I Love Autumn

I wanted to say "I love the fall" but that would sound like I love the fall of man. On the other hand, "I love Autumn" sounds like I am in love with a girl named Autumn, but I'm not in love with any woman at this point in time, and I hate the fallen nature of man. But I'm not ready to wax theological just yet. The only item on my vox agenda for today is creating a first post. Therefore, I'll say what's pressing on my mind right now. Nearly three months ago I moved to Phoenix from Chicago and for the past month I have been dying for a little hooded sweatshirt and jeans weather. You see, Phoenix is in what some might call "the desert." While "the desert" may very well be a delightful place to spend the winter, it's equally undelightful in the summer. In fact, I can't recall a moment in my existence where I ever had a hankering to get burned by touching the steering wheel in my car. It's little experiences like this that remind me I'm in a strange new land, one which causes deep longings for my home climate, a climate with four seasons instead of two. (Unless you consider Chicago's two seasons of "Winter" and "Construction").
The point is, I miss the bright colors of fall in the midwest. I miss the crisp fall air. I miss the stark contrast of vibrantly sunny days sandwiched between rainy, dreary, overcast days. I miss grass in every yard because in my subdivision, we have gravel. It's a "decorative" gravel, mind you, but it's still gravel, and it's still a shade of, well, brown. Just like the dirt, and the mountains, and the rocks and the houses.
Don't get me wrong. There is much to love about Phoenix and the southwest in general, but the midwest has a distinctive charm that's all I've ever known. I'm home for a visit in Chicago and I love this place more than I ever have. I'm not one of those people who didn't know what I had until it was gone. I've always loved it, but now it's not just outside the front door.
Autumn in Chicago is a time that makes me slow way down. I'm rarely in a hurry as long as I'm outside. I breathe deeper, I look longer, I think clearer, I feel more hopeful, and I linger, hoping somehow my lingering will cause the season to linger with me. Many people see the hand of God in the sky, in canyons, in vast bodies of water, in mountains, and countless other places. I see it most clearly during a brief window in time when green drains from leaves and reveals the most beautiful colors imaginable. The beauty of the Gospel is visible to my eyes every fall. Leaves are most beautiful when they are dying, as the green chlorophyll that keeps them green and alive drains from them to reveal their true colors. The leaves will fully die and fall to the ground to decompose. Were it not for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the truly wonderful and good news of redemption, the fall would be a horrible reminder of what is to come for us. But it is not what is to come for those who are in Christ Jesus, for though he died, he is alive and we are alive with him. And although we will all die like those leaves, and our bodies will return to ash, we will be raised again to new life, with bodies imperishable, unable to die ever again, because of him and because we are in him. So there is beauty even in death, for, like the Apostle Paul says, there is no sting in death because death is swallowed up in Christ's victory over it. Death is no longer the end, but truly the real beginning. When Jesus calls us to pick up our cross and follow him, he invites us into a death not unlike a leaves of Autumn. The most beautiful thing is a saint who has learned to pick up his cross and deny himself. The more of his life he loses, the more beautiful he becomes, the more of a gift he becomes to everyone who sees and knows him. Dying to self isn't easy, but the confidence of resurrection is a glorious hope that makes it possible. As autumn winds blow through the trees their leaves seem to whisper to one another something we must listen carefully to hear. They preach to each other--and to us--that death is coming, but they tell each other not to fear, because after a short season of death, the spring will come and bring with it a brand new life. Jesus did not run from death and because he did not, we too, like the leaves can preach to one another. Death is coming, but life as it was meant to be comes after. Praise the Lord for the fall, which preaches to us, reminding us with beauty and mystery, that the first Fall, the one that brought death, has been overcome. Listen for the Gospel of Jesus Christ the next time you hear wind blowing through the trees. The death of the Holy One of Israel has secured life and redemption.

 And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." - Revelation 21:5