Firstfruits

Searching for and Becoming Signs of a Coming Season

“But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. But each in turn: Christ, the firstfruits; then, when he comes, all who belong to him.”

1 Corinthians 15:20

Its late April, and though we are still a few weeks away from blackberry season, Ruth and her friends have discovered some early fruits, ripe on those still maturing vines. After a long, sleepy winter, spent satisfying our hungers with bland selections of fruits that have been canned, frozen, or shipped in from distant locations, there is something so optimistic about sinking your teeth into these first delicious morsels of a harvest that is both here, and still yet to come. It’s the kind of taste that lands on your pallet like a promise of what will be –assuring as it satisfies with the message that this long and fruitless winter will soon give way to the abundance of a spring that has only just begun.

But it takes a certain kind of looking to notice these fruits so early in the season, a slow and curious kind of observation that is willing to invest both time and energy in searching for something that you can’t reasonably expect to find right now. If you move too fast, or don’t look quite so intently, you might just pass by and never notice that they are there at all.

It was, I expect, with all of this in mind that Paul chose to use the image of firstfruits to describe both the Spirit’s groaning within us (Romans 8:23), and also Christ, as the firstfruit of the here-but-not-yet Kingdom of God (1 Corinthians 15:20). The signposts to the soon-to-be spring when all who have fallen asleep will wake, and those who have died will rise, and all that has been destroyed, diseased, or decayed by the influence of sin and evil will be redeemed and made new again according to the plans and purposes of our Creator God.

This season of new life is here. It has happened, and it is still happening. The long and desolate winter in which darkness has overpowered light is, as we live and breathe, giving way to a spring of everlasting life and abundance. And yet, like those early blackberries, tucked away on a vine, so very out of season in this world, on earth as it is today, it is hard to detect right now. Recognizing its presence requires a certain kind of looking, a slow and curious kind of observation that is willing to invest time and energy in scanning our inner and outer landscapes for something that we can’t reasonably expect to find right now. And if we move too fast, or don’t look with enough intention, we are bound to breeze by the firstfruits of this new life, even as they are breaking through right before us.

Which is what we see throughout the post-resurrection passages of Scripture. No one recognizes the risen Christ, at least not at first. Instead, Mary demands answers from a man she supposes to be a gardener (John 20:15). Peter rushes to a tomb and then leaves when he doesn’t see what, or who, he expects to find there (Luke 24:12). The disciples walk for miles on the road to Emmaus with an apparent stranger (Luke 24-13-32). Thomas demands to see and touch the marks of the nails to Jesus’ face (John 20:24-29). And even after interacting with him once, the disciples, while fishing, still didn’t recognize Jesus on the shore (John 21:4). All of these passages point to the difficulty of recognizing the resurrection in places and even people when they emerge in ways that we don’t expect to find them. And they also show us how our own presumptions and familiarity with what was, can create boundaries to what, when, where, and who we are willing to see that life emerge moving forward.

So how then can we learn to look for the signs of our out-of-season-Christ that are now before us? How can we release our grip on what was, so that we might be better able to recognize what will be? How can we let go of our expectations of what should be, so that we can search our landscapes for what is? And most importantly, how can we slow down and really look in a way that will yield true recognition of the promises and assurances of God’s Kingdom in this world that is so determined to lull us to sleep with the sedatives of noise and haste?

And what might it look like for us to live as firstfruits ourselves? And to become signs of this new, though not-yet-season? How can we become more like those optimistic morsels, whose very essence and presence speaks a word of assurance to those who need a reminder that Spring is in fact both here and coming? That long awaited shift in seasons when all who sleep will wake, and the dead will rise, and all of their tears will, at long last, be wiped away? What might it look like to embody such an optimistic promise to others ourselves? Living out a hope that is so very out of season in a landscape that is, for the most part, still yet to wake? Becoming an unexpected sort of peace in a world still riddled by chaos and disorder? And embodying a peculiar love that doesn’t waiver when overshadowed by death’s dark shadows?

How can we learn to live as those who are intentionally out of season in this world as it is on earth today?

Wilderness and desert will sing joyously, the badlands will celebrate and flower - like the crocus in spring, bursting into blossom, a symphony of song and color."

Isaiah 35