The Moth Orchid

Max* had been a church member for a long time as a member of the "greatest generation," he had fought in World War II in the air force. Max had shared with me many stories about his experience in B-29 Bombers, Bombers with the name and reputation of being a "Superfortress," though there was nothing fortress like about them. Max had lived a full eighty years, a full and plentiful eighty years. He had a loving wife, dutiful daughters, and wonderful grandchildren. He was a person in the church who, unlike the B-29 Bombers he talked about, was a fortress that enabled young and old to take comfort in the refuge of his faith and strength of his character. He was father, friend, and grandfather to more people than just his genetic family.

Four weeks ago, I went to visit Max at home. Max had been experiencing declining health in the last six months. Due to the health issues, he hadn't been able to attend church to receive communion with the community for far too long. I took communion along, and after about an hour of talking with Max and his wife, we shared communion together.

Max was sitting in a recliner the whole visit. The recliner was well worn, small frays were seen on some of the stitches, and he was propped up on various pillows and blankets. There were all sorts of sacred items spread on the end tables and walls around him. Photos of family and friends, a new LCD picture frame that constantly cycled through pictures, there were Phillies and Eagles memorabilia all around, as well as scale models of every major Star Trek ship in all the various series. Amidst all this seeming clutter lay a few plants. Max called out to me, "Pastor, did you see my flower?" Honestly there was hardly any way for me to see the flowers, since they were tucked away behind photos, soaking up as much light from the large windows in the house.

"No, I hadn't seen it," I replied as I got up from the couch and stepped over to his small end table for a closer look.

"I've had this orchid for five or six years now, and it's starting to bloom." Max noted very proudly.

I was quite impressed. Orchids are not known for being easy to grow or care for. Their demands are very specific temperature, water, sun light, and as Max demonstrated years of patience and love to get to the blossoms. The plant itself wasn't beautiful. There were thick waxy leaves jutting up from the potting soil, they didn't bring to mind luscious rain forest, or fields of thick grass. Rather it called to mind as sickly plant, one that a child may have picked too many leaves off of, leaving just two or three leaves left as the child's attention wandered off to other things. Standing slender from amidst these few leaves was a long thin tendril. It looked as if someone had taken a dark green, felt, sharpie pen and started a beautiful upward curve of hand written cursive. And perched on the edge of this seemingly ill conceived and fragile stem were two exquisite white blossoms, the only splash of color among the white was to be found in the very center as there was a pink then yellow drawing your eye to the stamen.

I left shortly after viewing the flowers, and didn't think much on them again. The next week, Max fell starting a downward spiral that would end in just two weeks with his death.

I met with the family to plan the funeral late on a Tuesday night. After talking for about an hour Max's wife said, "Pastor did you see Max's flower?" I turned to look and there were no longer two blossoms on the Orchid, but nine. I stood there in awe praising the beauty of these flowers when I realized, "I should take a picture." So I pulled out my phone and got a few quick snapshots. I took these photos home where the next day I proceeded to paint those flowers.

It took me four or five hours to paint these flowers and the whole time I thought of Max and what he had meant to my ministry and the people around him. Then I was hit, it was like the first day you step out of your house and smell spring in the air, an undeniable hint, an undeniable feeling that something is different, that you see the world differently than you did before. At that moment God spoke to me. This was not an audible voice, but something deeper, I realized right then that we are all like that orchid. A lot of love and care are put into us by God, and by all those we love around us, and in this life we only see one or two blossoms if we're lucky. After death, things change, after death the blossoms are more plentiful and available for all to see.

I realized that it was okay to offer just what we have, and to rely on the grace of God to carry each of us through. I'm not saying that the orchid didn't have to work to grow, but that's another lesson. What I learned then and there was that there were other things investing in my life, other people, my family, friends, parishioners, and superiors. Maybe if everyone realized how precious we are, just like Max realized about that orchid, maybe we would take more care with what we do and how we treat others in this world.

 

*Name has been changed for confidentiality