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Alongside Hadrian’s wall, in a U shaped dell in the wind swept Northumbrian landscape, the presence of a lone sycamore tree, perhaps 300 years old, captured the hearts and imaginations of generations of local people, of walkers, of exiles, and symbolised something very profound.  It spoke of shelter from the sun and storm, and of boundaries and transitions. Many people, around the world had an image of this tree on their walls.

Its sudden destruction, through an act of vandalism, the work of a chain saw in half an hour cutting across the trunk, left people aghast, dismayed, felled, in fact.  The wanton destruction of this tree left a shock difficult to articulate or express.

Its not unusual for us to feel a connection with trees, deeply rooted as they are, in our experience and creative imaginations. Perhaps too we have an innate understanding that in capturing carbon and creating oxygen they’re helping to keep us alive? Trees convey a sense of something living that is benevolent and enduring, silent but present? Trees hold a powerful place in our sense of beauty and pleasure.

I remember as a child finding it terribly funny when my dad, when happy, would open his arms and sing very loudly, in an overblown voice imitating a singer called Mario Lanza, ‘I think that I shall never see, a poem as lovely as a tree,[1]’ and it was both ridiculous, and also, true.  What is more lovely than a healthy tree, in its landscape, or the dappled light through the leaves of a tree, or kicking up fallen autumn leaves beneath a tree? As the poet goes on to say, in the song, ‘Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.’

Trees feature throughout the bible, in the parables of Jesus, and in stories, like that of the tree-climbing Zaccheus, as rich metaphors.  The bible begins with a tree of the knowledge of good and evil in the book of Genesis, and ends in a city with trees of knowledge either side of the river of life, with leaves for the healing of the nations, which we certainly need at this time. A lovely biblical image of peace and plenty is that everyone sits under their own vine and under their own fig tree [2]. Vines and trees become metaphors for the health of the nation, and of individuals.

And in our reading from the book of Proverbs this afternoon Wisdom is personified as the ‘tree of life to those who lay hold of her.  Those who hold her fast are called happy.’

Wisdom is the tree that bears good, life-giving fruit.  She is secure and steadfast, rooted firm against upheaval.

And in the book of Psalms people who seek the ways and wisdom of God are themselves like trees ‘planted by streams of waters, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither’.[3]

The roots of the tree, usually unseen below, mirror in size the tree that we see above.  A deep, nourishing root system.

And from my own experience, at times of crisis, of physical or emotional peril, then we really find out about ourselves, and what we’re depending on for stability.

We live in such unstable times, with war and upheaval now in Europe and momentous and terrible events unfolding in the Holy Land.  The healing of the nations that we long for recedes. Many people are rooted in generations of trauma.

Whereas, for lasting stability, we need to put down roots in security, tolerance and the commitment to mutual flourishing.

As we live through growing climate crisis, with unstable weather patterns, and through environmental degradation,  we need deep roots connecting us with all that supports life, connects us with nature, connects us with ourselves, most of all,  connects us in relationship with God, our creator, redeemer and sustainer, the source of all life, on whom we can depend.

Perhaps the great Sycamore tree of the gap has a particular lesson to teach for the future.  There have been many suggestions about what might take the place of this iconic tree.  I’ll end by quoting a rather profound letter to a national news paper, in response to this question, suggesting that violence and death need not have the last word.  Where living things are deeply rooted, there is hope of new life.

Above the ground the tree has been felled.  However the writer states,

‘Below ground is a powerful root system, bent on staying alive. Dormant now for the winter, it will wake up in spring and wonder where its headgear has gone. And there will be a fuzz of new shoots, setting out to replace the loss.

Depending on how it is managed, it could produce a multi-stemmed crown of significant size in a few decades, or a single stem could be selected to replace like for like. Either way, there’s no need to grub up the roots…’

Let us pray, that rooted and grounded in Gods love, we may look to the future in certain hope of new life and health for suffering people, and for the whole world.

Let us pray:

O Lord our God, Creator and sustainer of all that is,

May we be anchored, held secure, like trees,

Rooted deeply in your loving wisdom,

Connect us we pray with you, with our humanity

and the world that you love,

so that we may experience new life

and share it with others,  Amen

[1] Trees

I think that I shall never see, A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest, Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear, A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.

Joyce Kilmer 1922

[2] 1 Kings 4:25

[3] Psalm 1; 3