How many of you have ever climbed a
tree? If you’re comfortable doing
so, I invite you to close your eyes and remember that experience. Remember where you were. Remember how old or young you were. Are you alone or accompanied by friends
or family? Is your climbing quick
and purposeful . . . as if trying to reach a destination? Do you move slowly, steadily, savoring
the climb? Up in the tree, do you
linger or scurry back down quickly? How does it feel to remember—to be back in
that place and time, climbing the tree?
If you closed your eyes, you might want to open them and come back to
the here and now.
When
I was a child, we had a mature china berry tree in our backyard. It stood right next to the fence
separating our yard from the couple who lived next door. It stood about 2/3 the distance of the
yard away from the back of our house.
While my mom could see the tree from the kitchen, she would have to
actually stand at the window to see me in it. So, the tree offered some measure of privacy. It stood opposite our garage, a separate
building behind our house. The
lowest tree limb was pretty high up, and I was probably 8 years old before I
was tall enough to jump up and grab onto it. So, climbing the tree was accompanied by a sense of
satisfaction built up over years of hopeful anticipation. Holding onto that limb, wrapping my
legs around the trunk, shimmying up to the limb and then hoisting my body up—the
1st time I climbed the tree, I was perfectly content to just sit on
that lowest limb—leaning against the tree for awhile. As I grew a little taller and older, I would sometimes climb
one or two more limbs up—but there were only a few limbs strong enough to hold
me and long enough for me to sit on comfortably. The tree was tall and its
canopy fanned out into small, limbs with lots of leaves.
Sitting
up in the tree, I had a different perspective on the world. I could see into the Corleys’ yard next
door and onto their back covered porch.
I could see across their yard and over the Taylor’s fence. Everybody
else in the neighborhood had a chain link fence. But the Taylors had a privacy fence. From the tree, I could spy on Tammy and
her little brother, Joey. From my perch in the tree, I could see around the
corners of our garage and note when my mom stepped out the backdoor to take
care of laundry or put something in the trash or stand at the other fence and
visit with Mrs. Setzer. Sitting up in the tree, I had a different perspective
on the world. I could see the
inter-connectedness of people in my neighborhood. Leaning against the tree trunk, I felt supported and
safe. In the canopy of the tree, I
was cooled by shade and breeze. It
was a comfortable place, a quiet haven where I could be alone—when I wanted
to. I enjoyed climbing that
tree.
The
phrase “rooted and grounded” in verse 17 of today’s text reminds me of a tree,
and adding love to the phrase—“rooted and grounded in love” reminds me of
God. So, this week, I’ve been
thinking a lot about God and trees—comparing the two. God is like a mighty live oak tree. (Yes, I’m using a Texas variety—one I’m
familiar with.) When I see the
beauty and grandeur of centuries-old live oaks dotting the landscape near my
hometown, I think of God and the beauty and grandeur of all of God’s
creation. Like these old live oaks,
God has wisdom born of years and experience. Sturdy and strong, and with deep roots, God and the live
oaks can weather changes. Like the tree’s wide expanse of branches reaching to
the sky, the length and width, the
height and depth of God’s love is wide-armed and overwhelming. Just as when we rest on a tree’s limbs,
under its canopy of leaves, we are safe—safe from predators, safe from the
heat, safe from prying eyes—we are safe resting in God’s loving embrace. Just as when we are high in the tree’s
canopy, we can look at the world from a different perspective, upheld by God’s
strength we see the world and perhaps our lives from a different perspective—releasing
our worries and concerns to God.
God
is like a mighty live oak tree.
With roots that fan out, God sends out shooters—new, young seedlings and
saplings. Connected to those deep
roots, the shooters, the saplings get nourishment from the tree and the soil
and the sun. Sheltered from
buffeting storms, cooled by the shade, they may survive extreme
conditions. Whether we picture
ourselves as the saplings shooting up from God’s roots or as the people resting
in God’s limbs, we are connected to this One whose all-encompassing love
provides for, protects, nourishes, and renews us.
God
is like the tree in the story I read to our children—The Giving Tree. God
welcomes us at each stage in our lives to loving, life-giving relationship. At each phase of our life, God stands
ready to give to us—to give us companionship, nourishment, rest, purpose—to give
us grace. Even when we accept all
God offers, taking and forgetting from whom we have received, God waits. God waits for us to return and seek and
receive again. Well, God
doesn’t just wait. Through the
power of the Holy Spirit, God moves in us to draw us back to God. Wherever we are, God stands ready to
give all—just like the tree in the story. God stands ready to give us all that
we need to be drawn into relationship with God. God does not hold anything back. For, in becoming human—living and dying a life of obedience and service—God,
the Redeemer, the One we call Jesus the Christ—gives God’s self for us.
In
today’s text Paul speaks to the entire Ephesian Christian community. When Paul says, “I pray that . . . you may be strengthened in your inner being . . . and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in
love.
18
I pray that you may have the power
to comprehend . . . what is the breadth and length and height and depth, 19
and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness
of God,”[1] the “you”
is plural. Paul desires that the
Christian community be rooted and grounded in God’s love—not rooted and
grounded in the cosmopolitan culture of Ephesus, not rooted and grounded in the
Greek philosophy of the time, not rooted and grounded in the power of the Roman
empire. It was not then nor is it
now easy to live lives rooted and grounded in God’s love. We hear of senseless violence and we
are afraid. Our culture praises
independence, so we hide our vulnerabilities from each other. Subtle messages from every direction
tell us we are what we own, so we seek to acquire rather than to relate. Tragedy occurs, and we lose hope. We
are at risk of living a life rooted and grounded in fear and self-preservation. But God desires us to be rooted and
grounded in God’s love. In God’s
eyes we are saplings firmly planted in the soil of God’s love, saplings
fertilized by God’s word, saplings hydrated by the waters of the Holy Spirit,
saplings whose leaves are drinking in the Son-light. We are saplings growing into strong, sturdy trees.
Yes,
this week, I’ve been thinking a lot about God and trees—comparing the two. While we can think of God as like a tree—to get a handle on who God
is and what God is like—we know that God is not actually a tree. God may be like the Giving Tree, but God is not the Giving Tree. God may be like a mighty oak, but God is not a mighty oak. Who is God? God is the all-powerful, all-loving,
all-forgiving creator who can work in us and through us to accomplish God’s
good purposes for the world.
Setting our sights on God, aligning our will with God’s, connecting our
hearts to God’s—we can live our lives with great hope. Hope for reconciliation, hope for
justice, hope for revival, hope for the future—our futures individually and our
future collectively. May we be
rooted and grounded in God’s love—with full assurance that God is able
to accomplish in us far more abundantly anything than we could even
imagine.
Let us pray:
Lord, may we grow with you, new shoots
reaching out, soaking up your light and warmth. Lord, may we grow with you in all seasons, and in all
conditions. Lord, may we grow with
you and bring forth fruit that is pleasing to you—from our hands reaching out
to offer others your sustenance.
Lord, may we grow with you.
Amen.
Tree picture
from:
http://images.clipartof.com/small/71862-Mature-Green-Tree-With-Deep-Roots-Poster-Art-Print.jpg
prayer inspired by a prayer from: A
Place for Prayer. http://revgalprayerpals.blogspot.ca/
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