Autumn leaves

Arrived back today from Poland, a short visit to Krakow, where I took this autumn leaves picture. A letter waiting for me when I got home was at first sight disappointing - I had, I think, been building up my hopes, and at first sight the letter failed to match up to even the smallest and weakest of them.

Then I read the letter again, to find it wasn't as negative as I had first thought. The wishes expressed were all positive, but it was clear that I would need to prove myself if my hopes are to be fulfilled. I thought awhile about how in life we take a great deal on trust, we take immense risks, really, with whether people can and will deal with us fairly and honestly, fulfil our trust in them, match up to what we need them to be, have the skill we need them to have. Think of the past twenty four hours: I've had to trust kitchen staff not to poison me, security staff to deal with me honestly, the pilot of my place to know how to fly and ground control to give him the right instructions (and much more besides). Now I, for my part, know I can do and achieve and carry out honestly and obediently all that might be required of me (and that I will, given the chance).

But the simple fact I now have to live with is that last time I messed up, which meant I hurt people and let people down. So now I can't expect to be trusted in the way I might have been before, the way most of us are, most of the time. Now I have to prove myself, and that will take time, patience, and a measure of work. I understand that, and it's no good being upset by it. Insofar as the welfare of others might depend on things I do and decisions I make, those who might wish to entrust a measure of responsibility to me have to be sure I can handle it - that it won't break me and I won't hurt others.

Forgiveness, for the Christian disciple, is about the God who goes on trusting us, even though last time we messed up. It's about the father still accepting the prodigal as his son, even though by taking his inheritance in advance he was, effectively, declaring that to him, his father was dead. There's a human sort of forgiveness that says "I let you off, you're forgiven" while in fact never forgetting, and never quite trusting again. And that's prudent, and sensible, and managerially sound. But God loves like a fool, forgives like a fool. He has forgiven me, and he forgives you too; that's what he does, that's how he is.

So why the autumn leaves? Well, mainly just because it's a picture I'm pleased with. But autumn leaves are a sign of dying, of things passing away, of a change (I suppose, unless you really love winter, and I don't) for the worse. November can be a depressing time of the year, but we don't have to be in hock to the November blues. I could be depressed at the letter, but I find to my slight surprise that I'm not. The journey continues, autumn or not, and it's a faith journey on which I am accompanied by grace. For in God's calendar, every season, even the times when we think we've thoroughly messed up, contain the eternal hope of spring. By grace we are reborn as resurrection people, forgiven, healed - and forgiving.