Sermon: Be the Tree

Texts: 2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12; Luke 19:1-10

Date: November 4, 2007

Rev. Dee Eisenhauer, Eagle Harbor Congregational Church

            Do you have any friends that are trees?  I don’t mean trees in general; do you have warm feelings about any particular trees with whom you have become acquainted?  Trees you have climbed up or sat underneath or hugged or gazed upon that have become characters in your life story?

            The tree in Zacchaeus’ story might be merely a prop, or it might be a character.  Do you suppose that to Zacchaeus it was just any old tree that happened to be alongside the road, or was it a tree that he had a relationship with?  Perhaps he climbed up that tree regularly when he was a kid, during those moments when he wanted to get a way or just test out his monkey-skills.  Perhaps it was a tree that had fed him with fruit or olives.  Perhaps he had carved his initials and those of his sweetheart inside a heart on the trunk of that tree.  Or maybe the tree was a stranger to him.

            I found myself focusing on the tree because of an article on the lectionary and a song I found in my files.  I’ll get to the song in a moment.  The article contained a story I had never heard about Brother Lawrence, a mystical monk of the middle ages, who had been changed by his encounter with a tree.  His country had been involved in a protracted and brutal war in which Lawrence had served as a soldier.  Brother Lawrence saw—I mean, he really saw—a tree, a dead and ruined tree standing in the middle of a battle field.   At the moment he looked at that dead tree, he realized that he had been caught up in unconscionable destruction and he repented; he turned away from the life of a soldier.  Why he was able to endure the spectacle of war and its human carnage and not be moved, only to be converted by the sight of a ruined tree, God only knows.  Maybe unconsciously it reminded him of the Tree of Life and he made the connection that human destructiveness threatens not only humans, but life itself—who knows?  But that ruined tree became a character in his life, inspired a turning point.

            A more famous story involving a tree in a life change had to do with a young man named Sidhartha, known in later years as the Buddha.  You may know the outlines of his story, how he was motivated to seek enlightenment by the sight of human suffering from which he had been previously protected.   After years of searching for enlightenment, he sat down under the shade of a Bodhi Tree and resolved not to get up until he was enlightened.  And there under the tree, after being tested by evil spirits, he experienced Nirvana.  The site of the tree under which the Buddha found enlightenment is revered by Buddhists.  The tree that grows there now is believed to be the fourth direct descendant of that original tree.  The tree became a character in Sidhartha’s life.

            In the Zacchaeus story, whether or not Zacchaeus knew the tree beforehand, the tree plays an important part in the story.  He wants to see Jesus, but he can’t because he’s too short to see over the heads of the crowd gathered.  So, in spite of his age and station in life, he climbs up the sycamore tree to get a view.  He must have looked pretty odd, don’t you think; grown-ups don’t really belong in trees.  He probably huffed and puffed and scratched and scraped himself heaving his well-fed body up into that tree.  He probably had to tuck his long robe up into his belt to manage it, exposing his bony knees and scandalizing whoever was watching.  Boy, he must have really wanted to see Jesus!  He had to leave a lot of his dignity hanging on the lower branches. And he did see Jesus, and Jesus saw him.  Like Brother Lawrence, he was moved to repent, to entirely change his life right down to his wallet, pledging to give half his money to the poor and make restitution to those he had cheated.  Like the Buddha, he was enlightened—he had his eyes opened to a dimension of grace he had not experienced before.

            I just think it’s interesting that trees play a part in these compelling life changes.  But what really sparked my imagination was the song I told you I found in my files called “The Sycamore Song.”  It goes like this:

Once there was a tree that lifted

One small man up to see Jesus.

We can do this for each other,

Lift each other up,

Lift each other up.

I will be the tree that lifts you

Up to where you can see Jesus,

So that you can hear him calling.

I will be the tree,

I will be the tree.

I will be the tree that lifts you,

Lifts you on a branch of kindness,

So that you hear Jesus calling. 

I will be the tree,

I will be the tree.[1]

Isn’t that lovely?  I can’t think of a better pledge people of faith could make to each other as we covenant to be in community.  I might want to insert a couple of words, because I am so well acquainted with my imperfections, words like “try to.”  I will try to be the tree that lifts you up to where you can see Jesus.  But it doesn’t have quite the same elegance and conviction.

