It was Easter Sunday, a pretty afternoon, but there were no children out in their yards hiding Easter eggs. In fact, Easter itself was in hiding. For the first time maybe ever, there were no Easter Services in churches.
I was in the back yard; it was quiet and I was watching my birds when I saw them. They had been there all along, but I hadn’t paid attention.
They were dogwood trees – in most every direction. – some pink, some white, all bursting with beauty. It was a chorus of physical wonder.
And I thought back to the tradition of dogwoods.
Legend had it that it was a dogwood tree on which Jesus was crucified, but after that, dogwoods never grew big enough to be able to do that again. The blooms also told an Easter story. The four petals depicted the cross, the deep red tint on the sides represented the blood of Christ and his wounded side, and the cluster of buds in the center stood for His crown of thorns.
Dogwood trees are often planted, but they grow wild, as well. The red berries in fall are scattered by birds and squirrels. You can see as many dogwoods growing wild as in landscaped yards. Probably all the trees I was seeing had indeed grown wild. They formed an amphitheater around my yard. Though there had been no Easter services, the beauty of the dogwoods preached of a time of hope, new life, and a new beginning. It may have been the most powerful Easter sermon I have ever heard.