Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books

In the luminous words of Martin Luther, the great reformer and theologian, he wrote: “Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.” In this single line lies the deep wisdom of both faith and creation — the union of divine revelation and the natural world. Luther, who devoted his life to the Word of God, did not confine truth to parchment or sermon; he saw it also in the living world, in the rhythm of the seasons, in the birth and renewal that forever repeat. For him, the resurrection was not a distant doctrine, but a living miracle that unfolded before human eyes every year, when winter’s death yielded to the gentle awakening of spring.

When Luther spoke of the promise of resurrection, he meant more than the return of life after death — he meant the assurance that hope, once buried, will rise again. Just as the frozen earth yields to the warmth of sunlight, so too does the human soul, long pressed by despair, find renewal in divine mercy. Every budding leaf, every blade of grass breaking through the frost, becomes a scripture in its own right — written not in ink, but in light and life. To those who look with eyes of faith, nature is a second Bible, whispering the same truth that the first proclaims: that life conquers death, and that creation itself participates in God’s eternal rhythm of renewal.

The origin of Luther’s words lies in his profound belief that God reveals Himself not only through the written Word, but through the world He made. During the sixteenth century, as the Church emphasized authority and tradition, Luther returned to the heart of Scripture and to the simplicity of creation. In both, he found the same message: that God’s love is not confined to the altar or the page, but breathes through every living thing. In his walks through the countryside of Wittenberg, Luther would often reflect upon the beauty of trees in bloom and fields reborn after winter. To him, the cycle of nature mirrored the divine drama — the crucifixion of winter giving way to the resurrection of spring.

History offers many echoes of this vision. Consider the life of St. Francis of Assisi, centuries before Luther — a man who saw in every flower, every bird, and every stream the presence of the Creator. To Francis, as to Luther, the natural world was not mere decoration, but testimony. When Francis preached to the birds or called the sun his brother, he was not lost in fancy; he was proclaiming that the sacred dwells in all things. The truth of the resurrection, then, is not locked away in churches or scriptures alone — it breathes through every sunrise, every seed that bursts from the dark soil toward the light.

To live with this understanding is to walk in awe and gratitude. For every spring is a sermon, every leaf a word of comfort, every dawn a sign that God has not abandoned His creation. The believer who learns to see the divine in the natural finds no contradiction between faith and reason, scripture and soil. Rather, he sees how they intertwine — how the eternal and the earthly meet in every living thing. The same power that raised Christ from the tomb also stirs in the sap that rises within the trees, in the flowers that break through the snow, in the heart that dares to hope again after sorrow.

The lesson, then, is clear and holy: seek the resurrection not only in doctrine, but in life itself. When despair closes in, look to the world around you — to the trees greening once more, to the rivers freed from ice, to the fields that awaken after long silence. These are not coincidences of nature, but the handwriting of the divine upon the earth. The Lord who restores the seasons will also restore the soul. And in every ending, He plants the seed of a new beginning.

So, dear listener, remember Luther’s wisdom when your heart grows weary. Step outside, and let the wind speak to you of resurrection. Let the leaf in spring remind you that nothing truly dies in God’s creation — it only sleeps until love awakens it again. For the promise written in every leaf is eternal: that even in our darkest winter, life will return, and that the same hand that brings forth spring will one day bring forth the everlasting morning of the soul.