Here in the far northern part of the U.S., spring arrives in a rush. Mere days after leaves start to appear, small and tightly curled, they burst forth, transforming the forest from stark gray to startling, glowing green. Our neighbors, who a few weeks ago were boiling maple sap into syrup in the snow, are now setting out patio furniture and hanging baskets of flowers from the eaves. New life has come not just to the woods around us, but to the spirits of all of us celebrating the end of another winter in the northwoods.

No other season arrives so dramatically here, for the most part. A few leaves turn here and there in autumn, before the reds and golds gradually spread; a few flurries and frosty mornings tease us before winter settles in. But spring races in, making a grand entrance in the span of little more than a week.

Few things are more hopeful than a Minnesota spring. We haul out the lawn chairs and fill the bird feeders, set out the fire ring and stock up on marshmallows. We work quickly, trying to match the pace of the forest blooming around us, aware that these warm, sunny days are numbered.

Jesus came softly the first time, visiting us like a Minnesota autumn. His birth was announced in a blaze of glory over one dark pasture, but he then passed years as a simple laborer in an obscure village. His first miracle was a quiet one, making water pots overflow with sweet wedding wine.

But his second coming will be like a northern spring: the signs appearing one by one, and then a trumpet, and we will suddenly find ourselves in heaven’s flowered meadows, shouting with joy.

We feel the birth pangs now, the weeping and grief as evil bears down, doubles down, hungry to gain the ground we’ve ceded to wars and rumors of wars. Each lurch toward the abyss brings our rescue closer. Each day’s news sharpens our hunger for the new. Lift up your heads, he told us, because your redemption is drawing near.*

Like a Minnesota spring, we will suddenly emerge from this thin existence to life exploding, around and within us, vibrant and rejoicing in the light. The trees of the field will clap their hands, scripture says, and I wonder…what sort of music will fill the fields and woods when all of creation gains its voice? When every fallen sparrow sings for joy?

The woods are waking, changing, emerging from death to life. And so will we. So will we.

Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing for joy. Let all creation rejoice before the Lord, for he comes, he comes to judge the earth. He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples in his faithfulness.

Psalms 96:11-13

*Luke 21:28