NOT A ROSE GARDEN...

As I write this, some really challenging things are happening among those I care about, keeping me prayer-aware throughout the day. The other day as I prayed, a surprising thought came via recalling a country singer's pop-song, “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.” Released as a “single” in 1970, it soon became a "hit."

This rose, surrounded by "lifted-up" blooms
to come, reminded me of Jesus' prediction of His
 death, being "lifted up" upon a cross.

Though the pop song's title and snatches of its tune came to mind, those were soon replaced my trying to imagine Jesus' last night in the Garden of Gethsemane. It wasn't a lovely rose-garden stroll, but a thorny and anguishing prayer-time with His Father, knowing He would face horrific abuse and death. Hardly an hour before, sharing the memorial supper for the Passover with His disciples, He'd said:

“I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world.”(John 16:33 NIV)

Yes, I have a rose garden at my home. When I tend it, snipping off dead blooms and watching for aphids, I think of the analogy of “trouble”--although my rose-care analogy doesn't begin to revere the spiritual agony that Gethsemane poured out on Jesus. Sometimes I recall the liturgical church of my childhood, built in the traditional “cross” layout with visual emphasis on the altar and a cross hung above it. The sanctuary cross was artfully built, sanded, painted--not splintered wood and blood-stained, as were those of Jesus' time, used as an execution method. But the ancient, stark symbol of death was there amid the church's flowers, pews, pulpits, and musical instruments.

Decades later, attending a friend's funeral, I entered a huge sanctuary of a church that has another long liturgical history. As I started down the aisle, I paused briefly as I saw a behind-the-altar, life-size sculpture representing Jesus. It wasn't “just Jesus” with His hands outstretched, like I envision Him welcoming the children to Himself. Instead, this image was a mortally wounded man, cross-impaled, head bent down, thorn-crowned, with red paint for blood coming from the wounds in his head, hands, feet, and side. You can be sure I didn't think of the country singer's “rose garden.” Instead, it was Isaac Watts' 1707 hymn, “Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed” https://hymnary.org/media/fetch/137189.

My briefly-blooming roses also remind me of another flower called “Rose-of-Sharon.” Contrary to its name, it's not a traditional rose, but a member of the hibiscus family. One of its features is its ability to produce big, colorful flowers in late summer, when the heat has exhausted most other garden plants. There's a message here, too, I think, out of the apostle Paul's prayer-wrestling with his disability (“thorn in the flesh"), which some scholars surmise might have included poor vision. Whatever it was, it made his strenuous, often dangerous ministry hard. God's answer to Paul was this: “My strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

I don't know about you...but I needed that message. To stay strong. To keep blooming for HIM, who shed His blood for me.