The Sound of the Seed

“[…] When you put a seed into the ground, it doesn’t grow into a plant unless it dies first. […] Our earthly bodies are planted in the ground when we die, but they will be raised to live forever. Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength.”

1 Corinthians 15: 36b, 42b - 43

Mourning light to morning light,

long night hours cut the candle’s height.

Slowest hours, dullest hours,

painful, surrounded by bright flowers,

also cut down in their prime

to hail the ending of your time.

Sickly sweet, death and life

wrestling over the children of strife,

the petals’ fragrance drenches the stench

of sordid decay so deeply entrenched,

but secret hope lies buried within,

triumph rising over all that’s been.

Though death’s voice the flower must heed,

death shall bow to the sound of the seed.

Background:

I wrote this one at the end of our morning worship service yesterday (and edited it today). Sometime during the Lord’s supper, the two first words, “mourning light” popped in my mind, and I started scribbling.

Vigils kept overnight with loved ones who had died is the setting that came to mind, with small candles, the only source of light, slowly guttering out as the morning breaks.

As I tried to figure out where this image was going, I was thinking, “This has to end on an upward swing!” Then I connected it to the flowers and boom - seeds, which got me thinking about the verses listed above that compare our earthly bodies to seeds that will transform into plants/bodies that we can’t even imagine.

Lord, give us courage. Help us hope in Your promises that our rising out of the waters of baptism hearkens back to Jesus’ death and resurrection AND heralds our own resurrection to come. Bless these bodies, these seeds. Help us to care for them and employ them well, so that we are made worthy of the glory and strength that will clothe them after they have rested for a time in the embrace of the earth.

Wishing you goodness without end,

Jess