Desperate for a Spiritual Spring

I DON'T SET New Year’s resolutions. Jan. 1 is always either too early or too late for me to predict or dream about what is new. Those seeds are planted in the fall with tulip and daffodil bulbs and cool-weather crops, or in the spring with the vegetable gardens and annuals.

Where I am in the Midwest, the church calendar is coinciding with nature. As I write this, the temperature is hovering just above zero degrees Fahrenheit, with wind chills dipping close to 50 below zero. People die in this sort of weather; newscasters are reminding their viewers to call loved ones and neighbors to make sure they have heat and are staying out of the elements.

While fall is my favorite season and winter contains Christmas, I need spring. It’s when the roots of ferns and other perennials seemingly dead under the frozen earth, the buds on branches that have managed to stay connected to the trunk despite ice, and my heart weighed down by depression and seasonal affective disorder desperately start to crawl out of the layers to find air, sun, and warmth. I am desperate for a spiritual spring.

Spring—where we literally peel away layers of wind-resistant shells, down and wool, boots, hats, gloves, and scarves—is forever around the corner. And yet the sharp, frigid air that’s currently outside my home reminds me that, even though I can’t stay out there for long, I am alive. It reminds me that even in this death there is hope.

The past few years have felt like a long winter for some of us. I have written many words here and elsewhere on death: the deaths of people, ideals, faith, and friendships. Too many people created in God’s image have been turned into hashtags, and many of us have left communities and churches where our pursuits of justice meant that we, as well as our questions and anger, were no longer welcome. I’m still looking for a church community to call home, a community that will welcome all of me.

I have had to remind myself that winter is never forever, even when it feels like the ground will never thaw deep enough for anything to grow, let alone take root. As believers in Jesus, we must remind ourselves that we are people who believe death always gives way to life.

We are in the season of Lent, where some of us will practice fasting and self-denial, the giving of alms, repentance, and prayer. Some of us will share on social media what we are giving up, even if what we’re giving up is social media. These words will be published when the temperature here in Chicago (I hope) creeps higher and higher toward a permanent thaw. I will be wondering if it’s time to wash the down coats and drain the snowblower of gas.

And maybe, just maybe, for all of us our season of mourning will give way to plans and dreams.