Considering Life & Flowers With Luke 12
He stopped and scanned a field of colors. At the mercy of the wind, he received whiffs of volatile organic compounds, what we call fragrance. He saw and sniffed providence. His eyes interpreted a visible word, a wordless message. He finds divine clarity in what we call common. He knew God sometimes speaks through flowers. His name is Jesus, and I desperately want his eyes. Flora is full of God-knowledge for Jesus, and he invites his disciples to a class on theological botany that is more lab than lecture.
Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin… (Lk. 12:27).
I have considered this command and its broader passage for the past 11 months. Every year I usually have a text of the Bible that grips me and does not let go. 2015 was the first year this became a habit of mine. Through sovereign circumstances, I picked up the writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer for the first time, a stream I have not stopped drinking from since. Bonhoeffer’s intense milking of the Sermon on the Mount inspired me to lean into Matthew’s gospel. Out of that early meditation in January 2015, I was stuck on Matthew 5:8: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” I chewed it like cud for months. It bothered me and carried me through that year.
This year, Luke 12:22–33 attached itself to me. Here I reflect on the lessons I learned from this passage in two posts. Let me set up the text and unpack the clearest gems before turning to remaining questions for Luke 12 in a later blog. More than anything, Luke 12 unsettled what life consists of and instilled the discipline of consideration in me.
LIFE & STUFF
The great barrier to seeing real life with clarity is the smoke bomb of our material lives. This whole section of Luke 12:13–33 is about obsession over false treasure versus true treasure. Sparked by siblings quarreling over the age-old issue of inheritances (Lk. 12:13), Jesus gets to the heart of the matter: “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions” (Lk. 12:15). Ten months ago, I wrote down next to this verse, “what does life consist of according to Jesus?”
An answer, restricted to this text, is given primarily by negation (what life is not). His logic in Luke 12:15 is: the building blocks of (real/true/good) life are not the abundance (security) of stuff; therefore, guard against coveting other people’s abundance (security) of stuff as if (real/true/good) life is that. For Jesus, the problems of materialism are outgrowths of a mistaken view of what the good life is. Instead of giving a positive counterdefinition of what life consists of, Jesus goes after two symptoms of this faulty view of life fixated on possessions: greed and worry.
In Luke 12:16–21, Jesus gives a parable on the greed of a rich man:
16 And he told them a parable, saying, “The land of a rich man produced plentifully, 17 and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ 18 And he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. 19 And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”’ 20 But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ 21 So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.”
A fixation on housing more abundance, hence more security, is bound up in a belief that his soul will be convinced he has the good life. Jesus knocks down this idea by pointing to the loss of stuff and its security at death. Then, Luke 12:21: “So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” I understand the first phrase (don’t fixate on earthly treasure), but I have no clue what to do with the idea of being “rich toward God.” I have thought about those words all year. Of course, I can fill in the blank with a thousand scriptural answers outside this text. But what did Jesus envision by such language in this moment? Maybe I will know it when I experience it. Whatever that richness is, earthly greed works against it.
GREED & WORRY
This focus on greed is linked to the next passage. Before lilies and other examples, he says:
22 And he said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on. 23 For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing.
Notice that the problems of the rich man’s greed are applied to the anxieties of the poor man’s needs. The rich man was not anxious about his lack of necessities. He was bothered by the management of his excess. Materially, rich greed and poor worry are worlds apart. But experientially, they are related. Get this, Christ links the experiences of greed and worry together. Kent Hughes writes, “Greed can never get enough, worry is afraid it may not have enough. Worry is the emotional reward of material preoccupation.” I would say both worry and greed are emotional rewards of material preoccupation.
BIRDS & BARNS
Material preoccupation, stemming from a false view of the good life, is the root of greed and worry. With greed and worry exposed, Christ offers a positive but modest statement on what life is. It’s more than food. That’s all we get. To be honest, I have been impatient with Jesus as I reached this point again and again in Luke 12 throughout 2024. As a good teacher, he does not capitulate to how his students think things should be explained. Instead of definitions of the good life, he offers analogous lives.
24 Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! 25 And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? 26 If then you are not able to do as small a thing as that, why are you anxious about the rest?
Yesterday, I heard a man describe his son-in-law as “a big birder.” I had to contain myself. Yet here I am writing about the incarnate Son of God, the Lord of Lords, commanding me in his inerrant and infallible Scripture to go bird watching. Consider the birds. Look at the ravens in contrast to the rich man’s greed. Birds have no barns. The very option for ravens to obsess over material security is taken away. They don’t worry about it. God shepherds them.
A big point for Jesus is this: We waste a lot of hours engaged in stressing about achieving our lives. This activity unquestionably wastes our lives because it is propped up by a false view of control over our lives and a false vision of what life is for. The novelist George Saunders diagnosed this disease in his 2013 Syracuse commencement address: “The story of life is the story of the same basic mind readdressing the same problems in the same already discredited ways.”
