Editorial
I saw a picture in last night’s paper. Nothing very technical, neither was it striking because of it’s composition or artistic qualities, but it gave me a real sense of joy.
This picture showed a little clump of what looked like crocus shoots growing. “Nothing very special about that,” you say, “at this time of year that’s what to expect.” Yes, but there was something EXTRA about those little shoots. The picture showed that these slender, tender blades had actually forced their way right through a black-top roadway and shrugged aside the black crumbs of tar as they were drawn irresistably upwards to the sun.
Not so long ago on this page was printed the picture of a massive man-made rocket. Filled with the most elaborate and highly technical equipment, it sat on the launching pad. But that product of man’s ingenuity, the focal point of the keenest brains of the nation couldn’t do what those little simple flowers did.
That missile-monster just sat there, and would continue to sit until some external force applied the spark of ignition.
Those tiny slivers of green tell me again the story of resurrection. They tell me that when the word goes forth… “Rise up My fair one…” there is no power on earth can stay ALL those in whom dwells the Spirit of life. It tells me too that the products of man’s workmanship, elaborate and awesome though they be, cannot elevate themselves the height of a crocus, for they are lacking—LIFE!