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Just Another Essay



Poinsettias of Paradise

a post-Christmas mediation

Essay Posted January 15, 2008 by James E. Nelson

I stopped in to get a haircut last week. There was a line, so I took a seat across from the poinsettia plant to wait my turn. There was nothing to read and jazz was playing on the radio; it was ideal for allowing my mind to wander. And as it did, the poinsettia guided it back to Nevis in the West Indies where we spent Thanksgiving.

For most of us Americans poinsettias conjure up Christmas thoughts. Like sleigh bells and mistletoe, the only time we encounter poinsettias is right around the holidays, so our minds are accustomed to go in that direction.

Brenda looking at Poinsettias
Click on image for larger picture

But on Nevis I saw poinsettias in the wild. I didn’t even recognize them, but our taxi driver (who called himself Marlon Brando) pointed them out when we stopped at the Golden Rock Estate plantation to look around. There were three reasons I didn’t recognize them. First, in the wild, this poinsettia was a small tree (in contrast to its potted plant brethren we’re used to). Second, they aren’t particularly pretty. The leaves and flowers are widely spread and uneven making it look very much like a weed rather than a proper flower. Third, it was out of context. It wasn’t Christmas, so I wasn’t expecting to see poinsettias.

Poinsettias are a Mexican and Central American shrub (which, if left to itself, grows to the size of a tree), that is indeed more weed than flower. The Aztecs called them star flowers and cultivated them as a source of red dye. The flower’s association with Christmas goes back to a 16th century story about a peasant girl who had nothing to give to the Christ child at the Christmas mass. Doing what children across the world have done through time, she gathered weeds and placed them in front of the altar, as if they were beautiful flowers. But then the green leaves turned red and when the mass started, beautiful red flowers adorned the altar area of the church.

Starring at the poinsettia in the barber shop, my consciousness streamed to another unrelated “flowers around the altar” story that always triggers specific associations and memories, and has a Nevis connection.

Westminster Presbyterian Church in Lincoln, NE (where I served as Interim Assoc. Pastor in the early 90s) always had fabulous flower arrangements on the chancel for worship services. More often than not the arrangements featured a bird of paradise flower. The flowers were provided by a member of the church who owned a high end flower shop. He contracted to give the church two large flower arrangements for every service, with the condition that he could choose the flowers and arrangements. What we got were the weekly leftovers, the flowers that nobody wanted and therefore weren’t sold by the flower shop.

But the church member who donated the flowers knew that whatever appeared on the chancel would reflect on his business, so it was never just chrysanthemums nor daisies. We got spectacular arrangements that more often than not featured one or two bird of paradise flowers adorning the top. Certain people on staff complained loudly about the over-the-top flower arrangements during our weekly worship preparation meetings. The office manager, on the other hand, loved them. After one particularly memorable rant by the organist about the flower arrangements being distracting, the office manager shot back, “God forbid that people look at the flowers instead of you while you’re performing the voluntary and offertory.”

But the flowers were free and the donor was a member of the church, so we had fantastical flower arrangements every Sunday and were known as the church with the best altar flowers in town.

To this day, whenever I see a bird of paradise flower (which is rarely), I always think of Westminster and the anticipation of walking in the side door onto the chancel to see if this week’s flower arrangements—always a spectacle—were going to be monstrosities or stunningly beautiful.

Getting back into the taxi at the Golden Rock Estate to continue our tour around the island, I spied a bird of paradise flower in the wild growing out of a crevice in the rock wall. (The taxi was crowded up against the wall, so I didn’t get a picture of that flower.) Even though we were in paradise, getting the grand tour of the island, and on our way to Lord Horatio Nelson’s home, seeing the bird of paradise flower, I was immediately transported back to the Westminster chancel. I wondered what sort of flower arrangements they would have for Thanksgiving weekend services (because this tour was taking place the day before Thanksgiving).

But today I wasn’t looking at bird of paradise flowers, I was looking at a poinsettia plant in front of a bamboo screen at the hair salon in the middle of January. Even though there was snow outside, and a cold piercing wind was blowing out of the north, I was thinking about the Golden Rock Restaurant on the island of Nevis. Rather than today’s wind, I was remembering gentle trade winds, lilting accents, lush foliage . . .

. . . and the poinsettias of paradise: a mere weed, that in this frozen land are a joy-filled splash of “glory to God in the highest,” but in their natural paradise, so ordinary they were easily overlooked because of the glory emanating from everywhere.