Following Tom was a chore. With his long legs, he has been traversing the high mountain meadows of Southwest Colorado for many years trying to lead people to fulfill a primal urge to get closer to nature and to God, and if successful with the former, to eat a bit of nature. You see, Tom is an outfitter by trade. I have never really looked up the etymology of the word "outfitter", but my best guess is that it means something like: "Outfitter; noun, a person who assists chubby guys from the flatlands - decked out in the latest Cabella fashions -to ride a horse, not shoot themselves, not shoot each other, not shoot the horse or the outfitter, and not have to worry about cooking, doing dishes, or digging their own hole in which to go poo!" During the years that my friend - Tom the outfitter - has been running around the mountains, I, on the other hand, have faithfully sat like a statue behind my desk trying to get closer to God. I live in the world of sermons and books printed on felled trees. Tom lives in the world of trees still standing. On this day I began to think that Tom's way of getting closer to God might have its advantages.
During our hike through a downpour of rain, sleet, and then snow, I finally asked Tom if we could stop and rest for a moment. For some reason, I was under the impression that we would be riding horses most of the time, but that turned out not to be the case. Tom seemed to think that the elk that we were pursuing would be just over the next mountain. He had this same thought many times as we scaled what I was sure was the last of the last of the Rockies, only to discover another bigger and ascending and more scrub-oak infested path before us. On we would go, up and up, mountain after mountain. Having seen so many elk in the lowlands around my house, I was wondering if this was Tom's idea of a hazing. I could imagine him thinking to himself, "Okay, you stubby legged little preacher - this is payback for all of those sermons where you made me feel guilty or inadequate!" Such thoughts travel remarkably easy through an oxygen starved brain.
I finally came to rest on a massive tree that had fallen many years ago and was well into its quiet and determined return to dust. As I sat there pondering the enormous tree, I began to wonder just how long it had been since the day when it fell in the forest and no one heard it - a philosophical question. And, I began to wonder how many years it had lived before it died. And, just how far back did this tree go? When did the seed mysteriously fall to the ground, and against great odds, take root and begin to grow? Because of the remoteness of the area, I wondered if I were the only person in history to ever stop and take a breather on this old decaying tree. How many birds had nested here? How many squirrels had scampered up and down its trunk? All of these thoughts passed through my mind in an instant. It was a holy sort of moment. This one dead tree, with a history known only to God and some small woodland creatures, made me feel rather small - but in a good way. This tree had stood by while the world tried to burn itself down in W.W.I & W.W. II. This tree had predated computers, cell phones, supersonic flight, the Beatles, Big Macs, 911, and Britney Spears. I felt small because the age of this enormous dead tree lying there was a silent reminder of how brief and scattered my life on this earth had been - and will be.
Long after the Lord has called me home, this tree will still be slowly decaying and in doing so, give a chance for survival for another small seed that will randomly tumble into the shelter of its life-giving compost. Somehow, this brief little sermon preached to me from creation made me want to live - and die - in a good way. It reminded me of words once spoken by the great Apostle, "If we live, it is to honor the Lord. And, if we die, it is to honor the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. Christ died and rose again for this very purpose- to be both Lord of the living and the dead." All this while sitting on a dead tree high in the Rocky Mountians.
2 comments:
mmmmm "this tree will still be slowly decaying and in doing so, give a chance for survival for another small seed that will randomly tumble into the shelter of its life-giving compost" makes me think of another sermon your tree is offering. Only in death can there be new life. So in the decay of what was, a new seed is being formed, not independent of the old, but in the shelter of what once was....bringing forth life instead of death. The organic church.
CJ,
You might need to compile these blogs (mini sermons) into a modern "my utmost for His highest" devotional book that the unchurched believer can relate to.
J
Post a Comment