Trees

“The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of the Lord; they flourish in the courts of our God. They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green.” – Psalm 92:12-13

Psalm 92 is titled, “A Song for the Sabbath,” and I can think of nothing better to reflect on during a sabbath than trees. Annie Dillard wrote this:

“Concerning trees and leaves… there's a real power here. It is amazing that trees can turn gravel and bitter salts into these soft-lipped lobes, as if I were to bite down on a granite slab and start to swell, bud and flower. Every year a given tree creates absolutely from scratch ninety-nine percent of its living parts. Water lifting up tree trunks can climb one hundred and fifty feet an hour; in full summer a tree can, and does, heave a ton of water every day. A big elm in a single season might make as many as six million leaves, wholly intricate, without budging an inch; I couldn't make one. A tree stands there, accumulating deadwood, mute and rigid as an obelisk, but secretly it seethes, it splits, sucks and stretches; it heaves up tons and hurls them out in a green, fringed fling. No person taps this free power; the dynamo in the tulip tree pumps out even more tulip tree, and it runs on rain and air.”

Amazing. And we walk by these things all the time. In the ancient near east, palms and cedars meant something special: in a dry and arid climate, they were images of strength, longevity, and beauty. Their leaves were green all year round. The palm here is likely the date palm, which bore fruit that was a dietary staple, and represented the presence of life-giving oases of water (Exodus 15:27, Numbers 33:9). The cedars of Lebanon grew to be immensely large and lived for thousands of years, symbolizing royal power and wealth. They were both literally in the house of the Lord: wood from the cedars of Lebanon were imported by Solomon to build the temple (1 Kings 5). Palms were used in the décor of the temple (1 Kings 6:29), were in Ezekiel’s vision of the new temple (Ezekiel 40:16), and were used to welcome Jesus, God tabernacled on earth, to Jerusalem (John 12:13).

We have four giant redwood trees in our back yard. When I get too caught up in the dramas of daily life, I go outside and look at them. I think, these trees will be here long after we and this house are gone. Here they are, quietly but constantly flourishing, spitting out bud and pine, heaving up tons of water. The wicked are like the grass, here today and gone tomorrow, but the righteous are like a tree in God’s presence. We will last past these times and ever bear fruit. These trees live in an entirely different scale of time and matter, and in our sabbath-rest pauses, it’s good to remember that.

Gratitude

“It is good to give thanks to the Lord.” – Psalm 92:1

Why is it so hard for me to give thanks? I become preoccupied with cares. I grow desensitized to what I have. I fail to notice small graces. I’m too busy complaining about what I don’t have. I’m in too much of a hurry. I’ve fallen out of the habit. I’ve conformed to a consumeristic culture. 

All of those may be true. But I think perhaps John the Baptist said it best. He said, “a person cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven” (John 3:27). Not even one thing. Every single thing in your life is an act of grace. It is a gift. It is something to be noticed and received with gratitude. Our ability to give thanks will extend as far as we see the grace in our lives, as far as we see this reality. Nouwen writes, “Gratitude… claims the truth that all of life is a pure gift. In the past I always thought of gratitude as a spontaneous response to the awareness of gifts received, but now I realize that gratitude can also be lived as a discipline. The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.”

There is an Estonian proverb that says, “Whoever does not thank for little will not thank for much.” Sometimes, I think, it’s okay to start with small steps. At first, thankfulness feels like conscious effort. Slowly, it becomes a little easier, a little freer, a little less self-conscious. Slowly, we find that those small things themselves reveal the reach of God’s grace, like truths worked from outside in. “Acts of gratitude,” writes Nouwen, “make one grateful because, step by step, they reveal that all is grace.”

Need Of Grace

from a puritan prayer of prayers

O Lord,

Thou knowest my great unfitness for service,

   my present deadness,

   my inability to do anything for thy glory,

   my distressing coldness of heart.

I am weak, ignorant, unprofitable,

   and loathe and abhor myself.

I am at a loss to know what thou wouldest have me do,

   for I feel amazingly deserted by thee,

   and sense they presence so little;

Thou makest me possess the sins of my youth,

   and the dreadful sin of my nature,

   so that I feel all sin,

   I cannot think or act but every motion is sin.

Return again with showers of converting grace

   to a poor gospel-abusing sinner.

Help my soul to breathe after holiness,

   after a constant devotedness to thee,

   after growth in grace more abundantly every day.

O Lord, I am lost in the pursuit of this blessedness,

And am ready to sink because I fall short of my desire;

Help me to hold out a little longer,

   until the happy hour of deliverance comes,

   for I cannot lift my soul to thee

   if thou of thy goodness bring me not nigh.

Help me to be diffident, watchful, tender,

   lest I offend my blessed Friend

   in thought and behavior;

I confide in thee and lean upon thee,

   and need thee at all times to assist and lead me.

