Can you picture fragrance? Can a camera capture bouquet? Can a painter express aroma? Can a writer describe a smell so vividly that your nose begins to agree with words? 

The gospel lesson for the Fifth Sunday of Lent, John 12:1-8, opens with a celebratory feast. Martha, Mary, and Lazarus host Jesus for a meal of gratitude. Apparently, the reason for the gathering was to honor Jesus who had raised Lazarus from the dead. I can't imagine anything that would exceed the joy of this family having their brother come back to life. We know grief and sorrow. We have stood in the cemetery to remember dear friends and beloved family members. So, to have all that reversed by resurrection is startling joy. Mary performs the traditional welcome for a guest by cleaning the traveler's dusty feet. Here she goes further by using expensive nard to anoint the feet of Jesus and to wipe his feet with her hair. The passage notes that the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. Can you smell it? 

And Judas spoils the moment of welcome with a rude outburst. Judas was a guest in the house and complains that this perfume that Mary used on the feet of Jesus was worth a year's wages of a laborer. Was that an exaggeration? That's incredibly expensive perfume. What in the world must that fragrance smell like? And Judas insults them all by saying it was wasteful to anoint Jesus in this happy moment. Or was Judas just acting out all of his deep-seated objections to the direction of the mission of Jesus and couching it in the words of charity? I hear a message of shame that stinks up the gathering. I want to sit at that table in that fragrant room and ponder what is about to happen, caught between the joy of the host family and the foreboding of the coming betrayal by Judas. I think this scene captures much of our meditation during Lent. 

Yesterday, the last day of March, the blossoms on our dogwood trees began to open. On this first day of April, the signs of spring are abundant in our yard. The redbud trees are in full bloom, the cherry tree and spirea add white blossoms in our backyard, and the jonquils and tulips have been blooming for more than ten days. But I consider the dogwoods as announcing the arrival of truly warmer days. And I am eager for warmth and color.

Last month's CT scan and bloodwork are still clear of any evidence of cancer. I have lost more than 40 pounds in the last 7 months. During the past month, we have been thrilled to have three couples as overnight guests in our home, a joy we had so missed during the pandemic. Gathering all these in my heart, I celebrate the promise of April for health and life and joy. How I long for the promise to be granted throughout the world!

How can the shortest month seem so long? Even with the celebration of my birthday and the romance of Valentines, the 28 days of wintry February feels interminable! But spring shows up during the month of March. Goodbye winter and hello to spring! I am more than ready to be embraced by warmth.

This plant was added a few years ago to Judy's garden. But it's not a predictor of spring because it blooms in the winter. Hellebores, also called Christmas Rose or Lenten Rose, are evergreen, perennial flowers. And, no, they are not related to roses. Nevertheless, on the coldest days this past month, these blossoms gave me hope that someday spring would be on its way.

January 6. Epiphany. 12th day of Christmas. Celebrating light. Of course, a photographer finds excitement in this day.

The hymn writer Brian Wren expressed his enthusiasm with the following words:

"The dancing air shall glow with light, and sun and moon give up their place,   

when love shines out of every face, our good, our glory, and delight." 

Carl P. Daw, Jr wrote this lyric to one of his hymns:

"O day of peace that dimly shines through all our hopes and prayer and dreams,

guide us to justice, truth, and love, delivered from our selfish schemes,

May swords of hate fall from our hands, our hearts from envy find release,

till by God's grace our warring world shall see Christ's promised reign of peace."

Epiphany is a day of light, and wonder, and hope, and promise. Last year, as I "zoomed" with my ministry colleagues in Illinois and Wisconsin, I was filled with bright enthusiasm on January 6. But, as we all remember the events at the US Capitol, the day turned dark. I have enough experience and training with group dynamics to fearfully predict that this loud crowd could become an out-of-control mob that threatened our Constitutional processes. As I watched the events on live television of a mob assaulting police officers and breaking windows and threatening members of Congress, I was horrified. I was watching a nightmare. 

