HOCKNEY AND THE SEASONS

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THREE TREES IN SEASON  

We met in the archway.  Swept past the waiting crowds, joined the queue inside.

Headed for the stairs - another long line.

But then we were in. Swept with the people into a room of vast canvas, brilliant blinding colour, trees.

 

Three trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I stare at the spring of the trees.

Look with the artist through the blossom to the greening.

Feel it coming alive with new hope.

Freshly.

Greenly.

 

Scent the new grass growing.

Feel the life, the hope, the returning.

 

It’s my picture. I stand and stare, unable to take in all that it promises. This.

This is what I am here for, what I am meant to see. That there is hope. Life springs out again.

 

And again.

And again.

 

At the scent of water which I can see  - it has already rained and everything is fresh and new-sprung.

 

There is hope for a tree: If it is cut down, it will sprout again, and its new shoots will not fail. Its roots may grow old in the ground and its stump die in the soil, yet at the scent of water it will bud and put forth shoots like a plant. (Job 14:7-9)

 

People pass in front of me, obscuring the view. I sigh and turn to view the next.

 

It is Three Trees.  Again.

I swing.

 

Three Trees.

And again.

Three Trees.

 

spring summer autumn winter.

 

And oh yes.

Yes, yes.  My seasons. That’s where I WAS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winter, stark, bare, frozen.

Devoid of signs of life.

Cold and unfeeling.  Cut down.

 

But now.

Now there is spring and the life.

And the promise of this next – summer.

Full growth.

Thick luxury of life in all its fullness. Bold glorious colour.

 

Verdant. ALIVE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If winter come, can spring be far behind? And then a summer’s lease.

And knowing that one day will be the autumn of my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But for now, I am content to be in spring time.

Anticipating the summer yet to come.

 

* * * *

I have to move on. There is more to see.

I long to view the trees again and hunt in the shop for postcards.

Only two – winter and spring. But they meant the most.

 

We go to lunch. She hands me the heavy bag. ‘For you.’

It is the whole book of paintings. I gasp.

All four are there.

 

The book stays open on my table. At spring.

Soon it will be summer.  It’s been painted, it will come.

Each season in its time.

 

And you?

What season are you in for now?

 

 

Ecclesiastes 3

A Time for Everything

    1 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

    2  a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,

    3 a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,

    4 a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,

    5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

    6 a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away,

    7 a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,

    8 a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

A New Thing

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The End of Summer

And so it comes – the end of the idyll that was our summer.

A summer’s worth of weeks.

But now it’s time.

Time to return. Yet -

time for a new thing.

We felt it, American daughter and I.  Just a few days ago. The air is different, we said. It’s hotly glorious, sky clearly blue. But a change is coming. We know it. We can feel it. We can sense it.

It feels good and right and timely.  Welcome, even.

So we put away our shorts and strappy tops.  There was the ceremonial binning of much-worn well-loved worn-out summer sandals. The joy of rediscovering favorite shrugs and cosy sweaters and proper shoes.  The purchase of a new woolen skirt and dressy pumps to accompany it and exultation in that feeling of being well-dressed after a summer of short shorts, skimpy skirts and simple sandals.

It’s time. Time to grow up again. Time for routines and schedules and restoring order.

And yet. And yet there lingers a love of lazy summer days, of daisies, doing whatever whenever. However. It will return, we promise ourselves: next year, it will come again, but for now we are content, with our summer memories and still-golden tans, content to let the summer go, thankful for all we have done and all we have been and all we knew, for those eight long weeks.

I pull on long pants, slip a shrug over my shoulders – and drive with the roof down still, enjoying natural air conditioning after the hot, heavy, closeness of the humid summer air.

Anticipation. I almost long to sharpen my pencils ready for the new school term, to begin a fresh exercise book with its invitation and expectancy and openness and possibilities. To write my name on a new fly leaf and know I can begin afresh, in a new place with a new desk and new seat.

Time to return. Yet -

time for a new thing.

The promise is there.  I’m doing a new thing for you, says God.  Don’t you see it?

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. (Isaiah 43:18,19)

God says

CHANGE YOUR FOCUS:

STOP LOOKING BEHIND!

START LOOKING AHEAD!

Walter Brueggmann writes of this action of God:

“It is remarkable that Israel is told to forget the old exodus narrative in order to notice the new departure. The ‘new thing’ is not only more contemporary, but also more spectacular and exhibits the power of God in more effective ways. In these verses all the accent is upon the new experience which pushes the old memory aside. It may be worth noting that in the relationship between the Old and New Testaments, in so far as Christians are concerned, the same accent is upon the new at the expense of the old. Our God is doing a new thing.”

Our God is doing a new thing.

Because the past won’t sustain us.

God says, Forget the former things, I am doing a new thing.

The children of Israel had seen God have many victories in their past.  It had been a good past.

Leaving Egypt

Conquering the Land of Canaan

Fighting off prospective conquerors

Surviving a split in their country

But all their previous victories were doing nothing for them in the present. They needed a new work, a new miracle, a new victory.

So the question isn’t: what has God done?

There’s no doubt about that!

The question must be:

What new thing is God doing right now?

The children of Israel had a choice to make. They were in exile, looking back at former glories.  And looking back wasn’t helping. Yet all they could see in the present was problems, and their own powerlessness. They didn’t like where they were at the moment, and yet they didn’t seem to trust God to change things for them nor to want to be open to the possibilities He had in mind for them.

And so there is a choice:

They can continue as they are, nostalgic for what has been, yet not happy in the present, not trusting the Lord.

Or they can focus on what God wants to do in their lives. And God wants to do a new thing.

Can I see possibilities if God is in charge of this new thing?

The summer is the end of my year of mourning.  I am returning – to the memories, to the first anniversary of The Day, to the return of what must become normal-but-without-her.

Can I see possibilities if God is in charge of this new thing, this new life, this new beginning which is now beginning.  A chance to start over, sharpen the pencil, open the new page, take a new seat.

Claim the new thing HE is doing for me.  In me.  Through me.

Returning – to a new thing.  It’s in the air around us. Routines. Schedules.  School. It’s time.  Time to return to God and to the new thing He is doing.

O gracious God

Give us wisdom to perceive you

Diligence to seek you

Patience to wait for you

Eyes to behold you

A Heart to meditate upon you

And a life to proclaim you

Through the power of the Spirit of Jesus Christ our Lord

Amen,