Readings for Epiphany 6C: Jeremiah 17:5-10, 1 Corinthians 15:12-20, Luke 6:17-26, Psalm 1
The psalm today talks about “trees planted by streams of water, bearing fruit in due season, with leaves that do not wither; everything they do shall prosper.” The water, here, is the law of the Lord, which might be better translated the Word of the Lord, the Torah, Scripture. So life and abundance comes from being connected to that lifegiving stream of water, having our roots always tapped into that source of our life and our faith.
When I read that line, I immediately thought about the oak tree at Grace Church in St. Helena, California, where I served until I came here a few months ago. There is this great big tree in the courtyard, enormous, one of the biggest oak trees I’ve ever seen, and very old. It’s on Spring Street, named for the spring that now flows underneath it. For many years, it was outside the door to the little stone chapel that was Grace Church, and then the congregation grew and wanted to expand its building, and they were going to cut down the tree to do it. And the town revolted because it was such a great tree, and they protested and blocked the building plans, so instead, Grace built the new church campus around this tree, which now shades most of the courtyard.
Last summer, we worshipped outside, mostly, under the tree. But as summer went on, the oak tree started to drop acorns like crazy—like, every few seconds there would be another one. And they were kind of pointy acorns, and the tree is very tall, so if you sat in the courtyard, you legitimately worried that one could fall and lodge in your head.
And after that started happening, a huge branch eventually fell, luckily in the night when no one was there. And then a few days later, another branch fell and crushed the corner of the columbarium. And there were the acorns still, so we moved worship into sort of an awkward oblong rectangle so that everyone could be under a roof overhang, and whoever was presiding would be the only one at risk of being crushed by a giant branch falling, which we figured wasn’t super likely, though it would be a very dramatic way for a service to end.
At this point, we started to say to the tree, whenever we talked about it- we are listening, tree! You can stop throwing acorns and branches at us to get us to listen! So we got a little help listening.
The arborist came and looked at the tree, and said that one of the problems was the drought of the past years had drained enough of the aquifer and the underground stream that was the tree’s taproot that the branches had become brittle, especially in places where they had previously been scarred or damaged by bad pruning.
Opinions varied about what all the acorns meant. Some people thought that the huge number of acorns meant that a very wet winter was coming, and so the tree knew it would be a good year for new baby trees to sprout. Others thought that it meant a drought year was coming, and so the tree needed to put out a lot of acorns if there was any chance of one surviving.
I spent a good deal of time in my last months there thinking about the tree, even sitting with it, at a safe distance. It felt, basically, like a giant overwhelming metaphor, at first. Drought, caused by climate change, and water overuse were causing all of this. The tree was falling apart, just like the world. People had made bad choices for generations, our generation was making bad choices still, and now everything was falling apart. They were giant problems that I did not have the power to solve alone, or even much of an idea of how to do anything to impact, but that were disrupting my life in ever more dangerous ways.
But as I sat with the tree, I also noticed its beauty and its life. It was still very much alive, with green leaves, and squirrels and birds moving around it. It gave shade when the sun was hot, which we needed to gather outside and keep each other safe in the pandemic. I had always felt fond of the tree, but more in a, like, wow, that’s a cool big tree in our courtyard way. I recognized that I would not have fought to save it in 2005 when they wanted to cut it down to make the simplest version of the building, but that maybe some 2021 version of me was learning why someone would fight about it, was becoming the kind of person who understood why this tree was important. The tree had helped us be resilient and flexible and keep each other safe that whole
summer, even when it was hard, even when it felt impossible. Those moments of reflection were quiet, and peaceful, which I needed. Sitting with that tree, even when it made me notice all the giant problems of the world that it represented, also brought me peace, weirdly.
And so back to the psalm- the happy people who are dwelling in the Word of the Lord, who have their roots deep into the lifegiving word of God- what happens when something changes, and the water and the tree are no longer making the connection, when the tree can’t draw water from that stream anymore? I mean, the tree starts falling apart, for one thing, and even becomes dangerous, when before it was a source of life and goodness for other creatures.
