I’d like to say my spring bulbs finally bloomed, but the truth is that they were early this year.
A string of unseasonably warm days led to the crocuses and then the daffodils opening by the end of March. In each case, though, as soon as they bloomed, they were buffeted by cold winds and snow or rain.
Such is the nature of the weather in March in the Midwest. An average high temperature of around 50 degrees at the end of March doesn’t mean the high is ever actually 50 degrees; it could be 70 degrees, or it could be 30 degrees, and the only thing you can count on is that it will swing wildly between the two.
Those swings seem even wilder now, as extreme weather events have become more common across the globe. It’s hard to know what’s coming next.
It’s even harder when what comes next is another dive into winter weather after it’s been warm enough for people to shed their jackets and break out their shorts. I know, and I think everyone who has spent much time in Chicago knows, that it usually snows at least once in April before we’re done with wintry weather.
This uncertainty would be familiar to the apostles, I think. They gave up everything to follow Jesus, and he was killed. He was executed by the government in brutal, humiliating, public fashion, and they didn’t know what was coming next.
What came was Easter Sunday, the feast of the Resurrection, when Christians celebrate the salvation made possible by Jesus’ triumph over death. The risen Lord himself appeared to Mary Magdalene, and she shared the literal good news with the apostles — who might have believed, or wanted to believe, but were still hiding in the upper room until Jesus appeared to them there.
My husband has always loved the Gospel for the second Sunday of Easter, when Jesus has to come to the apostles a second time, because Thomas will not believe until he sees for himself. Thomas’ reaction is utterly believable and human. Who wants to believe something that isn’t true? Who wants to be taken for a fool?
It’s not until later, at Pentacost, that the apostles and disciples are ready to share their belief that Jesus really is risen, really is the Messiah, and go out and begin building the early church.
Here, in the Midwest region of the United States, the seasons line up for us to experience the uncertainty of the springtime weather, which can have us barbecuing in the backyard one day and going to watch a baseball game in the sleet the next, just as we are reading and hearing about Jesus being hailed as a king as he enters Jerusalem, and then, just a few days later, hear about him being condemned to death.
Unlike the disciples, we know the end of the story. We know that Jesus broke the chains of death and opened the gates of heaven just as we know that summer will come.
When my children ask me how to have hope in a world where we are assailed by bad news from every direction, I tell them to look to the flowers. Look to the daffodil whose bright yellow stands out in the rain and snow, promising sunny days to come.