Greek mythology may not be a guide to the Christian life, but I appreciate the intelligent commentary that ancient stories offer. Recently I was reminded of Narcissus, the young man who neglected all other loves and physical needs so he could endlessly look at his own reflection. In the most common version of the story, Narcissus finally dies while he sits by the reflection pool: the tragic and ironic conclusion to his selfish love.
The old black comedy still applies (perhaps especially applies) to our modern ego and pride. If we want to cultivate humility these days, we have more than swimming pools and mirrors to contend with.
We are image bearers of God. However, with the help of our phones and social media, many of us spend more time with our reflections than even Narcissus, certainly more than people at any other time in civilization. The overwhelming most of American adults now own smartphones. And with billions of mobile devices in circulation around the world, the situation is the same in many others countries. We are a selfie society, encouraged to view and post about ourselves frequently, in the hope of attracting more likes and boosting our “brand.”
We forget the danger of Narcissus. But we also forget the grace that is expressed in his story: after Narcissus dies, he turns into a flower.
Late last summer, I gave a concert at a rustic flower farm in Washington state, when the dahlias were in full bloom. Rows and rows of spectacular pom-poms swayed like velvet fireworks exploding from their sturdy green stems. With guitar, piano and drums, we sang at sunset under a white canopy tent, the community and musicians coming together to raise our voices over the flowers. We share a palpable awareness of God’s hospitality. It was like a church in the country.
After the concert, a girl brought me a handful of freshly cut, bouncy flowers: purple blooms, pink shapes that looked like messy carnations, anemone dahlias layered with lavender on white. I was delighted with them and their kindness. We talked a little about how each one is varied and vibrant like us, reflecting the artistry of God.
Jesus said to his friends: “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They neither work nor spin. However, I tell you that not even Solomon with all his splendor was clothed like one of them” (Luke 12:27).
Flowers do not consider themselves; They simply are. Tom Petty portrayed them as a symbol of a carefree existence when he sang, “You belong with the wildflowers.” These beauties bloom and dance with the wind and delight the Lord, us and the bees. If that’s what God does with the grass of the field, Luke suggests, how much more could he do with us?
In the myth, Narcissus has a sad end. But maybe he’s also a mercy.
Grace is like a viewfinder that helps us know where to look, not at our reflections, but at the glory of God as it appears even in our ordinary lives. The heavens are speaking of that glory even now (Ps. 19), and seeing it can help us find our place as a significant part of God’s beautiful creation.
Fresh flowers may wilt, but they are no less because of their limits. When I close my eyes, I can still see those dahlias in my mind, and they make me wonder: What flower has God designated to delight me right now? What song should I sing this season? And who is the Heavenly Source that hymn writer Anne Steele rhymes about?
You beautiful Source of true delight, whom I worship unseen! Reveal your beauties to my eyes, So that I can love you more.
To see only ourselves and spend our lives captivated by our own radiance is, in effect, to die. And death is always a tragedy. To see God, however, is to see the resurrection and new life.
Resurrection life flourishes by grace. It frees us to consider ourselves less.
When we look to Jesus to more fully remember our true value, we free ourselves from vain self-reflection, knowing instead that we belong to the only Source of true delight. We can give ourselves away, like songs in a dahlia field. We can multiply wonderfully without needing to contemplate our own beauty, because we are remembered and seen by those who matter most.
Sandra McCracken is a singer-songwriter and author in Nashville. She is also the host of The slow work podcast produced by CT.
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