Pomegranate Seeds

Bells and pomegranates alternated around the hem of the robe

to be worn for ministering…

Exodus 39:26 NIV 

One morning I was preparing breakfast—our typical yogurt and oatmeal concoctions. In the midst of these daily fixings I was engaged in an internal dialogue and contemplation. For weeks my prayers centered and pivoted on asking God for something new. I knew my comfort zone had grown far too broad. Much of what I did stemmed out of habit and routine. Not all habit and routine is negative or undesirable, but the Spirit was nudging, and so far I wasn’t budging. I just didn’t think I was ready for any kind of risk; any kind of out-of-the-box assignment was a little much right now.

Or so I thought. I wasn’t expecting the Spirit to speak to me that morning. I didn’t plan on being floored with such deep symbology. I didn’t expect to suddenly feel as if my skin were far too tight. I simply planned to eat my yogurt. 

In late autumn the pomegranates are ready for harvest. They begin to appear in the fruit bins and baskets at the groceries. The first time I see them in the season I get so excited.

Pomegranates are history, myth and folklore. In a well-known myth Persephone swallowed pomegranate arils and they doomed her to months spent in the underworld with Hades. There are some who believe the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was a pomegranate. Pomegranates were used to create fermented drinks and garnishes. In the Old Testament God used the pomegranate to adorn the curtains of the Tabernacle. He had artists embroider or attached them along the hem of the priests’ robes. Solomon commissioned artists to carve them in the stone of the Temple. Pomegranates have an average of six hundred arils (seeds) in each. Devout Jews believe that there are 613 and that these seeds are symbolic of the commandments in the Torah. Even today the pomegranate is hailed as a wonder fruit.

That morning back in the fall I was not contemplating these things. No, nothing so deep or spiritual. I just wanted this tangy zip of fruit in my yogurt.

Have you ever opened a pomegranate? Not an easy task. There are even You Tube videos offering instructions of the best methods. I have my own way, and that morning I opened my pomegranate and the seeds spilled out onto the plate.

The under-the-counter light played and bounced on the pomegranate seeds. I noticed that the juice pooled darkly. I stood spellbound. Only the hum of the refrigerator and my husband’s shower broke the quiet. I stared at those seeds.

In the space of those few moments I had an epiphany.

Dictionary.com defines epiphany as: a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.

I looked at those spilled, dark red seeds and thought about the perfect formation of each one. Each one filled with just a taste of juice that holds a sharp tang and flavor. Each one fits exactly against the other, covered by an ivory membrane and encased in the deep, rich red leather-like peel.

In the simple, common and everyday occurrence of preparing breakfast I saw in that pomegranate the women in the Body of Christ.

I remember thinking, oh, if only they were multi-colored. What a symbol this could be.

My world honed down to the plate in front of me. Even narrower to the pomegranate resting on it.

They do not need to be different colors, Tamera. For Jesus’ blood washes you. My Son’s blood covers all of you.

My breath hesitated in my lungs. I think I exhaled, but couldn’t quite inhale.

I died in that brief moment. Died to my own selfish self-preservation. All that I had been ignoring, resisting, fighting and battling deflated. The risk of stepping outside my beautiful, comfortable landscape became inevitable.

If ever an idea came to me fully birthed this was it. I could have dismissed it. I could have put those dark red arils in my yogurt and gone on with my morning. And I would have been one of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s blackberry pickers.

“Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”
― Elizabeth Barrett Browning

But God speaks everyone’s language. And that morning he spoke to me. Forever and always I will see a pomegranate and be reminded of the Body of Christ. Especially women. We are covered in the blood of Jesus, nestled together under the covering of the Spirit and wrapped in the protection of God.

That morning I saw all of you. You. You who are here reading these words on this website.

A hundred women’s faces flashed before me. They strolled across the screen of my inner eyes. Bigger than life. As if the Spirit were hovering over the iconic emblem of each of you.

Ordinary women. Living phenomenal lives.

Because of grace. Because of mercy. Because of love.

Women I know. Personally. Women who have held my hands. Who have prayed for me. Who have blessed me. Who have counseled me. Who have encouraged me. Who have chastised me. Who have shown me the Kingdom. Who have loved me.

That morning I knew I needed to tell their stories. I wanted you to hear their narratives.

I opened the pomegranate.  

And one by one I will introduce you to God’s beautiful, glorious pomegranate seeds.