Jesus came to earth... to die for us

Outside, a white frost covers the ground. Shrivelled brown stalks stick up out of the bare earth, and the trees stand leafless against the steely sky. The light comes late, and leaves early, casting long shadows as it goes. Life and colour has faded away. This is the season of death.

Yet we know that under the frosty soil, seeds and roots are preparing for their rebirth in spring. Green shoots will sprout, dancing daffodils appear, and the world will come to life once more. And between the death and the life, we celebrate Christmas.

We don’t fear the death of winter, because we know that it is only the prelude to new life. Jesus, too, spoke of his death as the means to glory, and used the analogy of a seed in winter. If a grain of wheat isn’t buried, he said, it stays just that: one solitary seed. But when it dies, it can bring forth a whole new plant, bursting with heads of grain. And he issues a challenge, recorded by all four gospel writers: Do you value your life enough to risk losing it?

But then we learn that our lives have already been lost. “Don’t you know that everyone who has been baptized, has been baptized into Jesus’ death?” says Paul. That decision to follow Jesus has already taken us through death and into a different kind of life. The symbolic burial of baptism – in many churches, shown by a plunge into a pool of water – unites us with Christ on the cross and gives us the gift of his resurrection. Although winter is still all around us, we know that spring is coming.

So now we have new eyes to look at life and death. Jesus’ coming reduced our lives to worthless husks, yet gave them more value than we ever imagined. And death is no longer the ultimate and fearful doom. Its sting has been pulled; it is now merely a pause on our journey to eternity.

We still grieve, of course. We still get angry, we still mourn, we still weep. We still cry out over the unfairness, the insanity of it all. We still miss the ones we love.

But now we have a hope that can overcome the fear of death. The hope that Christmas marks the crossing point from winter to spring. The hope in a baby who brought life into the world – and who died, and who brought life again. The hope that there’s a new plant inside every buried seed.

This Christmas, may the fear of winter be taken from you, and the hope of spring be planted in your heart.

Comments

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions. The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?" This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them. Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone. That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of. Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died. And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was. His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...

Laid-back Lille and Bustling Brussels

After a night in a tiny AirBnB in Canterbury , where there were chocolates on the table and artwork on every inch of the walls, we boarded a ferry with an absolute minimum of fuss, enjoyed a smooth crossing of the channel, and were deposited in the decidedly unscenic surroundings of the port of Dunkirk two hours later. Once we got past the cranes and shipping containers, though, the countryside was flat but pleasant. We stopped at a small town called Cassel, reached by cobbled roads winding up a hill. On the summit was an old windmill and a topograph telling you the distances to various improbable places; St Omer may have been visible in the haze, but Manchester was surely over the horizon. In Lille, we found our apartment, unpacked the luggage (one rucksack apiece), and set out to find food. Our first choice was fully booked, so we embarked on that kind of aimless wandering where everyone is hungry and no one wants to actually choose a restaurant. We reached a Lebanese place call...

Canterbury Cathedral

We were booking a trip to France, and I persuaded the family that it was madness to drive four hours to Dover and get straight on the ferry. "We should definitely stay overnight somewhere," I said. "Oh look, Canterbury is very handy - just twenty minutes from Dover." Of course, my suggestion was not influenced in the slightest by the fact that Canterbury contains England's most famous cathedral. On the way down, we stretched our legs on Dunstable Downs, an area of chalk grassland owned by the National Trust. I was pleased to spot a scarlet pimpernel for my 100 Plants Challenge . We also enjoyed watching gliders ascending and descending. We turned onto the M25 and made our way through busy traffic to the Dartford Crossing. This is one of those mythical points on the UK road network, like Scotch Corner and Watford Gap: the name familiar from traffic reports on the radio; the reality - for someone who grew up west of London - a hazy blur of imagination. It turns ou...

Martha's Marvellous Munchies

Search This Blog