I was jealous some, but didn't get it. Then I read the Politics of Jesus. Images of trees and leaves, particularly, long ago emerged for me as grounding images from that book. I am probably jealous of trees. They do not scurry or fret or appear to be anxious about their levels of activity. Trees are planted to a place and, with rare exceptions, hold no hopes of future travels or explorations. Tree
s don't long for exotic countries in order to satisfy some sense that doing so will fulfill them or their perspectives on the world. Trees don't write bucket lists. Most days, trees mock my struggle with temptations to justify my existence. They stand planted over hours and days and weeks and years. The psalmist invites us to be likewise planted. And I think Wendell Berry is helpful for understanding what this might mean, but I do not yet understand. My admiration for trees is great. It is probably going too far to say that trees do not have ambition. Who knows? But trees intuit the connection between the depth of one's roots and the reach and fruitfulness of one's branches. But besides the natural patience of trees, Christians marvel at that one, holy tree in particular, at which we meet and learn the patience of God. "We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world." So redeemed, Christians believe we have been given all that we need to be patient with ourselves, one another, and the world.
