It’s happened again! For the fourteenth year a single gold crocus has sprung from the mulch in my flowerbed, the morning sun glossing its cup-shaped petals. Nothing delicate about its thrust within the still wintry world: its gold, regal in authority, its grass-like leaf with a white central stripe pulsating gladness—sort of like Precious God winking at me as I move through these days of discernment.

Others, the world over, have thrilled with the blooming of crocuses. Even as far back as King Solomon (970 – 931 B.C.E.) who likened the Bride in his Song of Songs 2:1 to the gold crocus. Such fascination conceivably nudged it into the symbol for spring and the eschatological age. Central to both is regeneration.

Like shy lovers, pale greenings peek beneath winter’s barrenness and delight dog-walkers and toddlers. Energy has returned—no stopping it until months later when it weakens, and death cycles through again.

However, the eschatological age, characterized by the end of history, the resurrection of the dead, the Last Judgment, and the messianic era, knows no death.

Religions’ sacred texts seek to pierce these stark realities, wrap words around the unknowable, and inflame the imaginations of the faithful. We stand within the ultimate of mysteries.

Despite the profundity of these symbols, we can still glean hints of what is to come. At least, this has been my experience shadowing my end time with daily blogs. New learning abounds and there’s no indication of its end.

Imagine relishing gold crocuses that do not fade and wither!