Last week, Central Park in New York City was painted in fall finery of yellow, green, and red as the leaves of the trees welcomed the season of dormancy and stillness. Even in the face of the season of falling or dying, there is a vibrancy that not only expresses the gratitude for the season of growth now ending, but also gives a hint of what is yet to come in another time. The beautiful yellow leaves of the Gingko tree carpeted the grounds of the park in such a peaceful and patient way, it literally beaconed one to come and sit and smile and perhaps even shed a tear. There is such wonder in trees and earth and all life that depends upon it.
There is a pecan tree stump in our back yard, which marks the destructive effects of a past storm. The tree was cut down after it fell over, but the stump remains. In the brisk weather a couple weeks back, this same stump provided the healing warmth of fire that took the bite off of the nice crisp fall weather with which we were, if only for a short time, graced. The “fallen” sometimes provides the way into a newness that heals and heightens our awareness in a way that other circumstances may not avail. It is an admixture of vulnerability and appreciation that can sadden and enliven us simultaneously. It’s the alertness that Life seems to give even when it seems to be ending or fading. The vibrancy of Life seems to always arrive in some peculiar way alongside pain, suffering, sadness, and even death.
THE GIVING TREE, by Shel Silverstein, tells the simple and deep story of how the gift of Self to others is truly that which grants life, no matter what. It is the giving of Life that brings life. A stump to sit upon or to be burned for warmth expresses love in a way that opens up a space for the possibility of mutual love – vulnerability of self-giving thanksgiving for Life itself. This is eye-opening.
The imagery from the prophet Isaiah (IS 11: 1-10), in today’s opening reading, seems to be saying something similar…
“On that day, a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom. The spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him: a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength…”
One tiny sprout or shoot from a seeming dead lifeless stump is all it takes for hopeful waiting that something NEW is going to be born – mysterious but definitive! Is this not what Advent is about? This creating of spaciousness follows through in the Gospel’s connection (MT 3: 1-12) of John the Baptist as the voice crying in the desert, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths.” It’s not all about silence, peace and quiet though, as John points out. The “Spirit of the Lord” demands that we not rely necessarily on old reliable ways of dealing with things – the status quo – because nominal morality does not give life….
“And do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you, God can raise up children to Abraham from these stones. Even now the ax lies at the root of the trees. Therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”
The tree image here is tells us that newness will not necessarily bud from a stump but that perhaps the entire tree must be cut down to the root and set on fire, similar to how natural forest fires must occur for new life and growth to happen. The bud will come from breaking the roots that attempt to weight us down in those mindsets and frames of heart that are self-centered rather than self-giving.
The “ax-cut” on the roots serves to wake us up – sometimes quite painfully. Desolation and desert, destruction and lifelessness can then become the canvas upon which the Newness can be painted! This is the picture of what seems absurd perhaps…
“…the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.”
The beautiful newness is indeed a child beaconing us to follow into the mystery of compassionate wholeness where what seems to be foreign and frightening is indeed our friend!
Can we during this Holy season perhaps “feed” like John the Baptist on the strangeness that life may offer us (the locusts and wild honey), and find in the desert of fallen and burnt trees, the Stump that not only provides a lovely resting place but is in fact where New Life can bloom in weary hearts? This is my prayer!
May we wake up, even amidst pain, and hold lovingly, like the great branches of a mighty tree, all that perplexes us and allow the transformation that can be born…and be led by the little child from the stump to the bloom! Is this not Christ?
Peace
Thomas
“Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the earth.” – RUMI