Corn is raised to be cut down. Tomatoes are grown to be picked. Spinach is planted to be eaten. Flowers are fertilized to be cut.
"The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them. Surely the people are grass. The grass withers and the flowers fall" (Is. 40:7-8a).
Yes, farming reminds us of the seasons of the Church Year. Planting and harvesting prove daily that there is finality in and to all things. Driving tractors and milking cows and planting gardens recount for us the curse given in the Garden: that in this life, we sweat and labor only to sweat and labor still more, sowing and reaping, raising and cutting down.
But Good Friday is different.
Here we see firsthand that our Lord withers and falls. He is raised up to be cut down. He is given to us that He might die for us.
He, like us, is grass and flowers.
But unlike corn and tomatoes and spinach and flowers, unlike us, He does not stay fallen. He is not longer wilted. He is raised never to die again. He has put death to death.
Our spinach and tomato and flower seeds are just starting to pop through the soil, and in just three days, our Lord will be raised from this earth too.
And so in this life, we wither. We fall. We fade away. But that is simply how it looks to our temporal eyes.
Because better than any roma tomato seedling or morning glory sprout, His resurrection is now our resurrection. Because of His death, we are dead to sin, and because of His life, we are alive to Christ, wilted and fallen no more.