This is the fifth entry in the UCCDM Lenten Devotional 2015. This reflection for Good Friday comes to us from Rev.Lynda Bigler who is the current Chair of UCCDM. Her bio can be found on the Board of Directors page.
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Being legally blind, to me many trees look like lollipops, with their trunks as the stems and their canopies the pops.The tall pines, spruce, and firs that grow here in the Pacific Northwest are like gigantic arrows hoisted far above the ground by sturdy brown shafts.
Our town requires a permit to cut down a tree and homeowners are allowed to cut down only 2 trees on their property per year. Avoiding obtaining a permit or exceeding the permitted number results in a $2,000 fine per removed tree. In 2015 the tree permit process was modified to state that people removing trees must replant one tree on their property for each one removed.
This permit process assumes that trees are living things, not to be destroyed for random reasons such as a dislike of raking leaves fallen onto a driveway or a desire to eliminate the pesky birds nested in the tree. The number one reason for eliminating a tree here is a dislike of its appearance or color. The permit process tries to remind us that nature is comprised of living things rather than inanimate objects subject to human whims.
And then it came to me: Imagine the cross of Jesus as a tree that gave up its life for him.
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There is so much more to a tree than its looks.
In winter people often talk about the quiet, empty, barren landscape of trees. They look forward to spring when the trees once again will come to life. In the world of the blind and visually impaired, winter trees can be one noisy bunch. They rattle and creak when covered with ice. Their branches are the surfaces that allow wind to whistle as it blows over them. Swaying branches whoosh like waves breaking on the beach. The scent of evergreens fills the air with a hint of Christmas all winter long.
In spring and summer the trees are full of birdsong and scampering, chattering squirrels. Trees hiss as rain falls through their leafy canopies. The wind rustles their leaves like girls rustle their crinoline dresses. Apple blossoms, orange blossoms, magnolias, and many other flowering trees fill the air with their sweet scents and promises of what is yet to come at harvest.
In autumn, the world is full of brightly colored lollipops — such an exciting change from the usual green ones! Autumn brings falling leaves of all colors and shapes as trees shed their “clothing” before going to sleep. As we walk along streets or sidewalks or forest paths, we hear the crunch of fallen leaves below our feet. Fallen raked leaves bring fun and laughter as children and adults jump into them. Although the leaves have died they bring joy to those left behind. The leaves smell of decay, but their fruits and nuts make us salivate for their taste and sustenance.
The trees ease into sleep. While they appear to be dead, they are actually undergoing significant renewal and strengthening for their rebirth in spring. I am reminded that Holy Saturday is needed for the beauty and joy of Easter to arrive.
Tree trunks vary in texture from rough to smooth. Most trees in my yard are rough, but the birches shed their bark as they grow, leaving a smooth, wet new skin behind. Bark can be fragrant like cedar or sappy like maples. Moss and English Ivy choke the alder trees beside our house so that when their branches fall, the bark, starved of nutrients, slides right off.
When blood and sweat ran down Jesus’ face as he carried his cross, I wonder if his blurred vision led him to feel each intricate detail of the cross in his hands: the texture, it’s fragrance. For example, I wonder if his cross still held the scent of a Lebanon cedar. As a carpenter, did the smell of fresh cut wood remind him of his trade as he walked? Was the cross splintered from being roughly cut?
When Jesus carries his cross to Golgotha, I think of him as beginning his journey as a person with a disability. His vision impaired, his other senses enhanced, Jesus walked toward the physical breaking of his body. His body, broken for me, enables me, as a person with a disability, to know Jesus has experienced all that we with disabilities experience each minute of every day: difficulty navigating, struggling to see and speak, unable to hear, mobility a challenge, thoughts a little disorganized or appearing slow, appearance a little bit different sometimes. Jesus was subjected to the same bullying and taunting that people with disabilities receive.
Jesus asked God to forgive them, for “they know not what they do.” I, too, forgive, but like Jesus, I also teach ways to act differently. Jesus shows us the big picture of life and death, and big pictures are the specialty of the visually impaired.
When the broken body of Jesus was carried to the tomb, it was carried with love and respect, the same kind of love and respect that those with disabilities may feel from God but not from those around them. How reassuring to know that one day, our bodies, like his, will also be carried with such love and respect.
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I collect crosses. Each cross in my collection is meaningful to me, not just a fancy piece of sculpture or a fashion statement of jewelry. Each cross is tactile, made from differing materials with varying textures. I have one made of highly polished Koa wood from Hawaii, another made of seashells collected on beach walks in the Bahamas, another made of river rocks by Native Americans living on Oregon’s Warm Springs Indian Reservation.
But my favorite tactile cross was handmade by Frank Poszgai here is Oregon. Intricate yet sturdy, this wooden cross for me is a symbol of the church since the death of Jesus.
What better illustration can there be to connect Jesus and the tree of his cross than to illustrate Jesus’ own words, “I am the vine; you are the branches”? Imagine this cross planted in the ground, it’s base sending roots to anchor it to the earth, it’s top reaching for heaven, it’s arms reaching out for each and every one of us. This indeed is the tree of life, grown from the cross of Jesus. It reminds us to stay rooted in God’s creation, to raise our praise to God in heaven, and reach out to each of God’s creatures.
Imagine the cross of Jesus, covered in a growing vine. A vine strong enough for hands to hold on to and never fear of falling off. I do not need to see the vine to know it is there. All I need to do is feel its strength, know it is alive, and believe that if I reach through the gaps between leaves, I can help pull others to the safety of God.
