There is a small vase hanging from the closet door in our bedroom. The opening of the vase is big enough for only one stem, so I occasionally surprise my wife with a single red rose. A couple of weeks ago, I placed one of these roses in the vase. We enjoyed it for a while, but as roses generally do, it wilted and died. Or, so we thought. To our surprise, a new branch has begun growing from one of the little buds on the stem. In fact, it has divided into a couple of smaller branches, and there are now quite a few leaves. The simple beauty of these tiny little branches caught my eye so much that my mind has frequently returned to them over the last couple of days.
Last Saturday I sat under the beautiful faux night sky in the Deere Planetarium at Augustana College. While looking up I found myself thinking about those miniature branches again. You would not have received a good explanation for my thoughts if you had asked for a reason that night. But, I think I’ve figured it out. As the retired Dr. Peterson passionately described the makeup, location, and ages of many different stars, I was awed most by the outpouring of their light. When you or I look at a particular star in the constellation of Orion, we are likely looking at light that left that star millions of years ago. It is as if the star in Orion and the little branches in my vase are of the same mindset: “I’m going forward with God-given beauty, and nothing can stop me.”
That is the way God would have it, isn’t it? Through small things like little goldfish and large things like the first snowfall (before you have to shovel it), we get a glimpse of the true and full goodness of God’s creation. We get a shadowy view of the splendor of this world as it was meant to be.
We’re not meant to simply take it all in, though, are we? It seems we would become what astronomers call a “black hole” if we only took in and never gave out. Simply put, a black hole is a star that has lost all its own energy and has collapsed in on itself. In the process, though, it becomes so massive that its gravitational pull (not unlike the gravity that keeps us in our chairs) doesn’t let anything escape — not even light! A black hole simply consumes and consumes and consumes. Once it implodes on itself, it never shines again.
Our lives are most whole when we seek to live like those tiny branches on that “dead” rose, or like Orion’s star shining in the vastness of space. In the midst of the beauty and wonder of this life, and in the midst of the brokenness and darkness we find as we live, we have a dual opportunity: We get to both soak in the gifts with which God has surrounded us, and we get to radiate life-giving goodness toward others.
There may be times when we feel as if we are black holes in this earthly life. Nothing seems to go well for us. Our sense of emptiness stops us from desiring to radiate any sort of goodness. These are the times when we are re-energized by the light that others shine on us. These are the times when God surprises us with new life even as we feel dead.
On our best days, living the Christian life means attempting to live in such a way that we grow with the beauty of God and radiate the goodness of God. The size or the texture of our contribution to the landscape or the sky is not what matters. What matters is the gift we give for the sake of God and for God’s whole creation.
May we all grow and shine in God’s wondrous love.
Pastor Lorin Darst,
"The good news is that God loves me long before I could have done anything to deserve it." ~Desmond Tutu
Source: ELCA New Service