am looking out at grey skies. Temperatures are in the thirties and we are bracing for a second round of freezing rain. It is depressing, to say the least.
This somber, dreary mood seems fitting for good Friday. I guess that is one nice thing about Minnesota. We may not get to wear airy sundresses or sandals to Easter services, but we can set the mood for Good Friday better than most states.
And yet, despite how cooped up and cranky I feel, I know hope is coming. I know that eventually the sun will come out and we will have our turn enjoying trees bursting into bloom, daffodils turned towards the sun and our own roses showing off. The ones that are Minnesota hardy, anyway. (Our planting zone limiting our choices and all.)
I already see signs of hope The birds are calling and growing in number each day. New shoots of green are emerging beneath the brown carpet of dead grass flattened by snow. And I even see a few flower buds stubbornly peeking through mud. I walk around my house every day to look for these signs and cheer them on, as if my coaxing will hasten the process.
I know my will won’t speed things up. But looking for the signs of spring does lift my spirits and reminds me that seasons are just that. Seasons. Even when they stretch beyond expectation, beyond what we think we can bear, beyond our understanding, they don’t last forever.
And when a given season seems endless, it is important to intentionally focus on hope.
Good Friday is such a reminder of this. On the day Jesus was crucified, the mood was dark. Large crowds gathered. Women mourned and wailed as they followed him to the cross (Luke 23:27). The crowd witnessed the cruelty of the crucifixion, which would not have surprised them in that culture, and the compassion and forgiveness of Jesus, which did.
There is an interesting point in the story as told in Luke. It shows just how dark, difficult and disturbing the scene was after Jesus took his last breath.
“The centurion, seeing what had happened, praised God and said, ‘Surely this was a righteous man.’ When all the people who had gathered to witness this sight saw what took place, they beat their breasts and went away. But all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things” (Luke 23:47-49).
Three responses to the traumatic event. A Roman official saw the signs and knew this was the son of God. The curious gawkers left the scene in anguish. Jesus’s followers watched from a distance.
You can sense the tension. Jesus had told his followers he would would suffer, die and be raised on the third day (Matt 16:21, 17:22-23, 20:18-19, Mark 8:31, 10:33-34, Luke 9:44, 18:31-33). He had also told them they would grieve but their grief would turn into joy (John 16:17-24). They knew all of this. But knowing and experiencing are two different things. Especially experiencing something so indescribable and traumatic.
Their fear, doubt and anguish were understandable. They couldn’t have been able to conceptualize what Jesus meant or how his promises would play out. But they trusted Jesus.
And even as they waited, bewildered and grief-stricken, they watched for the signs of hope.
Modern day followers do know what happened next. We know Jesus rose three days later. We know he conquered death. We celebrate it every year at Easter. (In sweaters in Minnesota.)
We now live in a new tension as we wait for what comes next. Jesus has already conquered death. We are already saved. But we are waiting for his return.
Like our fellow believers watching on the day of the crucifixion, we may sometimes be bewildered and afraid, uncertain of how God’s promises will play out in our own lives, in our community and in our world. Sometimes the seasons we endure seem impossibly long and our faith can wobble. But we need to keep watching for the signs that orient our hearts and minds back to hope.
What does that look like? There are so many ways to look for hope. It can look like spending time in the Word. It can look like worship. It can look like fellowship with others. It can look like going out in nature and wondering at the way God reveals himself in creation. It can look like reflecting on the ways God has already delivered you. It can look like keeping Sabbath. It can look like prayer.
It just matters that we keep looking. Keep watching. And keep hoping.
As for me, I will always have hope;
I will praise you more and more. Psalm 71:14
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