The Tree of Z

I want to be like a tree.  

I’ve long loved being tucked under trees. Having spent my childhood years camping, they’ve always felt like home to me. My most cherished memories were made in their shadow, spent under their shade. To this day, wandering in the woods brings all my hurried insides into a holy hush. Trees center me, as if their deep roots call out to my own. I want to be like a tree.  

In this, my 60th year, I am more fascinated by trees than ever before. By how they thrive in community, share nutrients with one another, and watch each other's backs (or should I say bark?). I’m learning about the intelligence of trees, how they communicate constantly through their “wood wide web,” and the gracious ways they afford each other space. I’m finding that the trees I’ve grown to love so much are resourceful, generous, and generative, fostering life for a full century after they’ve fallen. Yes, I want to be like a tree.  

When we moved to our current home almost 30 years ago, we planted two trees out back in memory of my Grandparents. Cherry trees, to commemorate their connection to Japan where they were both raised as children of missionaries, and where my own mother was born. When our weeping cherry is in bloom, it is the glory of our entire neighborhood. It stuns me with its beauty and grace as it bends down low, weeping its pink blossoms with abandon all across our lawn. I want to be like a tree.  

I believe God wants me to be like a tree as well. And according to scripture, there are quite a few options.  

I could be like the tree planted by streams of water, or the green olive tree in the house of God (Psalm 1:3; 52:8). I could flourish like the palm tree or grow like a cedar in Lebanon (Psalm 92:12). Being an oak of righteousness might be nice (Isaiah 61:3). Or how about the tree that has no fear when heat comes and never ceases to bear fruit (Jeremiah 17:8)? Yes, please, to any of these trees.  

But at this very moment in time? The tree I would really like to be, is the tree that helped Zacchaeus see.  

In the story of Zacchaeus, we find a man rich in wealth, short in stature, and stealing from those in town. He was a despised man, a dishonest man, and a man whose desire to see Jesus drove him to climb a tree. A Sycamore to be exact.    

Luke tells us Zacchaeus was “trying to see who Jesus was” (Luke 19:2). Aren’t we all? But his seeing was impeded due to his height and because of the crowd. So in order to see, he climbed a tree.  

That’s the tree I want to be. A tree that helps people to see. One I will now call “the tree of Z.”  

In my practice as a spiritual director, people often come to me as Zacchaeus did to his tree, out of a desire to see who Jesus is. They are looking for a place to gain perspective. A place above the noise and din. A place where they are held and hosted, as they hope for a glimpse of God come by. And what a holy moment it is when that happens.  

Zacchaeus climbed his tree to see who Jesus was, but I think he got more than he bargained for. For not only did Zacchaeus see Jesus, but he saw Jesus seeing him in return. And it didn’t stop there. From his place perched in that tree, Zacchaeus received and responded to an invitation from Jesus. The result of this was life trickling out, life trickling down, life flowing all over that surprised little town. Salvation for him and those in his house, repayment to those who had their doubts.  

I want to be like this tree. To have low lying branches, accessible to all, a tree for which you don’t have to be tall. A tree who holds you above all the crowds. A tree which helps quiet all that is loud. A tree who does not judge those who come, a tree who welcomes an unholy one. A place you can come to find and be found, a place where you can both hear and respond. A place of perspective to which people can come to see and be seen by the Holy One.

I want to be like this tree. I want to be like the tree of Z.

*Reprinted with permission from Anabaptist World magazine, AnabaptistWorld.org.*