Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, October 6, 2024.

One of the challenges of the modern era is that we tend to take things literally. When we ask, “Is it true?” we mean, “Is is factual?” We see things as either true or false. And there are certainly places where telling the literal, empirical, factual truth is important and essential. Science is one of them, politics and government should be another, but you know that’s not always the case. It should be ok, and even expected, that journalists will fact-check politicians. That’s how the system works!

But one of the pitfalls of the age of science is that it has caused people to create this false dichotomy between science and religion that says, if one is true then the other must be false. When we need both, because they perform different functions and offer us different ways of understanding our universe and ourselves. Science describes what can be measured and observed, postulated and proven. Religion is more like poetry—it points at the truth, but its stories and scripture, most from pre-scientific times, are not meant to be read as non-fiction. They are more like dreams, mysteries to ponder.

This is what Emily Dickinson meant when she wrote, “Tell the truth but tell it slant.” Symbolic stories don’t try to tell factual truth, but that does’t mean they aren’t true. Metaphors help us to sense a deeper truth. We just sang, “There’s a river flowin’ in my soul,” but nobody thinks this song is saying we have a river of fresh water flowing in our bodies. Or that the song is describing your circulatory system. No, it’s about the a spirit that’s ever flowing, affirming that you are somebody, possessed of worth and dignity. It’s saying there is a great and abiding Love, like a mighty river, moving in us and around us. Right?

Our worship theme for October is “Trees.” But don’t expect church this month to be like botany class! There may be a bit of science here and there, that could be cool, but mostly I sense the invitation is to look at trees, these beautiful companions all around us, as symbols, as teachers, as reminders of what is good and true in the world. 

When you hear the word “tree,” what comes to mind? Is there a particular tree that you love, or have loved? Do you have a picture of it, or an image of it in your mind? Maybe there’s a verse of poetry, or a story, that helps you to enter and unfold the mystery of these quiet and beautiful companions. I’d love to hear about your experiences of trees, and to see your images you have of trees, if you want to share them with me. I’d welcome conversation about trees this month!

Just reflecting on this theme has invited me to pay more attention to trees. To gaze on the trees I live with, and notice how they are a home for birds, which dart in and out. And how their leaves, turning color now, dance in the breeze. How they cast shade and hold fruit and seeds that feed animals, and people too. 

I think of a photograph from years ago, I did of my our children as a present for their mom. It was in May, just before Tracey’s birthday, when our kids were about 6 and 4. One evening, after Tracey left for choir rehearsal, I set up my tripod and got Will and Emma to stand under a crabapple tree that was in full bloom. The curve of that tree frames those two young lives, and that black and white image still makes me glad, and tugs at my heart. Those childhood days are long gone, and so is the tree—it got sick and died years ago. But the photograph is a reminder of a moment that I cherish, perhaps even more now than I did back then.

This is one aspect of trees worth noting, that many of them live much longer than we humans do. These old trees are like sentinels, standing watch, as people come and go, as the world changes around them. In this way, aren’t the oldest trees like the presence of the Holy? Compared to us, a seemingly timeless presence. Reminding us that though we are mortal, “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the earth remains.

The image that I want to reflect on today is the one we heard in both of those versions of Psalm 1. The image of a tree, growing by the water, rooted and grounded in the depths of moist, life-giving soil. As Christine Robinson’s version puts it:

Happy are they who know good and do good.
Their love for the good feeds them continually.
They are like trees planted near the river,
whose roots go deep and wide.
They thrive, bear fruit in season, and
weather drought without wilting.
Those who are not so grounded
will blow around like dry leaves in the wind.
Root yourself in Good, and live.

You know that the Mediterranean world, and what’s called the Holy Land, is a dry land. I think of time I’ve spent out in Wyoming’s sagebrush country. It’s so different than the land east of the Mississippi, In that western landscape, there aren’t nearly as many trees as we have here, east of the Mississippi. Out there you find trees mostly along rivers and creeks. If you look across that open landscape and you see a meandering patch of trees, you can assume there’s water there. The trees only live where they can get enough water to grow and thrive.

The psalms were written in a time and a place where life was harsh. Psalm 1 reminds us that we have choices in life; that some things are good for us and some things are bad. That if you’re not being nourished and watered, then you’re in danger. The original version, no surprise, puts it a bit more directly:

Happy are those
    who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or take the path that sinners tread,
    or sit in the seat of scoffers;
but their delight is in the law of the Lord,
    and on his law they meditate day and night.
They are like trees
    planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in its season,
    and their leaves do not wither.
In all that they do, they prosper. (Psalm 1:1-3)

In other words, we’re living in a dangerous world, and have choices to make. If you hang around with the wrong sort of people, or listen to bad advice or follow false prophets, or if you sit in the seat of scoffers—I love that line!, it’s like, “if you sit on the sidelines can complain about everything”—do these things, the psalmist says, at your peril. 

But if you meditate on what is good and holy, if you ground yourself in what is life-giving, then you will be like a tree, growing by the water: solid, resilient, fruitful; so full of life that you are a blessing to others, and to yourself. 

Picture a large tree swaying in the breeze. And picture that same tree being bend by the winds of a storm. We’ve seen trees get blown over; often shallow-rooted trees like pine or spruce, often growing on top of rock. But a tree with deeper roots can bend and not be broken or uprooted. There’s a saying: “Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not get bent out of shape.”

Who would not want to be like this, like a tree, planted by the water? It’s a good and beautiful thing. But being rooted does come at a cost. It means you can’t go everywhere and do everything—you have to make choices, and choosing to be grounded means accepting some limitations, and making good choices.

There is so much wisdom in the Hebrew psalms and prophets, and in them you find the common refrain of return—of coming to your senses, remembering what is right and true, coming home to yourself and to God. There is, in our day, and in our culture, a strain of resistance to this—people these days don’t like being told what to do, even when it’s good for us.“You’re not the boss of me!” 

Can I say it? This is an adolescent response, and the invitation is to be spiritual grownups. Mature, self-aware, mindful of our own gifts and limitations. Able to give and receive help. Even able to hear some criticism from time to time. Trying to see beyond our own personal experience and bias. This is something I love about you in this congregation: you are down to earth people, you’re not pretentious or arrogant, critical or mean spirited. And we could use more of that in our society. We could use more grownups these days. 

I love that in Judaism there’s a tradition of holy conversation and even argument around the meaning of scripture; it’s not seen as set in stone, and there’s an openness to translating and making meaning for the current time and context. The invitation is to take the ancient texts seriously, and to bring a spirit of openness and flexibility in reading them. To interpret and apply them in ways that are liberating, and not oppressive. Because this was their original intent—to help and free the people. 

To that end, will you do a bit of creative exploration and interpretation this week? Will you take that one line from the psalmist, “They are like trees, planted by the water,” and explore what it might mean for you in your life? What does it look like, and how would you practice this being like a tree? What kind of tree are you, and what are your attributes? You could describe this in words, or in a drawing, or some other way. And then, share it with someone and have a conversation about this being like a tree. Will you try it?

In these days, we need people who will do what is good and right, who will, as faithful souls have done down through the ages, work to heal and not to harm, to bless and not to curse. In the words of the prophet Isaiah, to be “oaks of righteousness.”   

Dear spiritual companions, let the prophet’s call be our call too: to bind up the broken, to set the captives free, to release the prisoners and bring gladness to those who mourn; to be like oaks of righteousness, strong and beautiful trees, growing by the water. 

Now and forever,

Amen.