O that all my distresses and apprehensions

   might prove but Christ’s school

   to make me fit for greater service

   by teaching me the great lesson of humility.

In and Out of the Cistern

“So they took Jeremiah and cast him into the cistern… letting Jeremiah down by ropes. And there was no water in the cistern, but only mud, and Jeremiah sank in the mud.” – Jeremiah 38:6

I don’t know about you, but it feels painful at times to read about the life of Jeremiah. There’s no greater proof, I suppose, that following God can mean suffering. In this, Jeremiah points to and fleshes out the life of Jesus himself. F. B. Meyer writes, “Jeremiah has always a fascination to Christian hearts because of the close similarity that exists between his life and that of Jesus Christ. Each of them was ‘a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief’; each came to his own, and his own received him not; each passed through hours of rejection, desolation, and forsakenness. And in Jeremiah we may see beaten out into detail, experiences which, in our Lord, are but lightly touched on by the evangelists.”

We see in these chapters the details of Jeremiah’s prophetic word being rejected by his own people. We witness the stratagems of murderers who did not want Jeremiah’s blood directly on their hands. We see the vicissitudes and cowardice of a king who, like Pilate, sat back and let it happen. We see in the life of both Jeremiah and Jesus the words of Stephen: “which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute?” (Acts 7:52). As Jeremiah is lowered into the cistern, we hear words from Psalm 69: “I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold… Deliver me from sinking in the mire… Let not… the pit close its mouth over me” (69:2, 14-15)

But God rescues his prophet. In Jeremiah’s case, salvation came from a nobody: an Ethiopian foreigner who was a slave and likely emasculated. We may not even know his real name: “Ebed-melech” simply means “servant of the king.” This nobody, despite majority opposition from those with greater power, publicly confronts the king and rescues Jeremiah. Not only that, he cares for his body, finding linens and rags to pad Jeremiah’s armpits as he was lifted up, not unlike Joseph of Arimathea, who cared for Jesus’ body by wrapping it in linens. God too rescued his son, by raising him from the pit of death to life. Because of this, we who also suffer can do so with the hope of new life. We can have courage like Ebed-melech to act against injustice. We can learn to care for our bodies and be kind to others. We can cry out in prayer and eventually come to say, “you who seek God, let your hearts revive. For the Lord hears the needy… Let heaven and earth praise him” (69:32-34).

Spiritual Fitness

“Train yourself for godliness; for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.” – 1 Timothy 4:7-8

People where we moved from in the suburban south talk about losing weight; people in the Bay Area talk about being fit. Yoga pants are considered acceptable general wear. Gyms and parks are numerous and even within walking distance. The weather (and lack of mosquitos) enables an entirely new dimension of outdoor life. Healthy groceries and options for eating out are readily available. Regular exercise is normative behavior, and perhaps it is not surprising that, despite not having had a regular habit of it before, we all became more active after moving here.

But after the pandemic muted subconscious cultural cues and disrupted routines, I’ve had to think through how, and why, I exercise. I’ve relearned why getting my heart rate up is good for my mood. I’ve been reminded that cardiovascular fitness and muscle strength is something that either builds or atrophies over time; there is no middle ground. I’ve had to test my resolve by at times getting creative with workout equipment or online classes, or being disciplined about exercising outside even if I prefer the gym. 

Dave tells his patients that their goal, for improved health outcomes, should be to reach 70-85% of their maximum heart rate for 150 minutes per week. This is not something that happens without significant focus, flexibility, and commitment. It does not happen without intentional investment of resources. How much more so our spiritual health! Paul puts it plainly: spiritual fitness is more important than physical fitness. We should care about it more than we care about our physical health. We should invest more in it than we invest in our physical health. We should create more of a culture and community for it than we do for physical health. His reasoning is simple: your physical health lasts this lifetime. Your spiritual health will impact eternity.

Do you have a clear idea of what your spiritual goals are? Do you have a routine for spiritual fitness? Does someone close to you see measurable signs of spiritual growth over time? Train yourself for godliness, Paul urges Timothy. It holds promise not only for this life, but for the life to come.

Self-Care

“For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish.” – Jeremiah 31:25

There’s a scene in the show Never Have I Ever where Ben’s mom says to him as she’s strolling out the door, “Hey sweetie! No time to talk; I’m going to a self-actualization retreat in Santa Barbara.” “Didn’t you just do that?” Ben asks. She replies, “No, I went to a mindfulness workshop in Santa Clara. Very different philosophies, but equally important.” “Okay, sure. Uh, have fun.” “It’s not fun, Ben. It’s work. On me. So I can be a better mom, to you! Gotta run!”

