Roots and Spring
For the past few days, I have enjoyed the warm breezes that indicate spring is just around the corner. Everyone digs out their short-sleeved shirts and sandals as if they are headed for vacation; the same sense of excitement and anticipation is in the air. Spring is certainly worthy of the attention we give it: a feeling of freshness, new beginnings, and life itself is defined in every bud on the trees and in every crocus pushing its way up through the earth.
I appreciate the look of flowers and manicured landscapes, but I have never been any kind of gardener. I like to see the daffodils come back each year in my mother's yard. We used to have tiger lilies, too, that you could depend on each summer, all along the steps to the driveway. It's a miracle to me that a root can lie dormant for months (even years!) and then suddenly burst forth into a new bloom.
I was thinking this morning about bitterness. I haven't been much of a grudge-holder in my life. Close friends and family would say that I am too good at expressing my frustration to bury it deep inside; and it's true that when it comes to anger, I'm not one to let the sun go down on my wrath. But what about pain? hurt feelings? being disappointed by someone?
Yesterday my brother preached on conflict in the church, and he said that too often we bury the hurt feelings instead of dealing with the situation. I suppose I have assumed that bitterness only came in one form--anger--and that bitterness would be like a blazing furnace rather than a cold, dormant root deep in frozen soil.
But Hebrews 12:15 clearly uses the word "root" to describe bitterness. Something happens to us that's so deep, so unarticulated, that it gets covered over and lies cold until something else adds a little heat and it blooms forth again, like perennials in the yard. Unfortunately, in the case of bitterness, the "flower" isn't attractive and welcome, it's ugly and dangerous.
The beginning of the verse contains the key: the grace of God. The only thing capable of completely destroying bitterness, root and all, is God's grace. As a wounded person, I conquer bitterness by extending God's grace to my offender. God extends His grace to me and restores me into a fulness of fellowship with Him as well, with nothing keeping me from experiencing every benefit of our relationship. And unlike an old, cold root, God's grace never stops blooming.
I appreciate the look of flowers and manicured landscapes, but I have never been any kind of gardener. I like to see the daffodils come back each year in my mother's yard. We used to have tiger lilies, too, that you could depend on each summer, all along the steps to the driveway. It's a miracle to me that a root can lie dormant for months (even years!) and then suddenly burst forth into a new bloom.
I was thinking this morning about bitterness. I haven't been much of a grudge-holder in my life. Close friends and family would say that I am too good at expressing my frustration to bury it deep inside; and it's true that when it comes to anger, I'm not one to let the sun go down on my wrath. But what about pain? hurt feelings? being disappointed by someone?
Yesterday my brother preached on conflict in the church, and he said that too often we bury the hurt feelings instead of dealing with the situation. I suppose I have assumed that bitterness only came in one form--anger--and that bitterness would be like a blazing furnace rather than a cold, dormant root deep in frozen soil.
But Hebrews 12:15 clearly uses the word "root" to describe bitterness. Something happens to us that's so deep, so unarticulated, that it gets covered over and lies cold until something else adds a little heat and it blooms forth again, like perennials in the yard. Unfortunately, in the case of bitterness, the "flower" isn't attractive and welcome, it's ugly and dangerous.
The beginning of the verse contains the key: the grace of God. The only thing capable of completely destroying bitterness, root and all, is God's grace. As a wounded person, I conquer bitterness by extending God's grace to my offender. God extends His grace to me and restores me into a fulness of fellowship with Him as well, with nothing keeping me from experiencing every benefit of our relationship. And unlike an old, cold root, God's grace never stops blooming.