Like with the oak tree at Grace, I think there are changes and forces in the world right now that can make it a lot harder to tap into that source of life, the practices of connecting to God, to God’s Word. We’ve been worshipping from home, singing behind masks, we can’t eat together, we’re exhausted, the world is full of bad news that is hard to interpret and huge problems that are hard to make meaning from. I think one of the invitations of this time is to pay extra attention to our souls, to make sure that we are reaching our roots down into the water, so that we have water for our spirits. But I don’t want to pretend that that is easy or simple.
And I think another invitation is to not be afraid to sit with the things that are falling apart. Scripture certainly isn’t afraid of talking about difficult things, about death and violence and civilization crumbling. In fact, scripture is actually largely about times in the life of communities when things were really tough. I think, paradoxically, that when we sit with those things, when we don’t look away, we can become more open to perceiving where there is life, and hope, and meaning. We can learn more about what’s worth fighting for. We can appreciate the life that is here, now, and what is beautiful about it. All that can be true at once.
The Gospel today I think brings together some of the extremes of human life. The words for blessed and for woe in this passage are different than some of the other times these words appear in Scripture. Their sense isn’t that there’s some person in the sky sending good things and curses down to earth, depending on the circumstances. Blessed are you might have a sense that is more like- you’re a person we should look to right now. Woe has a sense that’s more like- watch out, be careful, be warned. When you combine that with Luke’s general theme of everything being upside down in the kingdom of God, maybe a way to read this is that, if you’re going through difficult circumstances, God is with you in a special way. And if everything is good, and you have plenty to eat and money and a good reputation and happiness, then be careful, because those are the times when you forget to look for God. Maybe those are the times when you think you can cut down the oak trees and use up all the water and forget that those things have consequences. It’s at those times that we need to remember what’s difficult, that we need to look toward those who have experienced or who are experiencing hunger and poverty and exclusion, because that kind of looking will turn us back toward the salvation that is from God, and not from material wealth and comfort and worldly belonging.
But when things are difficult, when times are hard, maybe those are the times to notice God’s presence. Not to avoid what’s hard, or pretend it isn’t hard. But to know that in those times, God is speaking, God is teaching, God is near. That even when the trees themselves seem to be falling apart, there is still life, there is still goodness, there is still God. We can continue to seek out that connection with God, even when we have to stretch our roots in new ways to do so.
I think the other invitation is to grapple with the challenge of regret. Regret takes us out of the present as well. Had those who came before us made better choices. Had we been able to see what the tree was telling us before, had we just been smarter or worked harder, none of this would have happened. I think there is a trap there, too, that makes it harder to see the life that exists now, even in the midst of struggle and huge challenges. I read a blessing that captured this practice of sitting with the tree, of sitting in the present, by Kate
Bowler, an author who has been through some hard times. It’s called “a blessing for loving what is, instead of what could have been.” I want to end with it, because I think we need it, as we go through this time of sitting with what is, in all that is hard and beautiful about it, accepting that this is our present, a terrible and beautiful gift, that God is present with us in it.
A blessing for loving what is, instead of what could have been, by Kate Bowler
from https://katebowler.com/blessings/a-blessing-for-loving-what-is-instead-of-what-could-have-been/
Blessed are you who are attempting to love what is here, what is now.
You who recognize the wonder and pain looking at life’s rearview mirror, at those things that are gone.
The person you were, the quickness and sharpness of a body that didn’t tire as quickly.
The relationships and jobs and aspirations. The people you can’t get back.
Blessed are you, holding the gentle compassion that wraps memories in grace.
And blessed are you, turning your gaze from imagined futures that seem to call out with an unnecessary pressure and an urgency that wants to rob you of what joys still exist.
And oh how blessed are you, drawing a tidy boundary around today and calling it home.
For yesterday is a memory, tomorrow a mirage.
Blessed are you, recognizing that the rightsizing of reach and possibility is the heart’s ease of God’s good counsel.
Opening your eyes to all that his here.
Let its beauty seep into your pores and whisper words of peace
Receive and welcome reality in its completeness, giving over to God all that is beyond your power to change or understand or return to once again.
And in the meantime, embracing and loving the life you have, the family you have, the pleasures that are yours. Right now.