The Queen of Flowers

Years ago, I bought a beautiful rose bush with delicate pink buds, like those on fine china. The flowers opened like the sky at dawn, and everyone who passed by praised their beauty. But I was not a faithful gardener. When the sun beat down in the summer, I often forgot to provide water. When pests came to eat the leaves, my eyes were elsewhere. I didn't provide the food that my plant needed in order to grow, yet when I noticed that my rose bush was dying, I blamed its own delicate constitution and the inordinate amount of care that it seemed to demand. Soon, the branches were dry and brittle, the flowers gone, and sharp thorns pointed empty and accusing fingers toward the sky. I gave up on growing roses.

The next spring, I noticed new growth slowly creeping forth from the gnarled stem and rising toward the sun. The leaves on these low branches looked different than the original leaves, however--smaller and less elegant. When the new blossoms came, bright and full, they too were different--they were not curled mysteriously into themselves but were flat and open to the sky. The specialists told me that this new growth was the real plant coming to life; the old one that had died had been grafted onto this wild stem in order to create a delicate work of man-made perfection to fit our ideals of the perfect rose. To me, the new growth seemed miraculous, a sign of God's invisible grace, turning failure into flowers, bringing truth to light.

The hybrid rose--Queen of the Flowers, magnificent in beauty, delicate in perfection, dangerously regal with thorns--reminds me of our metaphor of Christ the King.We need an image for the power and splendor of God, an image that we work hard to maintain in an often dry and barren world. But God is at work underneath that glorious image, creating new life when and where we least expect it, "making peace through the blood of [Christ's] cross." Abundant life is not found in the hybrid flower but surges deep within the neglected stem. Like the criminal hanging next to Jesus on the Cross, we just need to recognize and claim it.

When I neglect my soul and my world, O Christ, you continue to abide somewhere deep within them. I give thanks for the wild, new growth that you secretly nourish, the invisible love that turns my barren failures into strong and hearty fruit. Amen.