Reflections Beneath the Cherry Blossoms on Time, Purpose, and Eternity
Brent Pollard
In a poem, a twelfth-century Buddhist monk named Hoshi Saigyo stated that the cherry tree, or Sakura, only had one problem: it caused people to gather. Saigyo was undoubtedly referring to the ancient practice of hanami, which translates as “flower viewing.”
Indeed, people have gathered to view the lovely sakura blooms since at least the Heian period (794–1185 AD). Regarding motivation, the Japanese value the ephemeral quality of all flowers, especially cherry blossoms.
Each year, the Japanese Meteorological Corporation releases a calendar that estimates the bloom dates for sakura, reflecting Japan’s cultural reverence for impermanence. While the residents of Japan’s northernmost climes, such as Hokkaido, usually have to wait until the end of April or the first of May to see sakura flowers, people in Okinawa come together as early as mid-January to view the hikanzakura—also known as the Taiwan cherry—blossoms. Outside of the cherry trees gifted from Japan within the Tidal Basin of Washington, D.C., or the same variety of cherries planted in sufficient numbers for Macon, Georgia, to host the International Cherry Blossom Festival, one wishing to emulate the practice of hanami might well substitute another flowering tree, such as the plum or dogwood.
Some Japanese are so committed to hanami that they will travel throughout Japan’s 47 prefectures to catch the various cherry blossom spots. As for what hanami entails beyond the camera, one brings all the accouterments of a ground picnic: blankets and bentos (lunch boxes). Should you wish to participate in the celebrations, please be advised that some locations are so popular that people camp out early to secure a prime viewing spot. The most beloved of these blossoms is the Somei Yoshino, or Yoshino cherry—a variety whose pale petals are as fleeting as they are breathtaking.
In Japanese culture, the cherry blossom season marks the beginning of numerous significant life transitions. Since the academic and fiscal years begin in the spring, sakura is often associated with new responsibilities, personal growth, and the transition into adulthood—a theme not unlike the “season for everything” described in Ecclesiastes 3. It is common in Japanese films or anime to show two characters—possibly destined lovers—meeting beneath the cherry trees, their encounter tinged with beauty and impermanence as delicate pink petals fall around them. Such moments may seem mystical, but they reflect a more profound truth: Life moves quickly, bringing opportunities we must seize or let slip away. For Christians, this symbolism echoes the call to live purposefully and steward each season well—particularly those that signal the beginning of new responsibilities or callings.
The well-known Latin phrase carpe diem, meaning “seize the day,” may serve as a fitting analogy for the Japanese passion for flower viewing. Those of us in Christendom can better understand this concept through the eyes of the wise King Solomon. In Ecclesiastes 9.10, Solomon says, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might; for there is no activity or planning or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol where you are going” (NASB95).
In other words, as the beauty of the sakura flower is fleeting, so too are our lives (see James 4.14). Though perhaps unspoken, the practice of hanami reminds participants of the impermanence of life, teaching us to hold what we have with reverence. In this way, hanami reflects a deeply rooted Zen sensibility that embraces transience not as a cause for sorrow but as an invitation to be fully present. For those of us shaped by Christian thought, this quiet awareness harmonizes with the wisdom of Ecclesiastes: that life, though brief, is to be lived with purpose, gratitude, and wholehearted devotion (see Ecclesiastes 12.13-14).
Given this potentially upsetting truth for some, it is clear how important it is to manage our time effectively. In the context of Ephesians 5.15-17, the Apostle Paul suggests that we make the most of our time by walking—or acting—wisely. Moses tells us in Psalm 90 that we are likely to live 70 years, but if we are strong, we may live to 80 (Psalm 90.10). Even so, there is no guarantee. Each of us has a set appointment with death (Hebrews 9.27) unless God’s will allows the second coming of Christ to occur first.
Thus, would you hoard the Gospel’s sacred treasure? How quickly could you overcome procrastination if you knew tomorrow would never come? How soon would you mend your broken relationships? Would you remain silent in the face of the wicked’s schemes? The questions linger—sobering, urgent, and real.
Indeed, the words of Laura E. Newell from the hymn “As the Life of a Flower” ring true: “As the life of a flower, as a breath or a sigh, so the years that we live as a dream hasten by; true, today we are here, but tomorrow may see just a grave in the vale, and a memory of me.”
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