"Do you think the church could use the flowers," first the father asked, and later the groom. They were, indeed, beautiful -- and as the father obliquely observed, "the florist hadn't given them away." I could only speculate. The tall, stately bouquets had first lined the center aisle of the ceremony, and had since been relocated to the banquet hall where they now graced the dozen -- or two -- tables. It would, quite rightly, be a shame for them to go to waste.
"We would be happy to enjoy them tomorrow," I assured them, but there were some logistical problems. I was on my way out, and the reception had hours yet before the last dance would be announced. The parents are frail, the bride and groom were leaving on their honeymoon too early to find anybody willing to unlock the church. We left it open-ended.
But though the flowers never appeared on Sunday morning, the idea was a great one. The bride and groom had no doubt invested considerably in the flowers -- too much, many would argue, for a single night's gala -- and though they had been well-enjoyed throughout the evening, they had spectacular beauty remaining. It was good thinking to imagine a secondary value.
It's April, and Earth Stewardship Month, and I'm thinking this fragile earth could benefit from a few more of us asking the groom's insightful question: "how else could this be used?" Who else could secondarily value this beauty...this utility...this tool? We acquire and use all sorts of things, but we rarely use them up. What would it mean to get in the habit of considering secondary applications? What would it look like if we developed a pattern of passing along rather than storing away -- more than the once every few years when our bloated basements or attics necessitate a trip to Goodwill?
As I say, the flowers the next morning never appeared. But the instinct was a good one. And surely someone took home a bouquet and enjoyed it over the subsequent course of days that were its useful life. I, at least, took home with me a view of a different kind of footprint -- and a larger instinct for the grace of living in community.
Stewardship and Sharing: what radical concepts.
"We would be happy to enjoy them tomorrow," I assured them, but there were some logistical problems. I was on my way out, and the reception had hours yet before the last dance would be announced. The parents are frail, the bride and groom were leaving on their honeymoon too early to find anybody willing to unlock the church. We left it open-ended.
But though the flowers never appeared on Sunday morning, the idea was a great one. The bride and groom had no doubt invested considerably in the flowers -- too much, many would argue, for a single night's gala -- and though they had been well-enjoyed throughout the evening, they had spectacular beauty remaining. It was good thinking to imagine a secondary value.
It's April, and Earth Stewardship Month, and I'm thinking this fragile earth could benefit from a few more of us asking the groom's insightful question: "how else could this be used?" Who else could secondarily value this beauty...this utility...this tool? We acquire and use all sorts of things, but we rarely use them up. What would it mean to get in the habit of considering secondary applications? What would it look like if we developed a pattern of passing along rather than storing away -- more than the once every few years when our bloated basements or attics necessitate a trip to Goodwill?
As I say, the flowers the next morning never appeared. But the instinct was a good one. And surely someone took home a bouquet and enjoyed it over the subsequent course of days that were its useful life. I, at least, took home with me a view of a different kind of footprint -- and a larger instinct for the grace of living in community.
Stewardship and Sharing: what radical concepts.
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