This past week, I have been blessed with the first of two weeks of vacation. Next week, I will explain why I am in Portland, Oregon and the connection I found between Pope Francis’ Encyclical Laudato Si’ and my vacation. For this week, I want to share a simple reflection based on the readings from this past Sunday’s Mass and my visit to the Hoyt Arboretum at Washington Park. For starters, let’s get last Sunday’s first reading back in our heads and hearts.
Thus says the Lord GOD:
I, too, will take from the crest of the cedar,
from its topmost branches tear off a tender shoot,
and plant it on a high and lofty mountain;
on the mountain heights of Israel I will plant it.It shall put forth branches and bear fruit,
and become a majestic cedar.Birds of every kind shall dwell beneath it,,
every winged thing in the shade of its boughs.
And all the trees of the field shall know that I, the LORD,
bring low the high tree,
lift high the lowly tree,
wither up the green tree,
and make the withered tree bloom.As I, the LORD, have spoken, so will I do.
(Ezekiel 17:22-24)
I found it to be a moment of grace that this first reading coincided with my first experience of red cedars one finds on the west coast of the United States. Amid this collection of trees, there was also a Lebanon Cedar. Whether it be the Cedar of Lebanon or the number of Giant Sequoya that towered over me like Cathedral spires, the pairing of our first reading with Psalm 92 in this weekend’s Mass took my heart deeper into the spiritual wilderness.
R. Lord, it is good to give thanks to you.
It is good to give thanks to the LORD,
to sing praise to your name, Most High,
To proclaim your kindness at dawn
and your faithfulness throughout the night.R. Lord, it is good to give thanks to you.
The just one shall flourish like the palm tree,
like a cedar of Lebanon shall he grow.
They that are planted in the house of the LORD
shall flourish in the courts of our God.R. Lord, it is good to give thanks to you.
They shall bear fruit even in old age;
vigorous and sturdy shall they be,
Declaring how just is the LORD,
my rock, in whom there is no wrong.R. Lord, it is good to give thanks to you.
A picture I took about a year ago, standing beneath the vaulting spire of the Cathedral of Saint Joseph the Workman, the Cathedral of the Diocese of La Crosse (my home Diocese). The height of the Cathedral is 216 feet. The height of redwood trees can reach in excess of 350 feet.As I stood beneath the towering grandeur of the Redwood Trail, it dawned on me that the last time I had a spiritual experience like this was when I visited some of the historic Gothic Cathedrals in Europe and the United States. As I twisted my neck upward to try and peer at the top of the cedars, I remembered twisting my neck in a similar fashion beneath the spires of vaulting sacred spaces. I recalled Bishop Robert Barron sharing with us as seminarians that part of the genius of Gothic architecture is that it naturally compels us to gaze upward, straining to see the top of the structure. This natural contortion reminds the Christian that we are to constantly fix our gaze heavenward, straining to glimpse the Divine.
When we fix our gaze heavenward, whether it be to the top of a Gothic Cathedral or top of a giant cedar, we become powerfully aware of two realities: How massive the structure is we gaze upon and how small we are in relation to that structure!
What I find interesting in both settings, the Gothic Cathedral and the Gothic Sequoya, is that I don’t feel a sense of insignificance in this smallness, but a sense of peace, joy, and love. Further, when I gaze upon the refraction of light through stained glass windows or observe light’s gentle bend through the leaves of nature’s woodland giants, I am reminded how the light of faith touching our lives can cast a warm, mystic light on a world that strains to see and experience God’s love. This light of God’s love shows through those who inspire us to grow from a small shoot plucked from the top of the spiritual cedar of the community of faith by God and aids us to grow into the well-rooted tree of faith God calls us to be. Our lives become a constant gaze “upward,” praying to grow into the towering spires of faith that surround us, being taken in awe and wonder by the growth we see in those who allowed Christ to bring them to full maturity.
For those of you who are familiar with the history of Gothic architecture, you know that the term “Gothic” was first used as a derogatory statement against what was seen as a bizarre and grotesque form of architecture for a sacred space. In time, however, the genius and beauty of these structures were appreciated despite the continued use of their derogatory name. In that spirit, if we remove the moralizing aspect of the term “Gothic,” recasting it more as an objective statement of something atypical, not in proportion with things more “common,” could we not see in the Everglades of our faith that saints stand like Sequoya and Gothic Cathedrals amid a world of mundane structures? Their lofty stature can, at first, give us a sense of insignificance as we strain to understood how their lives inform us how to live our lives of faith. However, when we realize that it is beneath the shady branches of their intercessory prayers and God’s grace that we move from sapling to Lebanon Cedar, we can instead find protection, stability, faith, hope, and love. We begin to see and experience moments of rapid growth, painful pruning, and seeds of faith God plants through us, continuing the family tree of the Church. In a real way, the Gothic Cathedral and Gothic Sequoya become the metaphor for our spiritual lives that Jesus alluded to in this weekend’s Gospel.
Jesus said to the crowds:
“This is how it is with the kingdom of God;
it is as if a man were to scatter seed on the land
and would sleep and rise night and day
and through it all the seed would sprout and grow,
he knows not how.
Of its own accord the land yields fruit,
first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear.
And when the grain is ripe, he wields the sickle at once,
for the harvest has come.”He said,
“To what shall we compare the kingdom of God,
or what parable can we use for it?
It is like a mustard seed that, when it is sown in the ground,
is the smallest of all the seeds on the earth.
But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants
and puts forth large branches,
so that the birds of the sky can dwell in its shade.”
With many such parables
he spoke the word to them as they were able to understand it.
Without parables he did not speak to them,
but to his own disciples he explained everything in private. (Mark 4:26-34)
Spiritual Exercise: The call for care for creation is not only one of moral decisions on how to protect our environment, but also to see this call rooted in spirituality, affirming the fundamental goodness of all of God’s creation. In Eastern Christianity, they speak of the “Sacrament of Creation,” viewing the lack of caring for creation in a way akin to desecrating one of the seven Sacraments. Do you find this type of sacredness in how we view the natural world today? Do you find insights through the natural world that can draw us more deeply into the love of God? If weather permits, get outside today, enjoy the beauty of God’s creation, open your heart, and don’t be surprised if God reveals his love to you through the gift and beauty of our common home.
Now, back to my vacation!