January 6 was not the only dark day of 2021. I had my own. Many others throughout the year experienced grief, sorrow, fear. 

Darkness does not speak the final word. The smallest glimmer of light chases the dark away. I am a person of faith who believes in Light. Epiphany is the rehearsal every year of the conviction that God has entered our human history in Christ Jesus with the intention to save us all. Darkness never conquers Light. Never.

So, after the twelfth day of Christmas, we take down our decorations. I want to leave them up. I want to continue the celebration.

Another hymn I love was composed by Kathleen Thompson: "I want to walk as a child of the light. I want to follow Jesus. God set the stars to give light to the world. The star of my life is Jesus. (chorus) In him there is no darkness at all. The night and day are both alike. The Lamb is the light of the city of God. Shine in my heart, Lord Jesus." 

The adventure on New Year's Day began with sharp knives and lots of chopping.

Four heads of cabbage, giant carrots, celery, onions, bean thread vermicelli, and three pounds of pork sausage mixed in a large bowl.

Seasoned and mixed in a gigantic bowl.

Then a small portion is spooned out on a square of spring roll pastry, and the pastry is folded to seal the ends, and becomes the roll. I think it takes lots of practice to create consistently sized, snug spring rolls.

Ready for frying in hot oil. We brought home 16 cooked, 48 uncooked, and about a pound of filling. Grateful for our neighbor's willingness to teach us how to create fabulous spring rolls.

The weather was more springlike, than that of a winter's day. The latter part of December had been unseasonably warm. I had even taken advantage of the warm days to heat up the spa on two different evenings. But I was most surprised as we walked in the rain to our neighbors' house to see narcissus blooming along their driveway. I stopped quickly for a shot under my umbrella. Could it be a hint of an early spring?

No. Three inches of snow covered our deck by Monday morning, less than 36 hours later. And although the snow was wet and beautiful for a few hours, I prefer the white blooms of the obviously premature announcement of an early spring.

Sony A7r4, Zeiss 24-70 f/2.8; exposure details iso 1600, f/2.8 @1/2000 sec

I'm ready, too. Covid and cancer has limited our travel. But we are fully vaccinated, including boosters, and there's no evidence of cancer in my recent PET scan. I continue to be amazed that the lymphoma is gone. The chemo and radiation was a lengthy, tiring treatment, but apparently it worked. I will continue to have alternating PET and CT scans and blood tests every quarter for the next two years, but it looks like I am cured. So I am trying to regain strength and lose weight after treatment. Normalcy is returning. Not quite the same normal as before. I'm changed, different, as are so many experiences. But I am more than ready to explore again, embrace life and friends again.

I caught this bee in mid-takeoff the other morning on one of my walks with my my iPhone 12 Pro Max. Surprised at the quality of the image.

After yesterday's lament for a longer summer, I read an article in the Washington Post entitled "Our Summers Are Getting Longer, And It Could Be a Bad Sign for the Environment". I admit that I was being self-centered about wanting more days to swim in my pool. I tried to justify that it would help my recovery from cancer treatments. However, I don't want my desire for more summer days to contribute to global warming. I know I have enough bad habits, coupled with millions of other inhabitants of earth, that have already adversely affected the environment. The Washington Post article, written by Kasha Patel, noted that "summers are expanding while spring, autumn, and winter are becoming shorter and warmer..." Researchers have found by studying historical data that spring is beginning earlier and autumn later. The problem is that " small seasonal shifts can throw off the balance of our ecosystem form crop production to increased occurrence of mosquito-borne diseases." With my experience of being mosquito "bait", that sentence got my attention. What we are losing is the predictability of the seasons and the connectedness of our human experiences with plants and animals and other creatures, like bees, that benefit the quality of our lives.

So I take back my desire for more summer, with all of its creeping effects, like the image above. Our seasons are not just an opportunity for change to warmer clothing and appreciation for cider and pumpkins, but are an essential cycle. We all can live with that.