Deuteronomy 10:17-19; Ephesians 3:14-21
A few Sundays ago, in my meditation, I talked about Quaking Aspen trees– how their leaves quake in response to the slightest breeze, how they are connected through their roots. I mentioned the Pando grove in Utah, where 40,000 trees all share one root system.
At the time, it seemed an apt metaphor for living faithfully–attuned to the world around us while strong and stable because we are deeply rooted in community. Today, it is an even more powerful image, as we struggle with how to stay courageous and connected when we cannot physically be together.
It’s a beautiful image, this grove of trees with one root system. As a metaphor for Christian community, though, there’s one big problem. All the trees in that Pando grove look alike. They are all related–one species, one giant happy family. If the seed from a different species of tree were to fall into that grove, it would not do very well. It certainly would not receive any benefit from that strong network of roots hidden underground.
In times of stress and distress, it is tempting to turn to the aspen grove model, to find our strength in our connection with people who are just like us. It is tempting to root ourselves in a narrow definition of family, claiming our connection with those who share a particular history or culture or DNA.
Our Hebrew Bible reading challenges that temptation. God is a mighty and awesome God who loves the strangers, providing them with food and clothing. The reading insists that we follow God’s example and love the stranger. The rootedness of Christian community doesn’t come from us all being alike. It comes from our ability to welcome someone new and care for people we don’t even know.
The aspen grove doesn’t point us to the true strength and challenge of Christian community. Instead, I invite you to draw upon another metaphor about rootedness that comes from the tree world. Back in the early 20th century, botanists began to recognize that trees were sharing nourishment through their root systems and that fungus has something to do with it. A few decades ago, a Canadian botanist named Suzanne Simard began conducting experiments with paper birch and Douglas fir trees in a forest in British Columbia.
She covered individual trees with plastic bags. She inject a radioactive carbon gas into one of the bags, and then a different radioactive carbon gas into another bag. She waited an hour. When she came back, her geiger counter buzzed with excitement, revealing that the trees had managed to share carbon–nourishment–with each other. The trees she was working with didn’t share a root system; they were different species.
It turns out their roots were connected to each other through a vast network that exists under the ground. We may notice a few mushrooms above ground in a forest, but those are just the flowers of enormously complex organisms that exist in the soil–fungus. The tiny tendrils grow around and into the roots of the trees. Fungus cannot produce its own food, so it absorbs carbon from the trees. In return it enables the roots to absorb nutrients like nitrogen from the soil.
The tendrils of fungus intertwine with each other, creating a dense, complex web that connects one tree’s roots with another’s. In one study of a small area of forest, scientists found that this network connected a single tree with 47 others.
Through this network, trees share both food and information, warning one another of danger. Trees with more access to the sun share nourishment with trees that are stuck in the shade. When paper birch trees have dropped their leaves, Douglas firs send extra food to them. In the summer, when the birch trees are in full canopy, they return the favor, sharing food with the firs.
Somehow, through the fungal network, the trees know when another tree needs help. In a recent TED talk, Suzanne Simard called it “the plant-fungi version of feeding the hungry.”
Fungus is what allows the trees to absorb nutrients they need from the soil. Fungus is what connects the trees together–even and especially where they are different from each other. Fungus is what enables the trees to share–to feed the hungry, to receive help when they need it, to gain wisdom from one another.
Now does my sermon title make sense? Faith like a fungus.
Like that fungal network, our faith helps us absorb the nutrients around us. In hard times, our faith inspires us to shift our perspective, to awaken to the gifts around us we might not otherwise recognize–music to soothe our souls, beauty to lift us up, a friend on the phone. Our faith connects us with one another and challenges us to broaden our connections to include people who may seem as different from us as a Douglas fir seems from a paper birch. Our faith challenges us to feed those who are hungry and inspires us to trust that when we all share what we have, there will be more than enough.
Faith like a fungus. Faith that awakens us to wonder and gratitude, nutrients we need to survive and thrive. Faith that challenges us to keep expanding our definition of community. Faith that inspires us to give and receive freely, to care for the most vulnerable and to trust the promise of abundance.
We are living in the midst of a strange and confusing time. It is frightening–many of us fit into categories of people considered especially vulnerable to COVID-19. It is disconcerting–all our typical ways of going through the day have been turned upside down. It is isolating–we can’t even gather together in our own sanctuary.
In this time, we need to claim the resilience and strength of the root system that connects us with one another and with people and creatures all over the world. We are not alone. We need each other. We can help each other. We are connected to one another by the grace of God, by the promises of our faith, by the imperative that we feed the hungry, build relationships with people whose lives seem very different from ours, and care for the well-being of the forest of which we are part.
On Friday afternoon, I was privileged to attend a meeting at city hall about food security during the COVID-19 crisis. It was right before city officials made a final decision about closing Framingham Public Schools for the next two weeks. The mayor had gathered people from the school system with community partners who have long been working to ensure that children and adults in Framingham don’t go hungry. If we need to close the schools, the mayor asked, how can we build on the networks that currently exist to ensure that children who rely on school breakfasts and lunches have enough to eat?
It was daunting–the extent of the challenge, the complexity of our city and the short time frame. And it was inspiring–all these people in this room, each one representing groups committed to the well-being of our community. Ideas started flying. Organizations that have long been collaborating offered new ways to help each other reach a common goal of food security. Could we distribute meals from Daniels’ Table using the now-idle school buses? How about tents in the parking lots of a couple schools to offer drive-through take-out meals? Would high school students stuck at home want to help? Angie from Faith Community Church and I offered to put out a call for volunteers to the churches and synagogues once the ideas take shape.
What an amazing forest in which we live. Trees of all kinds, each with their own strengths and vulnerabilities, each needing help to absorb the nutrients from the soil, each with something to contribute to the complex web of life. A robust, often hidden, network of tendrils connecting all those roots, providing ways to share our wisdom and our nourishment. When the forest is stressed, the nourishment and the wisdom must flow ever more freely. We must give with even more generosity when we can; we must trust it really is okay to ask for help when we need it.
Faith like a fungus. Don’t take the metaphor too far; it will eventually lead us astray. For today, though, I invite you to rejoice in the fungus-like qualities of our faith.
Our faith enables us to absorb gifts we might not otherwise notice. Let faith open you to absorb the beauty around you, the hidden gift of quiet time, the unexpected ways we can reach out to each other.
Our faith connects us with people and communities whose lives are different from ours. Revel in the gift of connection–deeper and wider than you ever thought possible.
Our faith challenges us to trust in the promise of abundance. Give what you can when you can. Open yourself to receive what you need.
We are not alone. We need each other. We can help each other. Thanks be to God. Amen.