“A November afternoon, bare branches, dripping with wet, ground strewn with dead leaves, crush them under foot as you tread; a gloom, a shiver glad to get into the fire”. -James Street-
The brilliant yellows and burgundy reds of this autumn set me in ongoing meditation of your death. The falling of the leaves, separating from its branches, make me think of your separation from the Father. Dramatic it is, the slow slipping away of the leaves onto the ground.
Autumn is passing and coming to a close. The leaves, reaching its agonizing peak of blood red and marigold yellow, have fallen to the ground – crushed by heavy human feet that tread across the concrete pavement. I have to admit, I’m not as mindful of you when I crush the leaves. It’s in hindsight.
Set my mind on you – that I’d meditate on the suffering and agony – that I’d take part in the sorrow and become more one with you as I share with you in a history gone by, but still a fresh and brilliant aspect of you.
You aren’t the kind of majestic and awesome that my finite mind interprets you to be – I forget that you were once broken, beaten and killed.
Help me to meditate on forgiveness, grace, sanctification, beauty – the cycle of life and death and how it relates to the gospel and what you did for me on the cross.
I don’t mind that we have a few months until Spring – I need a daily and slow reminder. I’m used to thinking of your death in snapshots, perhaps a bit longer during events such as Easter, Good Friday where your death is emphasized and themed for the season.
Bring me there to that place of your death, separation and darkness – I want to know this part of you.
