Jeremiah 17:17-18; Romans 12:9-18
“Look!” Fran pointed to a hillside full of trees–tall slender white-barked trunks, green-yellow leaves that seemed, from a distance, to be constantly changing color. “They’re Aspen trees,” she explained. “They’re called Quaking Aspen. See how the leaves move in the wind?” I squinted my eyes and looked more closely. That’s why they seemed to be changing color. As the leaves moved in the breeze, they twisted so we could alternately see the top and the undersides, each a slightly different color.
I was intrigued by the name “Quaking Aspen.” On the one hand, it did look as though the leaves were quaking, moving so rapidly they were almost shivering. But I associate quaking, a least for humans, with fear. These trees did not look afraid. What I saw was a strong, peaceful grove of trees.
I thought back to my first view of Quaking Aspen as I read this week from a book I received for Christmas, called Be More Tree, by Alice Peck. I learned why the quaking aspen quake. The leafstalks that join the leaves to the branches are flat, which causes them to move with the slightest breeze, or even the slightest change in air pressure. The author repeats a rhyme she learned in childhood: “When leaves show their undersides, be very sure rain betides.” The aspen leaves are attuned to the first signs of a change in weather.
I also learned that aspen have long root suckers that grow horizontally, from which new trees sprout. An entire grove can grow from one seedling. In Utah, in Fishlake National Forest, there is a colony of Quaking Aspen called the Pando, nicknamed “The Trembling Giant.” The colony is 80,000 years old. No individual tree, of course, is that old, and many trees have sprung forth, grown tall, gotten old and died over the millenia, all of them from the one root system. Right now, there are 40,000 trees in that grove, all connected through their roots. They are one organism.
There are many species of trees, and each of them teaches us something that applies to human life, especially human life in community. You will hear about lots of different kinds of leaves and branches and even more fascinating truths about roots in the coming weeks. For today, I choose to focus on the Quaking Aspen because they offer me a helpful metaphor for living well in tumultuous times.
There are times, these days, when I feel kind of like an aspen leaf–quaking in the wind, terrified by signs of storms to come, unable to be still but exhausted by the constant motion, overwhelmed by changes in the air pressure around me. Fears of COVID-19, worries about the stock market, frustration with politics, grief at the loss of beloved church members–all of these can leave me quaking, trembling, feeling out of control.
There are other times when, in response, I want to disappear underground, identifying myself instead with those strong immovable, interconnected roots of the aspen trees. It’s tempting to hide from the winds of change, instead celebrating the rich history that grounds us in this church. It is tempting to ignore the overwhelming needs around us, instead focusing in on a community that feels familiar and comfortable.
The glory of the aspen grove is in its wholeness–quaking leaves and interconnected roots. The aspen grove invites us to claim our wholeness. Our faith invites us to claim our wholeness. We are called to be like the aspen leaves, attuned to the world around us, responsive to the needs and gifts of our neighbors, moving with the changing times, weeping with those who weep and rejoicing with those who rejoice. And we are called to be rooted–in the stories of our faith, in the gifts of those who have gone before us, in the caring of community, so we can withstand the storms, so we can nourish future generations.
If you find yourself, these days, feeling ungrounded, twisting in the wind, quaking with anger or fear in response to the world around you, claim that you are part of a deep, strong, interconnected root system that will hold you up. If you find yourself, instead, tempted to hide underground, so focused on the comfort of the roots that you avoid what’s happening around you, I invite you to claim that you need your leaves as well. Trust that your roots are strong enough that you can allow yourself be moved by the world around you.
A single aspen tree is a glorious sight–quaking leaves, solid trunk. A grove of aspen trees is even more glorious–the shimmering of the leaves as they move together in response to the world around them, the peaceful strength of shared roots. An individual trying to follow Jesus is a glorious sight–moved by the suffering of neighbors, strengthened by the promises of God. A church community trying to follow Jesus is even more glorious–working together to bring healing to our world, claiming our deep roots as we sing and pray and care for one another.
Thanks be to God for our quaking leaves and our shared roots. Amen.