I remember on the farm where I grew up, my dad would sometimes spot a young oak sapling that had started growing, that he wanted to preserve. He would trim away all the other small trees and weeds surrounding it to create space around it. After that, he would carefully mow around it to maintain the clear space to allow the young tree to grow. In other words, my father made an intentional effort to promote the oak tree’s growth, and he remained committed to maintaining the sanctity of that space over time. There are a couple trees on my parent’s farm that started life that way that are now good-sized trees.
The acorns that fall in my yard will never grow to maturity. Even if they do manage to get buried, they are not likely to prosper in the shabby and shady soil surrounding my suburban home. Even in the wild, oaks (and other slower growing trees like locust, birch, or maple) have a hard time prospering. While a mature oak towers above other trees and has deep roots, since they grow much slower than softwoods like poplars and pine, they can be shaded out by faster growing plants and never reach maturity.
But it’s not for lack of seeds! There’s almost a wastefulness to God’s abundance at times. So many acorns fall from even a single oak tree, but so few will ever take root, and even fewer will grow to maturity. Most are crushed to dust beneath our feet and quickly forgotten.
While some acorns just happen to fall in the right place at the right time, take root, and grow into a huge tree, that’s the exception and not the rule. Oak trees typically don’t just happen at random. Most of the time when there is a big oak tree thriving in some location [like the one in the picture at the top of this article], it’s because someone a long time ago intentionally created space for them to grow—like my dad did when I was growing up.
This brings to mind the parable Jesus tells about a farmer going out to scatter seed that appears in the Synoptic Gospels—Mark 4:1-20; Matthew 13:1-23; Luke 8:4-15. To me, there’s definitely a random element to this story. Just like with the acorns in my yard, a lot of the seed seems to go to waste: some the birds eat immediately, some falls on bad soil, some is trampled into dust on the path, some springs up (like a poplar tree) but lacks roots, so it withers in the heat. But then some of the seed finds the good soil and grows, producing an abundant harvest.
As a gardener, I feel compelled to add a caveat to this parable. My experience tells me that while good soil is an essential starting point for growth, that alone doesn’t guarantee a flourishing garden. The gardener (or farmer) has an ongoing role to play in maintaining the space over time so the plants can continue to grow and prosper. Otherwise weeds quickly take over and choke out what you planted, or kids trample over your perennials just as they are breaking dormancy, or groundhogs eat your almost ripe melon when you turn your back.
Quick-growing softwood trees like poplars and pines are in abundance in the woods. They spring up fast and grow tall for a time, but they lack substance. When the inevitable seasons of dryness come, they are more vulnerable to disease and death. When forest fires rage, it is often tinder-dry softwoods (and other underbrush) that provide the fuel.
A hardwood may burn too, but it’s more likely to put up a fight.
What about us:
Are we a spiritual hardwood or softwood?
The way of the softwood is surely easier; the skinny poplar springs up quickly and leaps skyward. This is the well-worn path many of us follow. It requires little long-term commitment on our part. We never have to do the work required to put down deep roots. Spiritual softwoods are most concerned with “going to heaven when we die.” But where does this leave us now—in this life? When trials come, will the softwood endure?
The way of the hardwood, by contrast, requires more of us, especially at the onset. Nurturing the “acorn” God has planted into a tender “sapling” requires we intentional focus on its growth. Consistent participation in the life of the community is the only way to clear enough space in the canopy of our lives to allow our roots to sink deeply into the rich humus God has cultivated in our church throughout its history. (For example, my own community just celebrated 50 years of ministry.) Just like in the forest, hardwoods grow slower at first, but what does grow is more likely to endure. Over the long-haul, it is the hardwoods that last, growing into towering trees that provide shade for others in the forest.
The Church that has endured for two millennia is built upon mature spiritual hardwoods. And oh, how we need them now—perhaps more than ever. Just as our Earth’s climate is shifting with uncertain consequences for the trees of the forest, so my particular tribe of Christianity is contemplating changes, with uncertain consequences for those of us who identify as United Methodist. We stand on the cusp of a General Conference meeting in February 2019 that, to say the least, could significantly impact our future. In times of upheaval and uncertainty, we especially need trees planted by the water (Psalm 1:3), rooted deeply in Christ (Colossians 2:6-7), and planted in the good soil that God has provided (Mark 4:8,20), that are not easily moved (Jeremiah 17:8).
This is a fitting image for what church community ought to be. We should see ourselves as a nursery for nurturing spiritual hardwoods: from acorns, to saplings, to full maturity. Church is sacred space where we are set apart for certain periods of time to focus on our growth, so we are better equipped and empowered to stand firm (Ephesians 6:10) amidst the many quick-growing, shallow-rooted softwoods of the world around us that seek to shade us at every turn.
