Blessed; ICCM 2.17.19; Psalm 1; Pastor Rebecca Ellenson
I think that I shall never see, A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest, Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear, A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
My Grandma Rustad taught me that poem when I was a little girl. It leads my thoughts right into Psalm 1. Grandma gave me my love of poetry and compelled me to memorize scriptures. My sister Betsy and I spent a part of a week with her and my Grandpa many summers. Each evening after supper we would go for a walk around the little town of Nevis, MN. Grandma would point out the wildflowers and the birds, naming each one. For her, Joyce Kilmar’s poem led right into Psalm 1. We learned them both as we walked together.
Blessed is the one who walks not in the counsel of the
wicked,
nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers;
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and on the law meditates day
and night.
like a tree planted by streams of water, that yields its fruit in its season,
whose leaf does not wither.
Like all good poetry, we are left with an image to hold onto here—to be blessed is to be like a fruitful tree, planted by the water, with shiny healthy leaves.
At the end of worship today I will once again invite you to receive the benediction. I will raise my hands like this, and I will use scriptural words to pronounce God’s blessing on this congregation. Today those words will come from two of our appointed texts, Jeremiah 17: 8 and Psalm 1: 1 and 6
May you be like trees planted by water who yield your fruit in its season, watched over and protected by God.
I have lived nearly all my life in Minnesota—our trees are oaks, maples, elms, birches, tamaracks, white pines. Right now, the landscape there is monochromatic—whites and greys, hints of blue. The trees stand bare against the vast grey skyline, waiting for spring. Even the trees planted by the streams are just stark reminders of the light and warmth that will return.
The trees here are certainly different, probably more like the trees the psalmist referred to. The evergreens of this climate are the palms and cacti. I noticed the other day a Guanacaste tree’s new season’s leaves emerging and the elephant ear shaped pods growing shiny and strong on the huge arching branches. Soon the Jacaranda trees will reach over the buildings with their glorious purple flowers.
Trees are indicators of life. Their seasonal changes mimic our own patterns. They lift their leafy up; they send roots down deep into the soil. They are both grounded and growing, stationary and on the move. They stretch, they reach, they seek what gives them life—water, soil, and sun.
Nature teaches us. It is the first expression of God, remember—let there be light and life, and fruit bearing trees. All of creation is connected in the Creator in ways we’re still learning about. Scientists recently discovered how trees are connected to each other and can communicate and transmit chemicals between them through the web of fungal connections called mycelium. Wow!
The love of God is revealed in all that God has infused with life. So, it should not surprise us that images of trees, shrubs, water, and earth appear throughout our scriptures. These images are of God and of God’s blessed relationship with us.
In our Gospel, Jesus preaches the Beatitudes in his Sermon on the Plain. For each present reality—poverty, hunger, weeping, hatred—Jesus offers a promise that is to come. The poor will reap the kingdom, the hungry will be filled, the ones who weep will laugh, and the ones who are excluded will leap for joy. There is promise of immediate change, though. Even those who are right there in Jesus’ presence and hear his words the moment he speaks them are promised gifts of life and joy to come, but not that very day.
Jeremiah 17 and Psalm 1 paint a similar picture. The green, fruit-bearing tree shall be our hope and future. That tree shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green. Even in darkness and drought, the tree shall grow. Even when everything around it tries to take away its life, be that desert heat or bitter cold, the tree shall not die. In the Lord’s care, the tree will live.
It is not the future we trust in though; it is God. We don’t trust in ourselves. We trust in the God who blesses us through our troubled present and leads us to the other side—to a future of hope. When we despair, we hope in God who holds the past, present, and the future—God who knows the poor, the hungry, the weeping, the hated, the excluded, the defamed. God who keeps promises.
But that’s not the end of the passage is it? At the end of the Sermon on the Plain, Jesus continues to speak of a future—but this time, a future of woe for those who are rich, who are full, who are laughing now. Their promised future shall be filled with sorrow and emptiness. It’s an uncomfortable, even scathing promise. In Jeremiah, those whose hearts turn away from the Lord “shall be like a shrub in the desert,” parched and alone in the wilderness. The other side of the blessing is woe. The other side of promised hope is the reality of lived suffering and despair.
We inevitably live in both conditions—trusting in God or trusting in ourselves. Hungry and full, weeping and laughing, hated and loved. Jesus reminds us that when we are full, we can be sure that we will one day be empty again, and that the only true fullness that endures is from God. When we are weeping, we can be sure that we will one day laugh and rejoice, and that our joy is from God. For every part of life, there is another time that God holds before us, ensuring that we do not forget God’s presence and power infused in everything we do and through everything we live.
As the changing seasons remind us, God’s promise is that there is always another experience and always a reason to hope. It is winter, even here, and spring will come. I close with one of my favorite scriptures, this time from the Living Bible translation.
Ephesians 3:17-19
17 And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts, living within you as you trust in him. May your roots go down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love; 18-19 and may you be able to feel and understand, as all God’s children should, how long, how wide, how deep, and how high God’s love really is; and to experience this love for yourselves, though it is so great that you will never see the end of it or fully know or understand it. And so at last you will be filled up with God’s own self.