“All the trees of the field shall know that I am the
Lord. I bring low the high tree, I make high the low tree; I dry up the green
tree and make the dry tree flourish. I the Lord have spoken; I will accomplish
it.” (Ezekiel
17:24)
Our
God is kind of mysterious, don’t you think?. I guess that’s why God’s
spokespeople use such poetic language to describe the way the Almighty gets
stuff done. Sometimes we just can’t get our heads around God, so Jesus and
prophets like Ezekiel like to give us these evocative and melodious analogies
for things we wouldn’t think of ourselves. There’s an agrarian motif in both
the First Lesson and Gospel Lessons in the Revised Common Lectionary for
Pentecost 4, Year B (Ezekeil 17:22-24 and Mark 4: 26-34 respectively). Both the
ancient prophet and Our Lord seem to be talking about planting trees and shrubs
and what-not, but they’re really talking about the way God works.
A
little refresher about the Ezekiel text: Ezekiel is a pretty funky guy. He gets
all kinds of weird visions like seeing dead bones rising to form a zombie army and
chariot wheels spinning in the air like flying saucers. He’s sort of the Dylan Thomas
of prophets. He’s got a real way with words. He’s also the prophet to the Judean
people in exile. If you go back to the top of Ezekiel chapter 17, the
poet/prophet is using a tree image to express the total screw-up and epic fail
that has been Judah’s relationship with Babylon. Granted, the Babylonians aren’t
exactly the good guys in this story. They’ve invaded Judah, as savage, barbarian
monarchies were wont to do in the ancient world, taken a boatload of important
folks (including the king, Jehoiachin) hostage, and set up a puppet king named Zedekiah
with whom they’ve made a really lopsided deal. It went something like this: Recognize
that we’re in charge now, do whatever we tell you, and pay us an extravagant
ton of protection money. In exchange, we won’t march back in and slaughter you
guys and reduce your country to a pile of rocks. This was not a particularly good
deal for Judah, but, under the circumstances—and given Babylon was an infinitely
stronger military force—it was the only deal on the table.
Unfortunately,
Zedekiah got some bonehead idea he could get Babylon’s knee off his neck if he
broke the treaty and made a military deal with Egypt. Ezekeil, using a poetic
tree analogy in verses 17:1-10, expresses why this was stupid. Just in case his
tree thing was too erudite, he explains the whole business in prose in verses
11-21. Zedekiah and Judah were in a lousy position, getting bullied by Babylon,
but at least they had peace. A deal was a deal. When Zedekiah broke the
agreement, he violated the most sacred obligation any king has, which is to
keep his people safe. Zedekiah’s defiance brought about catastrophic military retribution
from the Babylonians, and Ezekiel isn’t afraid to say so. Zedekiah and his yes
men brought this tragedy upon the people, and they have only themselves to
blame.
(At
this point your Old Religious Guy is tempted to make a comparison with events
in the modern Middle East, but you probably don’t want to read a polemic about
Israel and Gaza. You can draw your own conclusions.)
But
Ezekiel isn’t done. He writes another tree poem in verses 22-24. This one is
more hopeful. In spite of all the devastation, pain, regret, and sorrow the
Judeans face in their defeat and exile, the prophet reminds them that God can
still snap off some new growth from a tree and transplant it back home where it
will take root and produce a new tree that will welcome all the birds of the
air. It might take some time for this to happen, but God is willing to overlook
the mistakes of the past, grant forgiveness, and bring healing. In our darkest
moments, this truth about God’s love and desire for us is what the prophet asks
us to remember.
In
the Gospel Lesson, Jesus tweaks the tree-growing metaphor by reminding us that it’s
God who gives the growth. Our contributions to God’s kingdom are as
insignificant as the sower scattering the seed and giving it some water. The
real miracle happens without our effort. God’s will is done through us or in
spite of us, and we are encouraged to look past our puny selves to believe in the
goodness of God.
Ezekiel
envisioned God’s kingdom as a giant cedar. Jesus describes it as a relatively unimpressive
mustard shrub. To Jesus, size doesn’t matter. Both plants can provide
nourishment and shade and shelter. Both are God’s creatures. Both grew by God’s
command. So what’s the take-away? God is active under the surface of our
understanding or insight. God does not stop being good because we, in our
preoccupied circumstances, fail to recognize God’s goodness. God is active in
God’s time, not in ours. In our “Babylonian Exile” moments, when we feel
ashamed or defeated or abandoned, God is still able to do something new for us.
And God does not judge by our human standards of importance. Each of us bears
our own kind of fruit, and sometimes the smallest acts can have the most
lasting consequences.
How
can I sum this up? Just keep the faith, and let God’s peace—which surpasses our
ability to understand it in either poetry or prose—keep your hearts and your
minds on the goodness and promise of God.
And
thanks for stopping by!
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