Psalm
113 (all)
Luke
22:19-20; 24-27
Thursday
afternoon, I headed east from Enumclaw on Hwy 410. The sky was gray
and dark and wet. On both sides of the highway industrial forests
spread out in various stages of their life cycles from current
harvest to thirty-year-old woods. Snow littered the ground.
Eventually,
I reached the national forest. There were fewer clear cuts. Between
the cuts, the trees were larger. Still, No individual tree stood out.
They were indistinguishable bits in the sea of green.
Just
past the Skookum Falls viewpoint. I parked, pulled on my microspikes
and headed up the Palisades Trail. As usual, I had snowshoes strapped
on my pack. But if you had been there watching me, you would have
noticed an additional odd item strapped on top my snowshoes. A stool!
About
a mile up the trail, I dropped my pack. Set up my stool. Pulled out
my stove and heated some water. Then sat down to eat a sandwich, sip
my hot water, and keep company with a great tree. The greatest tree
in the Dalles Creek valley, maybe the greatest tree in the entire
White River drainage.
It
is a huge Doug fir. Winter or summer, even when I'm running and
trying to make time up the trail, when I come to this tree I stop. I
take a moment to pay respect to this great citizen of the green
world. It is nearly invisible, standing in a forest of large trees,
its top hidden in a jungle of green overhead. It's trunk is one among
thousands in the valley. It is ordinary. Until you stop and pay
attention. The more attention you pay, the grander the tree becomes.
How
big? Yesterday, I took a tape measure with me. It has a circumference
of 21 feet. is 18 feet around. Much bigger than I had previously
guessed.
I
spent half an hour yesterday in the company of this tree, letting its
greatness touch me, inspire me, awe me.
I
let words run through my mind. Dignity. Longevity. Immense.
Magnificent. Huge. Wondrous. Elegant. Quiet. Enduring. Alive.
I
gave the tree my full attention, letting my eyes and mind drink in
its grandeur. I traced furrows in the bark, noting their patterns. I
drank in the color changes up and down and across the trunk. I used
my imagination to climb higher in the tree, above where the trunk was
obscured by the green, feathery canopy. In short, I practiced
contemplation. Sitting on my stool, I quieted my soul and kept
company with this truly great tree. I gave it intense, persistent,
respectful, affectionate attention.
I
contemplated its patience and endurance. Its dignity and strength.
It's grandeur and beauty.
The
tree's greatness is stealthy. I have passed it dozens of times. I've
stopped and touched it. Paused and admired it. But yesterday I went
further. I climbed the slope behind it and found places where I could
see its entire height. I watched its perfect trunk climb skyward,
tapering slowly. As I studied it from this distance, I could see that
even among its large neighbors, this tree was unique.
I
imagined having a conversation with a younger Doug fir in the forest:
“Young tree, if you are looking for a model for your future, be
like that tree. If you dream of being a truly great Doug fir,
practice living like that one.”
But
enough about trees. Let's talk about people.
A
week ago I spent half an hour in the presence of a truly great
person. We were standing in someone else's kitchen chitchatting and I
asked about her work. Not the work she gets paid for. I already knew
about her career. I asked about her other job. Being a mother.
The
longer we talked the larger she grew.
I
thought of all the times I walked past that Doug fir, never realizing
how truly great it was until I stopped to measure it, spent time
sitting beside it in contemplation, climbing the slope to survey it
from different angles.
As
I listened to this mother, with every paragraph she became greater
and greater and greater. Yes, she benefited from the assistance of
professionals. But at nearly every step, she had to fight for that
help. She had to fight entire systems to get the help her child
needs.
It
was not the first time I've been in the presence of human greatness.
A geologist friend in Colorado has cared for his son for fifty, going
on sixty years now. A carpenter friend here in Washington, shaped his
entire life for more than two decades around the needs of his
daughters. And mothers. I cannot count the mothers I know who have
loved and served and cared and hoped and fought for years and
decades. With no applause. No acclaim. No obvious reward.
At
some point in our conversation last week, I said to the mother, “I
could never be a mother.” I was struck by her response.
“Yes,
you could. You would.”
She
was dismissing her heroic service as the natural, instinctual
goodness that God has planted in the human heart. If your children
have special needs, you become a special provider. That's the way God
has made people.
And
the reason God made people that way is because that's how God is.
That's who God is.
When
we enter the kind of service good mothers give, we are entering most
deeply into greatness—human greatness and divine greatness. At
least that's the way Jesus saw it.
Jesus took some bread and gave
thanks to God for it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the
disciples, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do
this to remember me." After supper he took another cup of wine
and said, "This cup is the new covenant between God and his
people--an agreement confirmed with my blood, which is poured out as
a sacrifice for you. . . .
Then they began to argue among
themselves about who would be the greatest among them.
Jesus told them, "In this
world the kings and great men lord it over their people, yet they
call themselves 'friends of the people.' But among you it will be
different. Those who are the greatest among you should take the
lowest rank, and the leader should be like a servant. Who is more
important, the one who sits at the table or the one who serves? The
one who sits at the table, of course. But not here! For I am among
you as one who serves. Luke 22:19-27
Great
people serve. Great people take care of others.
Where
did Jesus get this idea? Did it originate with him? Was this a brand
new idea that Jesus invented? No. Jesus' idea that serving others is
the highest mark of human goodness came from his vision of God—a
vision rooted in the words of the Old Testament prophets and in the
actual care Jesus received from Joseph.
The
great tree that Jesus sat under, the tree that provided the
inspiration for his magnificent moral vision was the magnificent tree
of divine goodness.
In Matthew 5, Jesus noted that
God sends rain to good people and to bad people, to the just and the
unjust. The gifts of seasons are not pulled from heaven by worthy
people, they are poured from heaven by our generous God.
In Matthew 6, Jesus pictured
God as an attentive parent who is aware of children's needs before
the kids themselves are.
In Matthew 7, Jesus insisted
that the goodness and generosity of ordinary, decent parents is a
pointer toward the profound goodness and generosity of God.
These
presentations by Jesus are an echo of the Hebrew prophets. Throughout
the Old Testament, over and over and over, the prophets picture God
as the champion of the poor, the friend of widows and orphans. God's
greatness is explicitly described as his character of providing for
poor people and animals. God is not pictured as the friend of the
rich. Not because the rich are bad or because God doesn't like rich
people. There are plenty of good rich people in the Bible. But God
does not go out of his way to announce his friendship for the rich
because they do not such an intense need his friendship. They're
doing all right. Life is going well for them.
Like
a good mother, God gives special attention to the children who need
special care. So the poor, the falsely accused, the sick, the people
who can't afford a lawyer, the people who cannot buy a place at the
table—these are the people specially befriended by God. At least,
that's what the prophets say.
Over
and over and over again.
One
of the most important functions of religion is to help us pause in
the race of life and pay attention to authentic greatness, especially
the most magnificent greatness of all—the greatness of God.
Church
is like a stool set on the trail beside the greatest Doug fir
inviting passersby to pause, to stop, and spend some sweet moments in
contemplation of true greatness, divine greatness.
This
is why we come together in worship. Here we spend time in
contemplation of the character of God. We give close, sustained,
communal attention to the mightiest tree in the universe. We worship
the God who sends rain on the just and the unjust. We worship a God
who delights far more in reconciliation than in vengeance, a God who
prefers mercy to punishment, a God who finds ways to save sinners,
and restore the fallen.
Here
in worship we delight in the truth of the beautiful God, the true
measure of what is great.
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