Like a Tree Planted by Water
February 11th, 2007
Jeremy Bergen
Text:
Jeremiah 17:5-10
Psalm 1
When I was 5, my parents bought their first house. Until that point, as relatively poor students, they had rented apartments in Winnipeg, and for two years we lived in family housing at the Mennonite seminary in Elkhart, Indiana, where my parents were students. They moved back to Winnipeg, and with their two point zero kids—myself and my younger sister, and with jobs in youth ministry and nursing, they bought a small side-by-side in a new subdivision in the south end of Winnipeg—a house we’d live in for about 7 years. And though the house and the yard were quite small, we had a great park just across the street, and the elementary school a 2 minute walk away. It was a great place to live back then.
My parents did many of the things that you do with a new house. I recall the day that their friends came over to help lay down sod. I recall my grandpa and grandma, whom I always called oma and opa, coming from Alberta to visit. While my oma watched us kids, my dad and opa built a wooden fence around the backyard, and built a small deck. A few years later, my opa and oma came again, and the result was a rec room in the basement.
I also have one other distinct memory of settling in to our new place: planting one tree in the front yard, and one in the back yard. When we planted them, they were perhaps 4 feet tall. We would often let the hose run for hours as we watered them and helped them take root. Now I don’t remember what kind of trees they were. As a child, I thought of them as “regular trees.” They had leaves that turned yellow in fall, and fell off. And the crown began to provide some nice shade for the yard. In fact, even as a child, I was struck by how quickly they grew. Soon they were much taller than any person, and the trunk was less like a stick and much more solid. When I return to my old neighbourhood, which I occasionally do when I go back to Winnipeg, I find that these trees are still there; and they are full grown trees, as tall as the two-storey house. In many ways, they have outgrown the tiny yards on which they were planted. These are trees with deep roots, a full leaf cover, patiently guarding this small suburban side-by-side.
Two of our texts today, from Jeremiah and from Psalms, dwell on the image of a tree. A tree is a sign of blessing. It is a sign of being connected with the land. It is, quite literally, about putting down roots. Planting a tree looks to the future, to the tree growing tall. It is alive, and it is lifegiving: in its shade, and perhaps, in its fruit. In our texts, the tree is connected with life, and with trust. Though we moved as a family away from that house, the trees remained. Certainly, they will not last forever, but trees in signs of life because their spans can exceed our own: in this sense, they reflect life in an abundant way.
From Jeremiah, we read:
“Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is in the Lord
They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream
It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green;
In the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit.”
From Psalm 1, we read that those who are obedient to God’s law are “like trees planted by streams of waters, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper.”
This past week, I have thought about this idea of a tree as an image of trust in God. Yet, some questions lurked in the back of my mind.
A tree is where it is; it cannot move. It must trust that it will receive water, and sunlight. It must make sense of the world that is given to it. A tree has no choice but to trust. And so, this seems more like fate than like trust. A tree grows where the seed falls, or where it is transplanted by human hands. The trees in the yard of my childhood home prospered because they were fortunate to be planted by “streams of water,” or, more accurately, in the yard of proud homeowners who cared for them. But a sapling that sprouts up in the desert, or amongst the rocks, will eventually wither and die. Whether or not the tree grows and bears fruit is entirely beyond its control.
Perhaps the point of invoking these images of flourishing trees is not that they are models of steadfast trust in God; but that an abundant life is the consequence, or reward, of trusting God. Indeed, the psalmist presents a stark choice: Those who delight in the law of the Lord will prosper like trees planted near streams. Those who follow the path of the wicked will wither away. “The Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.” Jeremiah says, “Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals. Blessed are those who trust in the Lord. . . Those who do trust will not whither when the heat comes, and will be preserved through drought. The heart is devious above all else; it is perverse—who can understand it? I the Lord test the mind and search the heart, to give all according to their ways, according to the fruit of their doings.”
This is theme that runs throughout the Bible: the choice between the way of life and the way of death. Such a choice is not made just in the mind, but with one’s whole body and soul. The implications of the choice are as tangible as the fruit on a tree. The way of life follows God’s law: it honours God and neighbour. It welcomes the stranger, and worships God with a sincere heart and right actions. Sometimes this is critiqued as works righteousness, the idea that we can earn favour with God through our own efforts and actions. But in fact the choice between the way of life and the way of death is one that remains in the Christian tradition; it is a choice that we are continually invited to make, in Christ.
Back to our reflections on the flourishing tree as the promise given only to those who chose the way of life. Though the image of a sturdy tree by the water initially seems to reassure us of God’s presence, we are now confronted by the word that God will judge us, not only by our actions, but by our hearts and minds. Maybe even our secret doubts. The stakes of trusting God seem too high. It is not a comforting thought, because it seems that I am thrown back on my own resources, and my ability to sincerely trust in God’s leading. We know that there is death; we know that there is suffering; we know that there is pain. But I am terrified of the idea that these might be the consequences of what I do by placing trust in human beings rather than God. My reaction to this is fear, not assurance.
Do I trust in God? Do I really trust in God? How do I even know if I am sincerely placing my trust in God? What does it mean to trust God? Perhaps it is just as difficult to know what it is to place trust in ourselves. After all “trust in yourself” is a self-esteem message we have all heard. What about listening to our consciences? Is this trusting in ourselves, or is this trusting in God’s word to us?
Questions about trusting God are connected with profound moments in our lives. We all know that two individuals might be diagnosed with very serious and advanced cancer. And in each case, a community gathers around them, and prays fervently for healing, as well as doing all the tangible things needed to support the ill person. And yet, in one case, death results, and in the other, the cancer goes into remission. What are we to make of the trust at work here?
