Through Stained Glass: The Wednesday of the Second Week of Lent

    My backyard is wild right now.

    I mean that literally and metaphorically.

                 Sparrows, House Finches, Gold Finches, Grackles, Red-winged Blackbirds, and the occasional Starling have taken up residence. When it was 75 degrees yesterday, Robins stealthily tilted their heads, listening for their next meal beneath the Eairth. Today, with the wind howling and Winter reminding us that it isn’t Spring yet, chonky Squirrels suspiciously enter the yard, one eye fixed on the door looking for Tecumseh and Brigid, the other on the scattered birdseed on the ground. I love all these visitors!

                 In the wind, last year’s Sunflower stalks sway. Leaves rustle, occasionally rising and swirling, forming tiny tornadoes. My backyard probably annoys some. I didn’t rake all the leaves or turn over the garden. Yikes! I know! All the judgment. Instead, I wanted to leave the dead Plants and leaves for cover. Insects and other critters see our annoyances as places to dwell during those long Winter months. While my neighbors have, on multiple occasions, started up their small engines to rid their yards of Winter’s residue, I have not. I don’t mind the dead things in my yard. I love the process of becoming unfolding in my little patch of Eairth.

                 Our second week of Lent entry, written by Kelli Owens, gets to the heart of what this season asks us, “What is asking to die?” Dead Flowers and barren Trees are a noticeable reminder that there is a season for everything. The wind blows, and my windchimes sing, while the hanging Flower basket blows to and fro, a mere relic of what it once was last Summer. Things have died, but beneath and within, new life is happening. What is dead has released nutrients and is becoming life for other creatures. Returning. Reciprocity. Dare I say, Resurrection?

                 Across the way, a Maple Tree is budding. Beneath the leaves on the other side of my fence, something green emerges from the tans and grays. Death, yes, and life! Is this not Lent? We contemplate our mortality not as some spiritual masochism. “On the contrary, Lent is the one proof we have that the end of everything we face, all the struggles required of us, it is really meant to become new life in us.” (Joan Chittister)

                 I took a risk and opted not to ‘clean up my yard.’ Okay, that’s not a risk and is more dramatic than anything. But the dead Plants in my yard invite me to consider how I’m risking my life for the sake of Love. They ask me to consider what needs winnowing in my life so the fruits of the Spirit may emerge. Even in dying, a new thing is coming forth. It’s like what Paul says in Philippians 1, “For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.” To resist dying leads to deeper suffering. The good news of our faith is that in dying and rising, what happens in the waters of our baptism, death is transformed!

                 My yard won’t win me any awards. No one will mistake me as a meticulous gardener. But it is a place for the wild things of Logan County—a place where death and life intersect and where Resurrection occurs. And, to me, that’s pretty wild.

The top left photo is of Brigid carrying a piece of a Sunflower root.

The second photo on the right is of a Tulip emerging through a pile of leaves.

The last photo centered below is of Tecumseh chatting with one of his many Squirrel friends.