Born of earth and the Spirit

Psalm 139:13-16

Acts 17:22-28

Today in the first of our Season of Creation Sundays, we are focusing on forests and trees. I hope that there were some good memories stirred for you at the beginning of this service – scent can be a powerful provoker of memory. I well remember a moment soon after we arrived in South Africa after 4 years in Europe, walking from our rented home up the slopes of Table Mountain to the University, and suddenly realizing we were walking through an avenue of eucalypts. It was a taste of home even though we were still thousands of kilometers from Australia. As I thought of my memories of important forest experiences I have one from Switzerland and one from Australia. Every time we sing one of the Anabaptist hymns in our hymnal or speak of the clandestine communities that met in the early 16^th century in Europe I remember a trip we did from the seminary in Rüschlikon on a lovely summer’s day – we drove to the outskirts of the canton and up into the mountains, leaving the car and walking through a pine forest to a cave which was, we were told, the location of Anabaptist worship. I can imagine the fervency of worship amidst towering trees with the constant anxiety of discovery, but with the solid stone wall of the shallow cave at their backs protecting them. Anabaptists are not remembered particularly for their connection with the natural world, but circumstances forced them to appreciate the created world as their sanctuary even while in the cities around them new and austere chapels were being built of stone to reflect the reformist theology at work.

My other strong memory is of a time shortly after returning to Australia – we visited friends who lived near Anakie, on the edge of the Brisbane Ranges National Park in central Victoria. After lunch we went walking behind our friends’ house, up into the dry eucalpyt forest, searching for koalas (we found half a dozen easily). I suddenly felt at home again, although I hadn’t even been aware that I was homesick, with the rustles and smells of the dry bushland around me. I thought “this is my country, not the lush greenery of Europe but this muted grey green of gum trees, dry crackling branches underfoot and harsh bird calls overhead.”

I think almost everyone has been impacted by time spent in a forest. As I was preparing this sermon during the week I heard the current Environment minister Ian Campbell being interviewed after a bushwalk in the Tarkine Forest of northwest Tasmania. He was proud of the government’s success in saving both the forest - a wonderful piece of the Australian environment - and the local logging industries.

Visiting old growth forests can be a very spiritual experience – being surrounded by trees that are hundreds of years old – truly giants in the history of the world. Listen to the depth of experience in this poem written by Trevor Parton of the Catholic Centre for Ecology and Spirituality, Glenburn, Vic:

“Old Growth Forest”

I paused on the steps of the cathedral,

white coloured, wind-blown,

falling leaves blessed my brow.

I prepared myself for the life and the mystery within.

And entering, under my feet,

a soft carpet of once-green leaves,

now bread for a new generation.

On all sides gothic trunks,

subdued light and quiet.

Over my head a rich tapestry of stained glass rainbow,

with glittering blue, rays of light,

red and yellow splashes

now wine for the pilgrim.

The music, on nature’s organ,

a pianissimo of rustling leaves,

pizzicato birds, soft footfalls and cracking twigs;

the prayer, my wondrous breath and

the quiet vibration of the giants beside me.

And, the wind, in the leaves above,

whispering the thousand names of God,

also stirs my heart to pray, Amen.

If this is where the kangaroo pray,

Then this is for me,

Yes, absolutely for me.

As we focus on Forest Sunday today and other aspects of the natural world over the next four weeks we should remember that even though we come inside this building almost every week to worship, over half of a sample of Christians surveyed claim that they find it easiest to worship God while out amongst nature. Indeed, for some the natural world is the way they come to God.

Paul seems to acknowledge this in the record of his address to the Areopagus in Athens. Earlier in the Acts passage we hear that he noticed with dismay the number of idols in the city – and historical and archeological evidence agrees with the description of a city with religious and cultural diversity and a reputation for intellect and philosophy. In fact, the rare Greek word used to describe his observation could be translated that he noticed in Athens a “forest of idols”. But when given the opportunity to speak to the intellectual council Paul addressed them on their own terms – pointing out that in their shrine to the ‘Unknown God’ they have left room for a deity who can’t be confined to an image made by human hands. In his speech Paul talks about God as the Creator of the universe (24), the sustainer of life (25), who created all humans with the same breath and inner impulse to search for God’s presence (27), and that all humans are children of God (28). As someone who keeps inflicting religious poetry onto you I was encouraged to learn from the commentaries that he quoted from two poets in this speech! (C6th BC Epimenides of Cnossos; C3rd BC Aratus of Cicilia)

So as created children of God we yearn to know who that God is, and many of us find clues as we look to the natural world around us. Some years ago I attended another conference on the theme of ecotheology and I came across a letter I had written for a worship service – a letter written from the perspective of the trees.