CONSIDERATION AS DISCIPLINE
In Luke 12:24–26, the first falsehood (control) is self-explanatory. If helpless birds are cared for by God, “how much more” will you be cared for? It’s a lesser to greater value argument. But the second falsehood (what life is) still remains a question in the text. Jesus moves on to flowers and grass:
27 Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 28 But if God so clothes the grass, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith!
I sat here more than anywhere in Luke 12 this year. I gained more method than answers, more means than content. There is a delicacy, a preciousness, to Jesus' speech. Consider the “how” of the lilies. Think about their process from seed to bud to blossom. Jesus calls all disciples to “consider,” not glance. The word choice in Luke (καταμανθάνω) does not mean to simply look. It communicates examination in detail, thorough observation. It is intentional, slow, and sensitive to particulars. It’s the pause of a learner recognizing a teacher and being silent enough to receive the teacher’s unmicrowavable wisdom.
My favorite reflection on Christ’s call to consider in Luke 12 comes from Sister Margaret Magdalen’s Jesus, Man of Prayer:
The disciples are invited to consider, to notice, to learn from the lilies, not by a peremptory glance but by a long, feasting look. 'Consider' has about it the feeling of restful reflection, leisurely appreciation, a freedom of heart to gaze and wonder, and, in doing so, to discover truth. This kind of looking has to be for its own sake, not for any end-product; not with our greedy consumer-society tendency to do something with half an eye on what we can get out of it. In considering the lilies, which obviously Jesus must have done himself, the disciples would discover a truth not only about trust but, even more, about living provisionally–that is, as those for whom provision has been made. Jesus singled out for special attention these ordinary, rather despised, parts of creation on which no one placed any value–field flowers, grass, sparrows–which could nevertheless become gateways to contemplation. These were to be the icons through which the disciples would penetrate the mystery of God's providence and protection and discover hidden wisdom and truth about God's relationship with his creation. And they would do so by using the eyes of the body and the eyes of understanding.
CONSIDERING RIVERS
More than ever, I tried to lean into the call to consider this past summer. A big motivator was the decision to preach a sermon on Psalm 104 in July. The text is simple: worship God through a fascination with the big and small details of his creation. But I am bad at this. My instincts are to find God in books and worship him there, so I decided to be intentional about studying and experiencing creation for the purpose of worship.
More of my reflections on that endeavor are found in my sermon. These two (rivers and flowers) are not. First, I stood, walked next to, sat beside, and swam in the Chattahoochee River. Less than ten minutes from my house, these southern waters run right through metropolitan Atlanta coming down from caves in remote corners of Georgia and, after assimilating into other rivers, finish their race at the Gulf of Mexico.
For years I have walked a set of trails next to that river guarded by a small haven of woods (Medlock Bridge Chattahoochee River National Recreation Area). I love rivers. Always have. There is a sense of ancient to them that demands reverence. But I am too busy for rivers. I show up with my dog and air pods ready to outpace the Chattahoochee’s flow as I trot with double-speed podcasts in my ears.
This time I would wind down to river speed. In June and July, I visited the Chattahoochee in early hours as morning mist sat atop the surface or on late afternoons when thick summer sun slowed anything in a hurry. Sometimes alone, or with my son, or dog, or a friend, I sat next to the river with nothing but pen and notepad. The exercise was to accept silence for thirty minutes and jot down any detail of nature I saw, heard, or smelled. Afterwards, I would reflect on the beauty and possible lessons about the glory and goodness of God in those creations.
Medlock Bridge Chattahoochee River National Recreation Area
The amazement came in the repetition of the exercise. The more I did it, the more I would see. The more I saw, the more I considered. The more I considered, the more I thought about God and worshipped through this process. It is amazing how you can sit in one place and experience so much freshness simply by the patience of silent contemplation. Consideration is a discipline. It is a skill that’s sharpened. Just as Richard Sibbes wrote we should pray until we pray, we must consider until we consider.
There were times when I would get into the river, an uncomfortable experience as the Chattahoochee is shockingly cold year-round in our region. I’d wade to the center and lean on a rock with water chest deep. With no agenda, my mind would wander about on life, God, rivers, and time amidst the occasional interruption of a kayaker floating by. There was something freeing about feeling the rip of a river’s current while secured to the rock. A calm is in and by the running water that is hard to describe.
