There are lots of familiar images in the readings for today. In reading both the text from Jeremiah and the psalm it’s easy for me to see a tree planted near water “stretching out its roots to the stream” (JER) and “yielding its fruit in due season” (Psalm 1) because a river runs through the back of our property and we are blessed with many trees that will be leafing out within a couple of months. There are some spring days when we worry about the river overflowing its banks but rushing water or damage to the trees is rare. It is miraculous to me to walk around in the spring and observe the growth that has taken place – without any fanfare, silently and imperceptibly over the winter.
Both Jeremiah and the psalmist are comparing us to these trees. Of course there are broken branches in some cases – usually from winter wind – but mostly we can count on the strength of the roots and the trunks of the trees to persevere and grow. It gives me hope to consider this comparison, especially when I am not feeling very effective or prolific in projects or when the strictures of winter seem too harsh. All I need to do is look up from my typing and see the tree outside my window standing tall and silent against the morning sky. Two bluejays have just landed in its branches without any assistance from the tree itself.
So it is with my life (and yours). A readiness to offer space for another is enough as we wait for a later recognition of the growth that manifests even just because of the waiting.
During last evening’s gathering of “No Ordinary Women” (named for the book No Ordinary Time by Jan Phillips) we recognized that each of us, in looking back over our lives, had evolved in ways we had not foreseen our early years. It’s always interesting to ask children the question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Usually, the younger the child, the more fanciful the response – and it rarely touches on what really happens as they mature. Only one of us touched on what would be an answer to that question, i.e. career or profession, but we all agreed that we had evolved personally in ways we might not have expected as we walked our life path. Life has a way of forming us through events and relationships that sometimes seem random but can be quite formative as we live into and then reflect on them and their impact on us. For example, I thought I would be a high school French teacher all my working life. At this point, I have not lived that role since 33 years ago and have worn six different hats since I left that first position!
I doubt I will ever read Psalm 119 from beginning to end in one sitting. It’s the longest one, 176 verses in all. Each section begins with a letter of the Hebrew alphabet in succession, rather like our singsong game of “A, B, C, D…” where we learned to expand and fill in with words like “A my name is Alice, my husband’s name is Al, we come from Alaska and we sell Artichokes.” (Next person) “B my name is Bertha…” (Goodness! It’s been a long time since I thought of that! What a wonder that my mental rolodex flipped it out without hesitation!)
As the temperature struggled to get up to 60 degrees (F) yesterday, I walked outside and noticed also that it was time to cut back plants that had flowered so beautifully, yet briefly, earlier in the summer. It feels already as if the autumn is upon us although the prediction is that we may return to milder temperatures in the coming week, as is often the case – ironically – when children return to school. I feel as if being outside tending to the earth would be a noble and restorative occupation today.
I’m thinking about laundry this morning, specifically the necessity of working really hard to get spots off clothes – usually new ones that I’ve just worn for the first or second time. It would be nice to just drop a little bleach on the salad dressing or beet juice or whatever has created the offending stain, but that only means total ruin of the garment. It might have helped the biblical fuller though – the one from the third chapter of Malachi (3:2) where “the one who is to come” will be like the refiner’s fire or like the fuller’s lye. I remember from my childhood that lye soap was the strongest kind, used in the big laundry sink where clothes got really scrubbed on the washboard. It’s a vague memory, blotted out by modern conveniences like a wringer-less washing machine and every kind of spot remover possible to human invention. Our lives have been made easier in lots of ways but it would be unfortunate to lose the meaning of this analogy in Malachi’s prophecy.
Today’s gospel from Luke (13:18-21) has Jesus talking about mustard seeds and leaven as things that grow or cause expansion, often without notice. On occasion many years ago, I was charged in the convent kitchen with “punching” the dough a few times in its process of rising to get the air out until it’s ready to be baked. I know from that practice the importance of the yeast as an essential ingredient in the success of the bread-making process. Just a little packet does the job and without it, the whole enterprise falls flat – literally.
It is often said that “life imitates art.” This morning’s gospel reminded me in a nearly perfect analogous situation that sometimes “life imitates gospel.” We had in our yard a beautiful hibiscus tree, a memorial to my father, that was moved early in the spring of this year out of necessity. As the year progressed I was concerned to see that it produced no flowers – even no leaves – so it seemed doomed. When our handyman asked if he should cut it down I used almost the exact words of the gospel, saying: Leave it for this year. I shall cultivate the ground around it; it may flower in the future. (LK 13:8-9) I must admit that my hope was not strong but, miraculously, just last month we saw a bit of green on a couple of branches and even a few buds. Two weeks ago, during a Wisdom School at our retreat center, I asked a participant from Maine who is an expert on all things natural and agrarian to look at it. She assured me energetically that the tree would survive and even thrive next year, telling me what nourishment would help if I’d just dig around the base and add what she wrote down for me. I don’t know what happened to the poor fig tree in the gospel but I do trust that I will see the beauty of hibiscus again next year.
