I stood among trees yesterday and was overwhelmed with prayer. Now, we all have a little more freedom to go out and stand among trees, in gardens or parks or the countryside, we can all do this. 

I stood and looked up at the tops of the trees waving and rustling, engaged in intimate conversation with one another. I felt grounded in the earth, all one with the trees, alone with the trees. These trees have grown in diversity – alder and ash, fir and pine, beech and cherry. I have read that their roots intermingle and communicate through the fungi in the earth. These particular trees we have planted, years ago. That was a time when we had such plans of how they should look, of their respective colours and shapes, of how we wanted them to grow.

But standing there yesterday those plans were long gone. God had taken over and it was his plan the trees followed. Some had died, others forged upwards fast to sunlight, still others spread to shade the grass. This was so clearly out of our control but spoke of God’s presence among us. Bringing me to prayer when prayer had not been on my mind.

My grandmother embroidered a picture with a famous little poem. It’s in my kitchen. The kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of the birds for mirth; one is nearer God’s heart in a garden, than anywhere else on earth. Maybe it’s trite as a poem, but the words lodge endless in my heart, relating me to family, relating me to nature and relating me to God.

This morning’s reading from Luke shows us Jesus behaving badly on the sabbath. Well of course not badly, but simply out of tune with the plans of men. When he defends his disciples plucking grain on the Sabbath, and heals the man with the withered hand, he shows us how God’s plan transcends our own. How God’s plan is grounded in the rightness of saving lives and doing good. Against this benchmark, how small and fragile our plans seem. God overwhelms us, the trees outside show us his gospel, and bring us to prayer.

SG