A Thorny Issue

Thanks to an unusually mild February, our roses are a month ahead in coming back to life. Already tiny red buds dot the thorny canes, signaling the need for spring pruning. I don’t enjoy the task. That’s because it means tackling 30 rose bushes between our home and that of my mom-in-law (still “in process” of cleanout since her death).

In late fall, after the killing hard frost, I lop the roses to thigh-high to prevent damage from heavy snow. But spring means tediously picking out dead leaves and pruning for maximum bloom. It’s time-consuming, cold (I wait for a sunny day), and contemplative work.

As I remove dead canes, snip sucker branches, and lop anything that interferes with a bloom-friendly “bowl” shape, I think of the Bible’s analogy to pruning grapes. Untended, both roses and grapes would propagate into snarled, weak tangles. Thus, even as I prune, I think of John 15:2: “He [God] cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” That’s why the activities and relationships of my life must get tune-ups—some cut away, others encouraged--as God shapes me for His purposes.

As I sit on an upended bucket to prune, I toss clippings into an old plastic cherry harvest lug. Every couple or three bushes, I empty it in our large garbage bin. The stiff, thorny mound grows, needing pushed down to make more room. This I do carefully, as rose thorns can pierce even my leather garden gloves.

Ouch! As I rip off the glove and suck the wound, I think of the crown of thorns heartlessly jammed on Jesus’ head in the insanity of illegal trials before He was crucified. Often the hymn “My Jesus, I Love Thee” comes to mind with this line: “I love thee for wearing the thorns on thy brow.”

It’s March…and Easter’s coming on April 4. The roses are now pruned. The dead-looking sticks now jabbing at the sky will begin their transformation to summer’s glorious display of red, pink, white, tangerine, and yellow.

For many, Easter’s symbols are lilies (reminder of a trumpet call), hot-crossed buns (the cross on the “bread of life”), pretzels (imitating a prayer posture) or eggs (for new life). But pruned roses have become my Easter symbol. My annual task in our rose garden reminds me that God is the expert spiritual pruner, and I’m grateful for that.