I think there’s a lot to be learned from our seasons of weather. I’m not the first to think like this, but it just really hit me hard today as I was biking down an autumn stained bike path in Fredericton, New Brunswick.
The eccentric design of this universe is arranged in just such a way so that different regions of the earth’s surface experience different tendencies in temperature based on their relative tilt away from or towards the Sun.
Do we ever ask ‘why’ anymore? I’ve lived 24 years on this planet and I’m still discovering ‘new things’ that have existed right under my nose this entire time. The Lessons of Seasons is one of those ‘new things’ in my life right now.
I recognize that the cycle of seasons has an immeasurable number of practical reasons for existing; reasons that no doubt testify to a creator. The seasons of time proclaim design like a royal trumpet procession. But I don’t think that’s their only purpose. I think there’s more than a seasonal testimony of a creator. I feel compelled to daydream about the similarities between our human existence and the nature of each of our seasons.
Fall.
The Lesson of: A Beautiful Death.
I’ll start with Fall, because that’s where we are right now, and this is the launching pad that inspired this train of thought.
In my mind, a ‘beautiful death’ seems more like an oxymoron than a compatible combination of words, but when I think about Fall, that word choice seems best to me.
My explanation of this might have to start with a bit of self-defense… I promise you, I’m not morbid. I don’t think death, in general, is beautiful, nor do I think it’s good.
I think there’s no more potent reminder of the brokenness of our human condition than the constant reality of ‘death’. Whatever form it comes in, it is a consistent pestilent threat that lurks on the edges of all things good. It is an inevitable right of passage that all living flesh must endure (in a sense), but I still refuse to submit to the temptation of utter depression. I think that would be a nearsighted misfortune…that would be to miss the beauty.
So how does ‘beauty’ fit into… The ugliness of death? I guess I’ve lived enough seasons to hope and trust in the rebirth of Spring.
If there was no spring, we would be right to fear the temperature drop that happens in the fall; if trees did not survive the winter then the yellow colored leaves would earn the tears of the tenderhearts; and if butterflies never emerged from the slumber of a cocoon then the caterpillars that crawled into them would surely deserve our sympathy.
But that’s just it… that isn’t the way things work. Spring restores the warmth, it sprouts fresh leaves, and the time in the cocoon even imbues the caterpillar with beauty; transformed into a new creation and ready to fly.
If fall was the only season, creation would be a downer. It would be a constant display of decay, a reminder of death’s power. But with the expectancy of Spring, the Fall season is robbed of its sting. Suddenly the temporal nature of this ‘death’ is strangely comforting because we know that as the old passes, the new will have place to sprout up. Renewal is on its way.
I like fall. It’s a reminder that some things are temporary. At the same time, it reminds me that we are wise to be expectant; to foresee the eventual rebirth, and to live in light of this new life. In my mind Fall and Spring compliment each other; they give each other meaning. While new life is more obvious in the spring, the fall speaks to me more about expectant faith. Despite all the evidence of decay and death, I feel encouraged that there will be rebirth… there will be a season that’s just as persistent, just as trustworthy, and just as certain as this visible presence of death.
So I think I did a lousy job at justifying the ‘beauty of death’… It seems more like I find rebirth to be beautiful. But I think that it’s not simply the rebirth I like… I like that there’s a time to suffer the absence of leaves. The yellowing leaves are beautiful because they cause me to deal with the reality that death is near… I guess I like to see the beauty in the midst of the death. Let me put it this way: Death is like the gateway to rebirth, I like the whole process. I don’t like one more than the other, and I find it impossible to segregate the two pieces of the relationship. I just know this: if trees never lost their leaves; if new leaves just sprouted up amidst the full foliage, we would probably forget to appreciate the leaves. The yellow, red and orange colored leaves call out to me. They beg me to appreciate them before they go.
I guess I’m just thinking today that Fall is really really beautiful even though it’s laced with death (or slumber, if you prefer that term).
I think Death can be beautiful because it teaches me to hope beyond what’s immediately available before me. It forces me to appreciate the moments I have before things change in unpleasant ways. Death makes life worth living. It inspires urgent appreciation. It teaches us to enjoy our pleasant circumstances while we have them, and to hope for rebirth in the midst of our difficult circumstances. It gives us the chance to enjoy the rewards of taking a substantial risk. It even gives us a way of measuring value too.
(I think this last paragraph could use a lot of unpacking, but I already feel like I’ve written too much for now).
Till the next time I write, I’ll be watching the leaves change, and listening to Jon Foreman.
Peace and love.
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