Ironwoods and Sycamores (An Oasis in the Wilderness)
Our Old Testament reading (Jeremiah 17:5-10) and our Psalm (Psalm 1) for this week both talk about a tree planted near water. This is a beautiful image. The tree is always healthy because it doesn’t need to rely on the rain to nourish it. During dry spells, the water in the ground is enough to thrive. I’ve actually experienced something like this in person. Last year, when my friends and I were backpacking in the Superstition Wilderness in Arizona, we spent three nights in this arid, rugged wilderness. For the most part, we saw cacti, usually saguaro and prickly pear, which can be very painful when you accidentally walk into them. If we did see trees, they were usually desert ironwoods, short thorny trees with tiny pinnately compound leaves. They aren’t friendly to touch, and even less friendly to sleep under. In this hostile environment, the plants do everything they can to protect themselves from harm. As a result, they aren’t hospitable. There is space between plants as they compete for resources. Tiny leaves are an adaptation to release less water into the air, for fear of losing what little water they have. There is a harsh individualism and even selfishness here. This is not to say that it isn’t a balanced ecosystem. It certainly works and has done so for years. And this isn’t to say that there isn’t some give and take. Obviously there isn’t one dominant plant that is covering the entire landscape and small animals scurry around, their own adaptations equipping them to survive. But there is a hostility there. The dry air, the thorny plants, the lack of shade all contribute to a harsh environment to be a guest within.
However, the superstition wilderness also showed life in other ways. Near the end of our second day, we camped near a spring so we could fill up our water containers for eating and drinking. The pool of water was crystal clear and accented by large, fallen leaves from the Arizona sycamores crowding around it. These trees were tall and beautiful, with smooth white bark climbing higher into the sky than any plant we had seen thus far, aside from maybe the tallest saguaros. These trees didn’t have thorns. They grew closer together, with other plants growing around them. After wandering through the rest of the superstition wilderness, this was a haven we could have stayed by forever. Compared to the rest, this was peaceful and comfortable beyond imagining. I’ve never felt such a change. Here, the hostility abated. The open land with so much space between things closed up enough to feel like a home. Around the water, the plants had what they needed, and they could welcome visitors.
Jeremiah talks about a life rooted in trusting God is like a tree planted by water. And the comparison is clear. Without trusting in God, we don’t have the spiritual resources we need to be fully welcoming. When we are panicking, searching for something, anything to trust in, to hope in and hope for, we hold what little love and hope we can close to ourselves, afraid to share for fear that giving too much may deplete what little we have. Being firmly rooted in God gives us the resources we need to be a healthy community, caring for each other and welcoming others. We realize we don’t need to stand alone, protecting our own turf with thorns, but rather can enter deeply and vulnerably into the love of one another, trusting that the well we drink from will never run dry.
Of course, we can say that simply trusting in God makes us this tree by the water, and that is certainly true. However, as Lutherans, coming from a long sacramental tradition, we can take this one step further. This water is metaphorical but it is also literal. We are planted in God’s water in Baptism. Our Baptisms root us to God’s enduring love and the promise of the Gospel. And through remembrance of Baptism, we can continue coming to the font throughout our lives. We can physically touch the waters we are planted beside.
As a community of baptized believers, the church is a powerful thing, a spring of water in the arid wilderness inviting others to come and rest awhile. The church provides shade and shelter for the lost, while they come to drink from the abundant goodness of God. The church can grow close together, not needing to compete with each other for love and acceptance, but rather find even greater love when joined together. Through the waters of Baptism, we are planted beside the living waters of God, and we can always return to these waters for nourishment.
I can’t help but wonder if we are really doing all we can to be the oasis that God calls us to be, that God supplies us to be. The week after we got back from our trip to Arizona, I started a J-term class called “Borderlands.” It dealt specifically with the United States-Mexico border and the lives of the people there. I understand that immigration is a controversial political issue, but empathy should not be. For one reason or another, there are families crossing the border, fleeing from danger or bad conditions in their home countries and desperately trying to find a better future for their families. For some of them, the last leg of their difficult and dangerous journeys take them through land much like the Superstition Wilderness. The ground is rocky and uncomfortable. The nights can be uncomfortably cold, while days can be brutally hot depending on the season. Thorns are everywhere.
The people making this journey need to see Arizona sycamores around a cool spring. They don’t need more prickly pears and ironwoods. Do we fear immigrants and refugees so much that we will close ourselves off to those most in need? Will we drive others away for fear that they will take what precious resources we have kept for ourselves? Or will we trust in God, cling to the promise and call of Baptism, and open ourselves to those most in need? Do we truly believe we are planted by water or not?
Naturally, it doesn’t matter where we think we are planted. As baptized believers, God has already claimed us. We are planted by an endless source of water, whether we remember to drink from it or not, and our salvation is in God’s hands, not our own. This isn’t really a matter of planting ourselves in a better place. This is a matter of opening our eyes to see where God has put us and welcoming others to the abundant spring that is as much a gift for them as it is for us.
(A brief note about the picture for this blog. The photo associated with this post is actually a picture taken by one of my friends. This was the little oasis I described above. The picture doesn’t do it justice.)
