I sit in my study and look out the window and all I can see are trees. Massive trees, maybe 80-100 feet high! Beautiful. Their leaves are just beginning turn and the sun lights them up like little green bugs clinging onto the dark branches.
I think about the God who made these trees to just stand there and patiently grow inch by inch each year – getting stronger and thicker with each storm that the seasons bring.
But that’s not what I’m really thinking about.
Why does God like trees so much? Why does he use them as markers at the most important points in history?
It was a tree that could bring life or death to the human race in Eden.
It was at the great tree of Moreh that God met with Abraham and promised him a land for his offspring.
It was at another tree – the great trees of Mamre that God again met with Abraham and promised him a son.
It was a branch from a tree that made the bitter waters of Marah sweet to drink – so God’s people could survive after escaping from slavery in Egypt.
The blessed man of Psalm 1 is like a tree drinking from streams of water.
The rightesous man of the Sermon on the Mount is a tree that produces good fruit.
It is a tree that will stand either side of the river of life in the new creation and bring fruit and healing for the nations.
But at the centre of all these trees is the one that towers above them all. Only it towers in its significance not in its physical stature. The tree was an unappealing shape – the shape of a cross – and it stood diminutively on the side of a road where people could pass by and spit at it and mock.
But on that tree hung my Saviour smeared with the sin of the world.
What a horrid, brutal, ugly, life-giving, world changing, marvellous tree. I love that tree. I need that tree.
Thanks God for sending Jesus to die on a tree instead of me.