Today we begin our sermon series on tree stories.
It's appropriate, especially for us living in Lincoln,
Nebraska, home of Arbor Day and the Arbor Day Foundation, which celebrates 150
years this very month. In preparation,
many of our fellow Lincoln faith communities have been participating in
something called "Faith to Forest" - an "initiative by and for
faith communities focused on the significant role of trees." I've also spent a fair amount of time in
meetings on zoom and on these grounds over the past three years about
trees. Our trees. Trees that are healthy, trees that have died,
trees that need pruned, trees that will soon be planted.
As someone who grew up in the open, flat land of the high
mountain desert in Idaho, there's something special to me about a line of trees
forming a windbreak at the edge of a field. Or the sight of the lone tree in a field, obviously not planted there
intentionally, but too striking to be taken down. When I moved from the wide open spaces and
lofty mountain grandeur that marks the landscape of southeast Idaho and moved
to Arkansas, it was the difference in the trees I noticed first. Densely wooded, you'd get sick if you looked
out the side windows. Big trucks carried
massive trees stacked as high as possible, and I found myself praying for
safety every time I followed one. In the
northeast, I lived close to a legendary tree.
A tree where George Washington and his weary soldiers rested after the
Battle of Princeton Junction. For almost
250 years AFTER the battle, the tree was nurtured and cared for, by its very
own society. I remember being in that
field, sitting under the tree, held together by steel rope and large bolts, in
wonder of the miracle of history and time and place and life. Shortly after that, a northeastern blizzard
and ice storm obliterated the tree. Damaged beyond repair, the whole community had an identity crisis. How will we remember that battle, if the tree
is gone? In Missisippi, the trees are as
thick as in Arkansas, covered with a vine called Kudzu. It hangs from the branches of the trees,
covering them like a blanket. Kudzu was
originally planted to stop soil erosion, and according to the website
"Treehugger" is taking over the Southern United States. It grows at the rate of one foot per day and
chokes out other plant species. It's a
problem. So are, in my opinion, the
large pecan trees that drop sap on porches, furniture, cars, and roofs. My opinion here matters, because I lived
under pecan trees. Some trees, I
believe, are just much better suited for an orchard. Much to my surprise and delight, peach trees
are not better suited for the orchard! I
have one growing in my backyard, and this year we saw our first
"crop" of peaches!
It won't be like this every week, I promise, one of us going
on and on about trees. We love trees! I am willing to go out on a limb and say that
every single one of us could tell an important life story, or happening, that
involves a tree. Maybe it was a
treehouse, or climbing a tree, or sitting in the shade underneath a tree, or
hugging a tree, or (sadly) watching a tree be cut down. It was during a conversation about trees that
the dots were connected, and we realized - tree stories happen all throughout
the Bible. Literally from the first
chapters of Genesis to the last chapter of Revelation - TREE STORIES!
These aren't all stories ABOUT trees. Many of them are stories that happen by the
trees, or in the trees, or where people are mistaken for trees. These are really stories of faith, our faith
as the people of God. What I hope we
find here is a similar feeling to sitting under the George Washington tree -
connected in time and place to the forebears of our faith. In many ways, the importance of trees is the
same as the importance of stories, a common thread that holds us
altogether.
How do you begin this story? The story of the world, humanity, God, faith? With trees.
Perhaps the first editing and assembly team for the book of
Psalms were taking cues from the first chapters of Genesis when they placed our
text for today at the beginning of the collection. It is believed this Psalm didn't even always
"get" a number, or a chapter, serving as the preamble for the Psalms,
the reason for assembling this book in the first place. Like any good preamble or introduction, this
Psalm tells us the importance of being rooted, grounded, like a tree that is
flourishing and well fed; as opposed to that outer part of a grain of wheat
that is so light it flies about in even the lightest wind - separated by the
source of its life.
The very first word - happy, blessed, seen, connected, could
be a play on words in the Hebrew - ashri and ashrahim - the second of these
words meaning walking, journeying, travelling. There is a movement through life, there is no doubt, and this opening
Psalm challenges its readers - how will you live your life? What will your life be like? A tree, planted by streams of water - or
chaff, blown about by the wind?
How do you become a "tree" exactly? As a yoga-advocate, I have actually practiced
being a tree - a lot. It involves a
solid planting, a steady leg, a strong core, and branches and limbs flexible
enough to move and adapt as needed. There's something, though, that trees can't do, that is worth mentioning
here because it keeps this Psalm from becoming a moralistic "do this for
an easy life, for wealth, love, and happiness without sadness, hurt, or
difficulty." This can't be a sort
of moralistic prescription for life because trees can't choose where they are planted. They must bloom where they are planted, if
they are to bloom.
Scholars assert that this preamble isn't moralistic, that
it's instead a wise proverb - or wisdom - handed down to us. That it encourages and instructs people of
faith to be rooted in the "laws" - or the teachings of God. Meditate upon them, we are told, and you will
be LIKE the tree that is planted from
the faithful who are gathering together these psalms - songs - of the faith,
and they know that the Psalms that follow include Psalms of praise, lament,
mourning, isolation, invitation, anger, joy, hurt, bewilderment, and yes, just
about every other experience, feeling, and emotion that makes us human. The secret that is being imparted here is not
that of happiness as we define it. In
fact, most all of the commentaries I read said this word used here - happy - is
really not the best interpretation of the Hebrew word "ashri". Instead, they prefer the word
"blessed", but find that word more troublesome even than happy. Bless-ed isn't the same as blest, and they
all agree that blest, or favored by God for an easy life, isn't part of the
deal here. Again, it's not moralistic -
do this, for an easy life; follow the other path and you'll be miserable. The message here is far from that - read and
meditate upon the ways of God revealed in the teachings, and you will know God
intimately.
Grounded. Like a
tree. Able to sustain the harshest of
winds and still provide shelter for the beauties of creation like the birds
that sing sweetly in the trees; produce fruit that is meaningful; and find an
intimate connection with the God of all creation. "Taken as a whole, the psalm serves as
an invitation to the entire psalter, holding before the community of faith —
and not just the individual — the hope and promise that blessings will come
from delighting in the instruction of the LORD."
It's an invitation to know God, through the words of the
Psalmists, through studying the ways of God, and God's relationship with God's
people. So here's some homework - an
assignment for us today, and this week, and for the days to come - meditate on
the words of the Psalms, and you will be like a tree planted by streams of
water. Amen.
Rev. Dr. Melodie Jones Pointon
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