My little cousin Betsy was three years old one September when a family friend took her into downtown Chicago on the train. Wanting to further the youngster's education, the woman pointed out the many trees seeming to fly by their windows. "Do you see all these green trees? In just a few weeks they will all be turning pretty colors, like red, yellow, or orange. Then the leaves will fall to the ground and die. We call that time of year fall, because of the falling leaves."
Betsy stared out the window at the greenery racing by. "Well," she replied slowly, "Only the deciduous ones."
Each October in fifth grade I did a small unit on leaves. Students were surprised to discover that the pretty colors on display in the fall had been present in the leaf all along. Red, orange, or yellow pigments remain hidden during the growing season within the bountiful number of green-pigmented chlorophyll cells. Eventually, however, the waning sunlight and changing temperatures signal that it is time for the deciduous plant to drop its leaves in preparation for the winter ahead. The leaves are cut off from their supply of water and nutrients. First to die are the chloroplasts. As the green fades away, the colors which had been masked all summer are finally revealed. For a few short days, the leaves glow in a final blaze of glory before dropping to the ground.
Fall is a season of death. It is also a season of glory.
God has fit death into natural order in such as way that death has a fundamental purpose. Death makes room for life. Paul embraced this notion when he wrote the Romans, "We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may life a new life" (Romans 6:4). John the Baptist understood this principle. "He must become greater," he told his disciples, "I must become less." The New Testament gives a clear call to believers: we must die to self in order to live for Christ.
What exactly does this mean? It is a setting aside of our own agenda for God's purposes. It is a voluntary submission of our will for His. We strive to live out what has already occurred at our salvation: we have been made holy, adopted as children of God, and are no longer slaves to sin. In our obedience, we testify to the reality of this new life in Christ.
This narrow path is difficult to travel. Oftentimes our clenching hands must be pried open to release what we hold dearest to our hearts. Yet when we do relinquish control, rather than becoming a slave in our submission, we are actually set free.
A few years ago, I made a mistake that hurt another person. My first reaction to her anger was indignant. How dare she judge me? Let her walk a mile in my shoes and see how easy it would be. Then I began to feel sorry for myself. If my life was easier, I would never have made the mistake. I was just trying to survive here. Yet all along, as I stewed and struggled with the circumstances, I knew in my heart what had to be done. (Elisabeth Elliot once called "struggling" another term for procrastinating obedience.) Intentional or not, I had damaged the relationship. I needed to humbly go and make things right.
Even as I traveled to see this friend, I continued to struggle. "God, I don't want to do this," I haughtily informed Him. "I am only doing this because I am obeying your Word." Even as I rang the doorbell, conflicting emotions assaulted me. I felt angry and misunderstood as much as ashamed.
The door opened. To my astonishment, in that instant, the Lord changed my heart. I burst into tears and confessed my thoughtlessness and insensitivity. I was enabled to sincerely ask forgiveness. My friend's response was immediate. She put her arms around me and welcomed me into her home. Later, while basking in gratitude that the incident was resolved, I marveled that I had entertained refusing to obey the Lord for even one minute. His way is always best.
We may resist, but to ultimately refuse surrender is to place our own resources above the wisdom and goodness of God. In other words, the opposite to an attitude of surrender is pride. There is no place for self-sufficiency in the life of a Christian. We began our relationship with God only through His grace and mercy. That same reliance must now characterize our walk with Him.
As the chlorophyll dies, autumn leaves display the color that was present all along. We have been made new creatures in Christ. Now we must put to death that which remains within us that masks this reality, in order for the new creature to be displayed. And just as autumn leaves display a riot of color in their death, God's glory will be revealed each time we surrender to Him.