In another situation, an individual in midlife is contemplating a significant career change. How does she trust God? Does God speak through those friends of hers who tell her that her gifts will be better used in a different vocation? Is that placing trust in God, or is that placing trust in human hands? Does trusting God necessarily mean choosing what is most risky, stepping out in the unknown?
Finally, a young couple is struggling with their dysfunctional marriage, and seemingly incompatible goals for their lives. Does trust in God mean staying together at all costs; or can trust mean something else? Is listening to the conflicting voices of family, friends, counselors, and church community, an element of trust in the wisdom of God, or is it trust in human folly?
And what about those situations which lead us to question whether God is even trustworthy at all. The crises and the suffering in our personal lives, or of events on a larger scale. The hypocrisy of faith communities. Indeed, it is not a simple thing to say: trust in God.
So we seek some pattern or some formula to know whether or not we have placed our trust in God. One might be pragmatic: if things “work out,” then it must have been God’s leading. After all, our texts seem to promise an answer: those who trust in God will be like trees planted in water. Tall, green, and prosperous for all to see. We long for assurance, for results. But knowing in advance just what trust in God means, and what its results will be, is not the message of Jeremiah. In fact, it might be an instance of trusting in ourselves.
We need to take a closer look at the context in which Jeremiah the prophet was speaking. Jeremiah is addressing a defeated people. Centuries earlier, the Northern Kingdom of Israel had been overtaken by foreign enemies, and the people were scattered. Prophets pronounced that this happened because the people turned away from God. Now, the Southern Kingdom, called Judah, had fallen under the rule of the mighty Babylonians. Jeremiah is speaking to these people, to God’s people in Judah. And these people are trying to understand a situation of immense disorientation and suffering. At first, Babylon made Judah a province of its own, and subjected to severe taxation. Eventually, Judah tried to resist, but the Babylonians defeated them once and for all. Jerusalem, the holy city, was destroyed, and many of the leading figures in Judah were sent into exile in Babylon.
Jeremiah, God’s prophet, brought words that were not comforting. At first, we warned the people that because of their sin, God would send their enemies to conquer them. He warned against the sin of rejecting the law, and the worship of God. He called them to repentance, to a deep self-examination, of their own hearts, and minds, and motives, and a radical return to God. And then, when defeat came, he wept over the tragedy of his people’s sin, a sin that led to God’s punishment in the form of capture and exile in Babylon.
Jeremiah speaks to a people wondering if God has abandoned them. They are wondering if there is anything they can do to win God’s favour, or if all is lost. When they look around, they see the withered shrubs. They see their enemies prospering, and making life difficult.
For the people to whom Jeremiah is speaking, trust in God is not easy. When Jeremiah tells them that the heart is devious, they know what he means, because their hearts are devious. They have been greedy, and unfaithful to God. And when Jeremiah says that the fruit of such devious hearts is to become like the withering shrubs in the desert, they know what he means. The image of a tree is a particularly poignant image for a people who are about to lose their land, or for a people who have lost their land. In a society so immediately dependant on the prosperity of land, a withered tree is truly an image of death. And they might wonder, rightly, if they will be left out in the desert, all alone and abandoned. Will defeat by the Babylonians, and even more significantly, the loss of the land of Israel, be the end of God’s relationship with his people? Does trust in God mean even accepting the defeat and dispersal of the people is in fact God’s will for them?
Jeremiah invites his people to trust in God, in spite of anything they can see in front of them. This is part of what it means to trust in God, and not in ourselves. In this particular situation, Jeremiah tells the people to accept God’s anger with them. The people are told to trust that their pain is self-inflicted: they are losing the land because they chose the way of death, ignored God’s law and turned to idols. But they are also invited to choose the way of blessing that follows from renewing their trust in God. The vision of a prosperous tree is a future image of a restored land, free from its enemies. It is a vision they cannot see, and perhaps can barely imagine. Jeremiah invites them to trust God as the Lord of a world in which we humans are not the masters, and therefore, of a world where we cannot fully understand, control, or calculate outcomes.
I th
ink this says something about how we should not interpret our text from Jeremiah. Though Jeremiah tells the people that their suffering is a punishment for sin, we should not take this to mean that suffering is always punishment for sin. Though the message of Jeremiah to his people is to be patient, because the hardship they are experiencing has a bigger purpose, we should not take this mean that any suffering always has a bigger purpose. Though the message of Jeremiah is that if the people trust God, they will flourish like trees planted by the water, this does not mean that anytime we trust in God, the consequences may be so immediately tangible and visible. There is no rule or formula, or something we can control, domesticate, or manipulate. When we reduce trust to a formula and look for the results, we deny the mystery of God, and are no longer trusting in God. When we think we have the mystery figured out, or when we think we have solved the puzzle of how suffering or blessings fits together with God’s purposes, this is in fact an instance of trust in ourselves.
It is not the case that when we pray for the sick, those who truly trust in God will be healed, and those who do not really trust in God, will be left unhealed. Trust in God doesn’t always mean that we’ll always feel safe, or happy. Trust cannot be verified by a successful life, or even by a long life.
Rather, trust, like hope, is always an invitation. It invites us to turn to God, and to look to the future. We are invited to be like Jeremiah’s listeners. To listen for judgment, of comfort, or how to act, or what to pray for. We are invited to listen for a word from God, to our situation—to our particular situation as individuals, as families, as a congregation, as a larger community. We are invited to listen for what trusting God may mean now, for what the shape of the trusting life may be. Though it is difficult for us to trust because it means surrendering control, God is a God who is trustworthy.
Let us pray: “God of Jeremiah and of all the prophets. We confess our deep desires to trust in ourselves, and seek false assurance. We confess our failure to trust in you. Your love for us is so much bigger than we can comprehend. Open our hearts and minds that we might know what it means for us to trust in you. Grant us the grace to turn to you, and to seek the way of life. Amen.”