It didn’t take me long after moving here to realize the Bay Area has its own particular brand of self-care. One article describes it as the counterpoint to mindfulness. If mindfulness is noticing what is happening around you to more fully experience it, self-care gives you permission to ignore exactly that in the focus on yourself and your feelings. The irony of that scene, of course, is that Ben’s mom is so busy taking care of herself that she’s never there for her son. For a while, I eschewed the term because it smacked of wealth and privilege, of aphoristic band-aids for pervasive anxiety, of yet another thing to optimize or look to for affirmation or identity.

But the truth is, we do have to learn how to take care of ourselves. Especially now, moms are struggling with burnout, as we take care of our kids without breaks for an unprecedented length of time. Self-care itself is not bad, but Bay Area self-care and Biblical self-care differ in one important regard: their origin. Bay Area self-care originates from the self: you are the one endorsing yourself as vulnerable and worthy of care; you are the one extending yourself compassion. You are using self-care as a way to help yourself become the person you want to be. 

Biblical self-care, on the other hand, originates from God. God, not yourself, has endorsed you as being vulnerable and worthy of care. God is the one, and the only one, who can extend you the forgiveness and compassion you need. God has created you for regular rhythms of rest, and through it he allows you to become the person he created you to be. Self-care is not escape from anxiety. It is not indulgence for indulgence’s sake. It is always, at its heart, an experience of God, of receiving His grace as shown us through our rest and life-giving activities, and then of experiencing his glory through it. It occurs in the context of our relationship with Him, and that is why it goes beyond something that simply helps us “feel good” or “get away,” to something that gives life, that not only satisfies but replenishes. Listen to the repetition in that verse: “I will… I will…” Do you hear that promise? Do you hear that invitation? Do you make time to care for yourself? Do you know what is not merely entertaining, but life-giving for you? What keeps your soul? What reclaims who you are as God’s beloved, to whom he gives his rest?

Enduring Monotony

“Therefore we ourselves boast about you in the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith in all your persecutions and in the afflictions that you are enduring.” – 2 Thessalonians 1:4

The kids have an amazing capacity for dealing with monotony. They genuinely don’t seem to mind being at home every day, all day. They play “orphans” (who are in the wild having to build tents and scavenge), “restaurant” (menus, play food, waiters), “family” (everyone wants to play the baby), “the capture game” (they put each other in jail), “animals in the zoo” (we pay to see them and have to feed them), “pick your favorite” (they flip to a random page in the picture encyclopedia and choose their favorite animal or thing on it), “soldiers in the trench” (they hide between the couch and wall), “fighting invisible bad guys,” and on and on.

In a way, what they have done is marvelous: they’ve taken the same few resources and let their imagination thrive within the limits they have. As adults, we seem to have a harder time of it. I’ve burned through various covid-hobbies, but in the end I keep coming back to this fatiguing, indefinable sense of monotony, the unavoidable specter of days stretching on interminably, all minor variations of the same thing. 

Handling monotony requires a different skill set than those most of us are used to. It requires the ability, not to necessarily achieve immediate gratification or visible progress, but to simply endure. Monotony, if faced without distraction, forces us to ask ourselves, what is the point of life? What is my hope, what keeps me going, where does my joy really come from? Are my answers to those questions rote and cerebral, or are they truly what I believe and sometimes experience? Enduring monotony requires an even greater sense of purpose, an even more intentional centering in Christ, an even greater attention to what that monotony unearths in me, than I might otherwise have. Centering myself in the real hope and joy I have in Jesus takes more discipline and creativity than before. 

But Paul here talks not only about enduring, but thriving, the kind of thriving that comes when you endure. He says, we brag about your endurance, because “your faith is growing abundantly, and the love of every one of you for one another is increasing.” When I look back on this time, will I say that my faith grew? That my love for others increased? Paul is able to look through the suffering and affliction to see people thriving in the ways that really matter. May we do the same.

Bloom Where You're Planted

“Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce… multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare [shalom] of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare… Do not let your prophets and your diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream, for it is a lie… For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord…”  - Jeremiah 29: 4-11

Jeremiah’s letter comes during one of the worst parts of the story of God’s people. They were in exile. The land was lost, the temple plundered, the law long ignored. Most people would probably be thinking: we’re not where we’re supposed to be. It was not supposed to be like this. Life will be better when we get out, when things change. And false prophets like Hananiah (Jeremiah 28) were promising that very thing: liberation within two years.

But Jeremiah says something radically different. Don’t live life in a holding pattern, fixating upon when your circumstances will change. It won’t be two years, but seventy. Stop thinking about how to get out, and start being present where you are. His definition of being present is, on one hand, imminently practical: build and live. Plant and eat. On the other hand, it’s imminently spiritual: don’t seek cultural norms or the dreams of the majority. Be intentional about how you define meaning and success. Seek shalom, wholeness, peace and realize that this only comes from God. Be engaged in prayer. Don’t lose your worldview.