            On this All Saints Sunday, we are mindful of the saints in our lives who lifted us up where we could see Jesus, lifted us up where we could hear God calling.  Take a moment to call up into memory one of the folks who  helped you become a person of faith.  They were the trees that you needed, thanks be to God.

            Thinking about Brother Lawrence’s story, it occurs to me that even ruined, scarred, dead trees can play a role in positive change.  What I mean is, you might have some person in your life who has hurt or abused you in some way.  Or you might have a person in your life whom you have watched self-destruct through addiction or some other means.  You might have had a parent who never gave you the affirmation and encouragement you needed.  Human relationships can harm and scar us as well as help us.  But the harm done doesn’t have to be the last word as far as our own well-being is concerned.  You may recall someone’s indestructible grudge and resolve to be a person who is more forgiving.  You may look at what harm addiction has done in your family and decide to be clean and sober for your own health and for the sake of your loved ones.  You may recall an elder’s harmful words and make your mind up that you will never, ever say such a thing to your own children.  Like Brother Lawrence’s turnaround when he saw a ruined tree on the battlefield, we can redeem some of the hurt in our lives by allowing such experiences to motivate us to do better.  Negative examples are still examples, after all.  Can you think of a person in your life who has ended up serving you in this way?  Even though it sounds strange to say so, thanks be to God, who does not leave us wounded but helps us find healing, insight,  and new strength.

            It’s much more pleasant to think about positive saints in our lives.  I spent a little time on my computer looking at the Bodhi tree revered by the Buddhists, a lovely tree that has wide-spreading branches and leaves.  The shade of such a tree must be a wonderful refuge on a hot day, with the leaves rustling softly in the breeze.  There are people in our lives who have provided us with shelter and protection that afforded us the opportunity to do the growing we needed to do.  These are the people with whom we can be completely ourselves, not having to put on a front or pretend to be someone else.  These are the people whose presence and strength have given us the strength to do what needs to be done.  These are the people who have been deeply rooted in their own values, teaching by example, being trustworthy.  Can you think of a saint in your life who has served you in this way, a person in whose presence you have been sheltered and nurtured?  Thanks be to God.

            Then there are the saints in our lives who have, like Zacchaeus’s tree, lifted us up to where we can hear and see Jesus.  These are the teachers of faith, those who have led us and challenged us to see God’s activity in the world.  These are the people who have encouraged us to live up to our God-given potential.  They are the people who have taught us moral and ethical standards and persuaded us to make them a part of our own lives.  These are people who have inspired us by their own integrity, courage, righteousness and generosity to follow their example.  Can you think of saints like this in your life?  Thanks be to God.

            Now as we relate to our companions on this journey of faith, we “become the trees” for some of our fellow travelers.  I hope none of us are trying to be the first kind of tree, the ruined, scarred wreck of a life that warns others not to do as we have done.  If we do have remorse about setting a negative example at some point, I believe we can help God redeem the situation by offering a sincere apology to the persons we have hurt and offering our repentance to God and others.  That’s repentance, not just feeling sorry—the kind of repentance that Zacchaeus experienced that inspired him to put his economic life in order, the kind of repentance that Brother Lawrence experienced that called for a new profession and a deeper devotion to God. 

            We may “be the trees” for others in more active, positive ways.  You each are a character in many people’s lives.  How are you providing the kind of love, acceptance, and forgiveness to people that nurtures them to health and wholeness?  Are you living as if you are deeply rooted in your values so that others can find strength in the shade of your life?  Are you actively challenging those who look to you for guidance, be they young people or peers, so that they grow toward their God-given potential?  Are you lifting people up on branches of kindness and justice so they can get a God’s eye view of the world?  Here’s the last verse of that song:

May the church lift up all people

Who are trying to see Jesus,

Lift them up on faithful branches,

Let us be the tree,

Let us be the tree.

[1] “The Sycamore Song” Words by Richard Leach, music by Andrew Donaldson.  Words copyright Selah Publishing Company, 2000, music copyright Andre Donaldson, 1999.