This substance, so critical to existence, in this form, is good for the soul. Even science testifies to it. After spending so much time with the Chattahoochee, I wanted to read up on its current state and history. Sally Bethea’s Keeping the Chattahoochee: Reviving and Defending a Great Southern River was a fantastic help. What I was trying to articulate about the experience of being in and around the river she captures in the scientific explanation:
Water is magical. It's not just a liquid that sustains all life, as if that weren't enough-the molecules of oxygen and hydrogen also inspire, energize, and soothe. There's a scientific reason we love flowing, plunging, spraying water, why being around moving water can improve our moods. It's called negative ions: molecules that have gained or lost an electrical charge. They are created in nature when air molecules break apart due to a variety of influences from sunlight to moving water. The action of falling water and crashing waves (or even a bathroom shower) creates negative ions that bond with smaller air particles. When we breathe in this charged air, the negative ions enter our bloodstream. They produce biochemical reactions that can relieve stress, boost energy, and reduce depression—affecting serotonin levels. By increasing the flow of oxygen to the brain, the negative ions can also enhance alertness.
I came away from my sessions of considering the river praising God that he designed the encounter of the river to benefit the health of my body. Our Father gives such good gifts to his children. He feeds and clothes me, and he gives “charged air” to revive my anxious body as I enjoy the presence of a place he designed. The act of consideration produced appreciation. My advice: find a river. Let it teach.
CONSIDERING LILIES
Now Jesus said nothing about rivers. He said consider lilies. But I am glad I spent time just learning the practice and power of consideration itself. The object of consideration is a waste of time if the act itself is sloppy. Nevertheless, Jesus was specific, so I made an effort to find flowers. Anemone coronaria, or the poppy anemone, was most likely what Christ’s disciples would see when they looked for flowers. It was and is widespread in Israel and stands as its national flower today.
My own turn to flowers was aided by two people. One with no knowledge but raw admiration for even the tiniest buds. The other with more knowledge of flowers and forests than I can imagine. At two years old, my son can spot a petite bloom of a wildflower a block away. Any flower, any size, he must pluck. Unlike most intents of his swinging-axe hands, his purpose with flowers is not to destroy but to inquire through a close look, feel, and sniff. Once sufficiently inspected, Kuyper has a two-option playbook that he never deviates from. Play one: hold the flower in an iron fist for as long as he can throughout the day. Play two: offer it as a gift to someone nearby with expectations of the same wonder he always experiences.
A frequent recipient of Kuyper’s dozens of picked flowers is his great-grandmother, my Nana. With a childhood in the woods and years as a florist, she is a walking encyclopedia. Anything pointed to in the garden or on a walk among the trees is seen and explained. This type of knowledge is not from books, its from presence. Observing her interpreting flowers, trees, and plants over the years, I know she’s not pulling from rote memory. She is presently experiencing the plant and bringing together thousands of past experiences to come to a conclusion. So much consideration of these living things has given her a skill in identifying them by intuition. She’s a plant profiler.
I have respect for this expertise because I know it cannot be manufactured. I can’t buy a book or take a course to get it. To have this wise way of inhabiting the green world I would have to spend a life immersed in consideration. So, I admire her magisterial knowledge of flowers instead. But I do have a favorite flower. Four o’ Clocks. I won’t bore with details, but they get their name from the strange occurrence of flowering each day in the late afternoon, around 4 o’ clock. I will never forget seeing a row of them pop out from a Georgia red clay driveway. My Nana and I planted some a while back for us to enjoy together (see below).
I want the wonder of my boy and the wisdom of my grandmother when I consider lilies. More than anything, I want to see the lesson in the lilies that Jesus sees.
27 Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 28 But if God so clothes the grass, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith!
By considering the “how” of a flower’s growth, Jesus makes an observation and an aesthetic judgment. Observation: flowers don’t fret themselves into flourishing. Aesthetic judgment: their (received) flourishing, the artistry of God, is more glorious than the greatest of kings. So much is seen in so little, and so little see it. I am unconvinced Jesus’ point can be accepted and enjoyed until the act (consideration) is carried out on the object (flowers). Sitting in a faux leather recliner staring at a digital Bible under fluorescent lightbulbs are the perfect conditions for cynicism to thrive at the sight of Luke 12:27–28. Did I just spend a couple thousand words telling you to touch grass? Yes, I did, for Jesus’ sake.
Bring the full force of your God-given senses and the full color of this God-given world on your reading of this passage. Go consider lilies. That is what I told myself. If I was going to stare at that command for months, why not take it literally? My advice: have a favorite flower and let it teach. No kidding. DO NOT GOOGLE FLOWERS. Go to a garden. Stop by a flower shop. Experience flowers in the flesh and find ones that you could stare at for a while. What I learned this year is that investment in considering flowers is an investment in theological education.
Just let me have my mystical nature moment and end this section with lines from the wizard of flyover country himself, Wendell Berry:
When despair for the world grows in me...
I go and lie down where the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water...
For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
There is still more text to cover. Luke 12:28–33 gets to conclusions I don’t fully understand, or worse, that I understand and do not want to grapple with. I plan to put down my reflections on those soon. The question that remains unanswered is: what is Jesus’ full vision of what life consists of? For now, I am thankful for the lab Christ called me into where I learned more of God’s goodness and hope to habitually revisit.
-Caleb Hawkins