The reason we can be present is because we know how the future will ultimately go. Jeremiah is basically saying, look, your current circumstances are going to be worse than you were told. But your ultimate future is going to be far better. Circumstances are secondary to relationship. In your worst place, God visits you. His thoughts are towards you. He hears you. Call on him, come to him, find him with all your inner self, all your understanding and will and feeling. You will have hope, not based on circumstantial manipulation, but hope that is given to you.

It’s ironic that verse 11, one of the most oft-quoted verses from this book, is so easily interpreted in an individualistic, prosperity-focused fashion, when in reality, it’s a promise given to a community in one of their worst moments, many of whom would die in exile. The verse is less about fortune than about a God who is radically faithful. Who keeps all his promises to us solely because of who he is. Who is completely sovereign. Who reached out to a people crushed by circumstances, through a man who had himself suffered repeatedly for the sake of what he believed, to renew a covenant and hope. The same covenant and hope we have now through the Prophet to whom all other prophets pointed, Jesus Christ.

The Struggle for Holiness

“Hold fast what is good. Abstain from every form of evil. Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.” – 1 Thessalonians 5:23

Often at the heart of our grittiest struggles with temptation are the same lies. You’ll feel better if you do this. God is withholding something from you. You aren’t getting what you deserve. So go ahead.

C. S. Lewis writes in one of his letters: “I think one may be quite rid of the old haunting suspicion—which raises its head in every temptation—that there is something else than God—some other country… into which He forbids us to trespass—some kind of delight which He ‘doesn’t appreciate’ or just chooses to forbid, but which would be real delight if only we were allowed to get it. The thing just isn’t there. Whatever we desire is either what God is trying to give us as quickly as He can, or else a false picture of what He is trying to give us—a false picture which would not attract us for a moment if we saw the real thing.”

My own struggle for holiness, to not nurture temptation in any form, is a struggle to believe this truth: that there is no such thing as real goodness apart from God. There is truly no good thing which he withholds from me. That idea is a mirage, an illusion, which far from offering real happiness or freedom merely entraps or entangles me, spiraling down to a place of increasing self-pity, bitterness, anger, and addiction. 

It does no good to try to talk oneself out of these lies: the only way to begin to extract oneself, to begin to see the lie for what it is, is to fix on the truth. And the truth is not an idea: he is a Person. In the end, temptation is not a matter of self-control, but of relationship. Only love for Jesus, willingness to suffer for him, and trust in the love he has for me, can turn me from temptation. And the promise God offers is this: he himself will sanctify me completely. No matter my feelings, no matter my mess-ups. He who has called me is faithful. He will surely do it.

Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken

By Henry Lyte, 4th stanza:

Go, then, earthly fame and treasure,

Come disaster, scorn and pain

In Thy service, pain is pleasure,

With Thy favor, loss is gain

I have called Thee Abba Father,

I have stayed my heart on Thee

Storms may howl, and clouds may gather;

All must work for good to me.

Words Fitly Spoken

“A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in a setting of silver. Like a gold ring or an ornament of gold is a wise reprover to a listening ear.” – Proverbs 25:12

One thing about sheltering in place is that it’s given us a closer view of our oldest daughter edging into adolescence. She’s become in some ways more opaque and private; in others more vulnerable and close. It’s a push-and-pull feeling that reminds me of the swimming pool analogy Lisa Damour uses in her book “Untangled”: it’s like the world is a swimming pool, and you are the wall. She’ll be unexpectedly warm and intimate one moment, clinging to the wall, then want to push off again the next moment, even if that comes off in a rude way. Enjoy the closeness, but don’t take the push-off’s personally, Damour writes. “Your daughter needs a wall to swim to, and she needs you to be a wall that can withstand her comings and goings.”

Talking with her, I’m realizing, means reading where she is in the pool: heading towards the wall? At the wall, waiting for me? Pushing off or already out in the water? There isn’t necessarily a consistent rhythm to it. Even practical skills seem to develop at an uneven pace: she might insist on doing something complicated entirely on her own, yet want me to help with a simpler task. I need to relearn when to give her space and when to reinforce boundaries, when to just listen and when to speak—and all of that requires studying her carefully, and sifting and re-sifting through my own motives.

Eugene Peterson translates this verse, “The right word at the right time is like a custom-made piece of jewelry.” Making custom jewelry requires that you study the subject, that you understand their personal style and preferences, yet also know what would look good on them. It means you have a vision for how they could look. It means you take time in crafting and giving thought to what you will make. But there’s something wonderful about the idea that our words, even (or especially) our reproof, can make someone more beautiful than they already are. That is how I want my words to my adolescent to be: this word fitly spoken. Surely the work that would go into that is worth it.