My Gospel Tree

"Forest and field, sun and wind and sky, earth and water, all speak the same silent language, reminding the monk that he is here to develop like the things that grow all around him."

~Thomas Merton

Our liturgical readings this past week have been very earthy, revealing the richness of Jesus' parables for growing in God's life.  Last Sunday's Gospel proclaimed the Our Father as a prayer that honors the Kingdom of God, petitions our need for daily sustenance of daily bread, and calls us to reconciliation.  Through prayer, we ask, seek and find the God life within us- the life that embraces God and embraces God within others through love and service. The weekly readings presented us with the Sower and the seed (Matthew 13).  In this parable we are presented with seeds that make it and seeds that don't.  Every time I read this parable, I want to be the seed that falls on good soil that will bear grain and survive.  I can identify with the weeds that mingle with the wheat.  My favorite parable is that of the mustard seed- "it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches."

Outside the monastery stand two majestically enormous Southern magnolia trees.  I'm not sure exactly how old they are, but one of the Sisters tells me they were here when she arrived 65 years ago.  Whenever I stroll up the sidewalk under this tree, I am always amazed at the grandiose sturdiness of its trunk and branches.  The ever present greenness of the leaves uplift my spirits no matter the season of the year.  The magnificent magnolia blossoms with their sweet fragrance remind me of God's presence all around me.  As I stand under the tree's breathtaking beauty, I think of the small seed that has grown to reveal God's beauty and abundant love to me.  I think of the stability of the enormous trunk, roots, and branches that no tornado or ice storm can destroy.  As I ponder this tree's life-giving beauty in the midst of this humid summer season, I am aware that there are no weeds or wilting leaves in its vicinity.  The trunk and branches create a cross.  The branches' arms are extended to the world.  I think of John 15: 4, "Remain in me, as I remain in you.  Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me."

This tree invites me to renew my Benedictine vow of stability.  Cistercian monk Michael Casey says "Stability is not a matter of immobility or resistance to change but of maintaining one's momentum." ("The Value of Stability", Cistercian Studies Quarterly, 1966, p.288)  I must keep up the daily momentum of prayer, fruitful relationships, and loving service to all those I meet.  I must be rooted in this holy ground.  I must become as beautiful and life-giving as this faithful tree, the icon of Jesus, the Tree of Life, the all-embracing Gift of Love. In the words of Anselm Gruin, OSB, "Living in the presence of God, we encounter ourselves at every turn.  God, in turn, confronts us with our own reality so that we can recognize it and allow it to be purified by God." (Benedict of Nursia)

I vow to take the image of this "perfect" tree wherever I go.  I vow to return to the holy ground of this tree whenever the seed within me is no longer deep in rich soil.  I vow to become as "Holy" as this loving Tree of Life."