Expectant Openness

Here is the text from a homily I prepared for our church service today.

First off let me come clean, I am a guy who likes flowers. Indeed, I really like flowers. So much so that I have intentionally surrounded myself with flowers in every home that I have lived in. Our current home was a rare find for a horticulture addict as myself, as it was owned by another flower lover who systematically planted blooming plants of all kinds during her 25 years of residence. I only half jokingly say that I bought the house for the yard! Maranda and I continue to find new flowering plants that we had never noticed before, its like a continual botanical adventure in our backyard.

As I have thought about flowers over the past couple weeks, I have asked myself why I enjoy them so much? My knee-jerk response is that, well, they are beautiful. But I hesitate to stop at such a simple answer. There are many forms of beauty in our world, and many other beautiful things that I appreciate, yet flowers seem to hold a special place. What is it about flowers that causes me to be so intentional about their inclusion in my life? As I pondered a little more, I wondered if it was their amazing colors that capture my mind? The brilliant crimson or pink blossoms of an azalea in spring always lifts my spirits, the purple and yellows of fall asters gives me a sense of peace. Flowers bring so much color into a backyard garden, a city park, or a high mountain meadow. Certainly the richness and variety of color is a big part of what entices me about flowers, yet this seems incomplete.

For one thing, some of my favorite flowers have very little bright color, such as a green orchid variety or a white rose. Many times I am put off by flowers that are too flaunting in color (although I make an exception for azaleas!) These flowers are too overdone, so in your face and full of their own beauty that they leave no room for the imagination. I leave these flowers at the plant nursery and instead come home with blooms that are more subtle, yet for me, far more magnificent.

So color seems too simplistic an explanation for why flowers are so meaningful to me. I wondered about other aspects of a flower’s beauty, their often amazing symmetry, their intricate architecture, their wonderful fragrance. Each of these aspects does capture some of what I appreciate about flowers, but I still had the sense that I was tip toeing around something bigger, something deeper with more significance. So I continued my contemplation.

Suddenly it occurred to me that perhaps I am limiting myself by only considering a flower’s visual beauty. Perhaps there is something more intrinsic to a flowers very being that resonates so much with me. As I began to explore this line of thought it became increasingly clear that flowers represented much more to me. The first thing that came to mind was that a flower represents fertility. Indeed, a flower’s primary function is to receive or transmit pollen. When I see a cherry tree or blueberry bush covered in blossoms it reminds me that the world is a good place, that life is happening all around me.

As I thought more about fertility I began to realize that a flower’s fertility is a very passive act. Instead of heading out into the countryside to find a mate, like many animals, insects, and Common Table bachelors do, a flower simply opens its bloom and waits. This open state of waiting really struck me. It is such an expectant state, a state of quietude and openness. Flowers don’t do anything, they don’t work or strive, yet in their act of becoming they ensure the survival of their species.

This expectant state of openness foreshadows something to come, something that is expected. Which of course is the arrival of the pollinator. The pollinator has a very special relationship with the flowers it pollinates, with some insects having evolved very unique and dramatic ways to reach a flowers nectar. Sam Doan told me of a moth in Madagascar that was discovered with a mouth piece a full foot long. Scientists were convinced that a unique flower existed that required such an apendage, but it wasn’t until many decades later that a night blooming orchid was discovered in the tops of the trees that had such a long, tubular body that only the this particular moth could pollinate it.

The relationship with the pollinator is critical for the plant’s survival, as without the appropriate pollinator no seeds will be produced to form new plants. This is such a quiet reality that most of us probably never stop to think about its importance. Perhaps you have recently heard that the honey bee in North America has been rapidly disappearing, up to 70% in some areas. In fact, a senate hearing was recently convened to hear testimony regarding the massive implications of this turn of events. A full 30% of food grown in the US is threatened by this turn of events, suddenly the simple honey bee is at the fore-front of US economics.

Just as pollinators are critical for flowers, trees, and plants to survive, in a similar fashion, I suspect that human beings also require a kind-of spiritual pollination to maintain our vitality, our love of others, indeed, our very humanity. What then is the pollinator of our hearts? For some, it may be the touch of a loved one’s hand, the beauty found in a painting, a profoundly touching poem, serving the poor, or a simple prayer. What gives each of these events profound significance is the expectant openness of our hearts. If we are closed, we will prevent the deeper act of spiritual revitalization, just as a closed bloom cannot be entered by the honey bee.

This type of expectant openness is very hard at times, especially for those of us who have been spiritually wounded. I know that this describes me most of the time. Becoming spiritually vulnerable may be the hardest task that many of us face. It allows the possibility for additional wounds, so we are strongly tempted to close up and protect what remains. Yet risk can never be fully removed from this state of expectant openness, just as a flower is never guaranteed to survive the harsh sun or the freezing temperatures before dawn. Indeed, it is the act of taking this risk that makes beauty possible. As an admitted flower lover, it is most certainly a risk worth taking.