The tree says

“I reach out my hands to you, offering you the green gift of life through my filtering leaves, offering you the hope of the future in my buds and blossoms, offering you the celebration of the present in my nourishing fruit and seeds. I reach out my hands to you in companionship, acknowledging that we stand on the same soil, recognizing that in our mutual exchange of breath both of us survive, sharing with you the journey of life, from precious new growth at my tips to the strength of age and wisdom in my trunk, from delight in spring warmth to resolute weathering of winter and necessary bending to the wind, from tender shoot with full potential to a tree pruned and shaped by life’s experiences, rooted deep in place and time, but still free to grow and change.”

And so other living parts of our world can teach us what it is to live in this world, can remind us of the character of God, can help us see that all creation is interconnected through the Creative Spirit of God.

In the Psalm that was read God is pictured as a knitter, or weaver. This type of craft relies on opposing threads being held in tension and interlocked to form a mesh. In weaving the warp threads are the foundation and need to be strong. The weft threads have variety, colour and texture. Both need to be there to make the final product. Whatever the pattern it is the weaver that determines the final appearance, the weaver who chooses the materials, designs the pattern, keeps the tension between the threads strong.

And the psalm suggests that God creates like this: choosing a unique pattern for each creation and making it in secret, ready to surprise us with a beautiful final product. But not only our individual lives but also our corporate lives can be informed by this metaphor. If the warp threads are the foundation, they need to be strong. This could remind us of our relationship with God. And the weft threads in their variety of colour and texture might speak to us about our relationships with each other. And these relationships sometimes involve pain and determination as well as pleasure and joy. Remember that the mesh or web is stronger when warp and weft threads are woven together than the parts in their separate state. So we need both dimensions to life if we are to live the way the master weaver intended in our world.

Another image that comes to mind when we speak of a web or mesh is that of spider webs – and remember the amazing feat in building a web: where a spider takes thread from its own body and moves back and forth across a gap between twigs or branches like the shuttle of a loom, closing the gap with a fine mesh of threads. I think it is wonderful that a North American Indian culture has a creator god known as a "spider woman" or 'spinster' (one who spins!). Because these are the qualities of the creator: the ability to create out of itself, to cross the distance and span the gaps, to surprise us, to create wholeness and newness of hope where lives are broken.

Paul in Athens looked at the many attempts to reach God – the shrines and idols and philosophies being debated daily, then proclaimed to the Athenians that “indeed God is not far from each one of us”. The message of the gospel that he preached is that God reaches across the gaps to bring us life and hope and love.

In the bible we find a number of significant trees that represent this decision by God to reach across the gap between creator and creation. The biblical witness is framed by the tree of life, mentioned in the creation story in Genesis, and then again at the end of Revelation, where it stands at the heavenly city and provides leaves for the healing of the nations. In between is another tree of life – one made roughly of wood and set up to cast its shadow over the pain and suffering that characterizes so much of human existence. A tree embraced by the son of God as the full identification with the human condition. Paul Coleman sang a powerful song about the cross where he called it “The Killing Tree”. But of course this killing tree became the tree of life when God raised Jesus from the dead.

There is an American folktale of three trees that has been passed down through generations so that whoever originally told the story is no longer known. But it is a timeless tale of three little trees who dreamed what they wanted to be when they grew up. One wanted to be shaped into a chest that would hold great treasure. One wanted to be made into a strong sailing ship that would sail the oceans and carry powerful kings. The third didn’t want to leave the mountain top, but instead wanted to grow so tall that when people stopped to look at it they would raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. Years passed and the three trees grew tall and strong. The first was dismayed when it was cut down and shaped into a feed box for animals. The second was pleased to be taken to a ship yard but then deflated when made into an ordinary fishing boat and taken to a little lake. The third was confused when it was sawn into strong beams and left in a lumber yard. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams. But one night light poured on the first tree as a young woman placed her first born in an animal’s feed box with a smile and a comment ‘this manger is beautiful.’ The first tree was holding the greatest treasure in the world. The second tree found itself on a lake full of travelers in a stormy night, sharing the fear and anxiety of his passengers until one stood, reached out a hand and said “peace.” Suddenly the second tree know it was carrying the king of heaven and earth. And of course the third was yanked from a wood pile on a Friday morning, nailed roughly together and dragged through a jeering crowd, feeling ugly and harsh and cruel. But on a Sunday morning when the sun rose and the earth beneath trembled with joy, the third tree knew that God’s love had changed everything. Every time people of thought of the third tree, they would think of God.

Let us not underestimate the ability of ordinary things in the world around us to point us to God.