It was a sunny October afternoon when death came to visit. Once my favorite season—filled with family birthdays at apple orchards, hot pumpkin spice lattes on crisp, frosty mornings and long drives through the blazing tree-lined mountain pass—now Autumn just feels… sad.
It’s as if fall has a death-shadow cast over her, with every falling leaf a reminder that life must end, as the world gives way to winter. Trees become skeletons with a thousand bony fingers casting long, eerie shadows from the light of a now-distant sun. Winter’s brush paints drab strokes over the vibrant colors, turning the landscape dreary shades of pewter and brown. Days become short and the once-fertile soil lies as dormant and as cold as death.
Yes, I think if Winter reeks of death, then Autumn is the dying.
Yet, ironically, it is in that dying which her beauty is revealed.
I suppose each season brings its own special kind of beauty, if you care to see it. For instance, the stillness of winter is but an illusion. For hidden away from view, underneath the death and decay of the season, lie the seeds that fell in autumn: the very seeds that will burst forth into new life, come spring.
The seed has nothing to fear as it falls to the ground, for it knows that unless it dies, it cannot bring new life. What one calls “being buried,” another calls “being planted.”
What’s more, God has allowed us a glimpse of His perspective on the autumn of our lives. For those who have died in Christ, scripture calls death “precious” in the eyes of God. (Psalm 116:15)
You see, death is but the grand reunion of a weary traveler arriving home—to the home for which he was created. The Father observes the beauty of His child being transformed, until, at last, the fingers of this life release him from their bony grasp and let him drift into the waiting arms of Jesus.
Death, our final enemy, has already been defeated; so, hidden away from our view, death bursts forth into life everlasting.
And it is in that dying, that the beauty of the Gospel is revealed.
Yet, for those of us that remain in the valley, the beauty of Autumn surrenders itself to the cruelty of Winter. This barren wasteland seems to go on forever as we await the coming of Spring. The dismal shadows fall over us, causing the light of the Son to often seem distant. We cannot see what is happening beyond the vale, so, for a season, life feels dormant and ugly and cold—much like a snowless winter.
But we must not despair! Hold on to this hope, fellow valley-walker: though your winter may seem endless, after winter surely comes Spring.
And Spring shall bring a glorious resurrection!
🩷A
O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory?
Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord, Jesus Christ.
1 Cor. 15:55 & 57
