The Redbud

The Redbud

(A post from when I was a pastor in Galion, Ohio. I offer it as a tribute to this beautiful tree, now passed.)

If you would have asked me a few days ago about the Redbud tree by the Episcopal Church, I would have said, “What Redbud tree?”

You might have gone a little farther with it.  You might have said, “You know, the one by the east end of the Episcopal Church.”

And I would have said, “There’s a Redbud tree by the east end of the Episcopal Church?”

But, if you asked me today, I would have said, “Wow, that tree is pretty spectacular!”

I should know everything that there is to know about the outside of the Episcopal Church.  I drive by it often enough.  It’s not unusual for me to drive past the Episcopal Church  five or six times a day.  Often, I am stopped at the light at the corner of Walnut and South Union.  I have lots of time to look things over.

But, as I said, I would not have known anything about that Redbud tree until today.  Because today, I followed my usual path, and  as I was coming to the  light, glanced over towards the sign, and today, for the first time, I said to myself, “What a glorious sight that tree is!”

As I began driving along, I started looking for more Redbud trees.  I had an easy time spotting them.  Every one of them was like a diva at the opera stepping up to center stage, proud and ready, poised to command the attention of anyone within earshot.

What shall I compare this to? The meek shall inherit the earth? Suffer the little children to come to me? Consider the lilies of the field? The woman with two coins who was going unnoticed that day at the temple Treasury box?  Then Jesus glanced at her and exclaimed, “Look at that woman’s faith!” While everyone else was saying, “What woman?”, Jesus had his own Redbud experience.

The miracle of all this is that we know we are surrounded by Redbud trees all the time, even though, most of the time, we barely notice that they’re there.  And truth be told, we are surrounded by “Redbud” people all the time as well.  God keeps surprising us.  God keeps populating our lives with folks who, at first glance, seem to blend into the background.  They are not the movers and shakers.  They are not the majestic Oaks, nor the towering Redwoods.  They’re just, kind of, “there”.  We pay them little mind, but just when we have forgotten them, God bedecks them with glory and a spectacular presence in our lives.

I have visited many an aged saint in a nursing home or in the confines of their living room, who I would count as people of the Redbud variety.  Their aches and pains and creaking bones have forced them into the background.  They no longer can take their place front and center to use the gifts God gave them.  But just when they seem to disappear, you look up into their face or into their eyes, and there is the very glory of God.  In a comment, in the flash of a smile, in the lilt of a laugh, in a bit of wisdom simply stated, there is a spectacular view of God.

Likewise, they say that children should be seen and not heard, and a lot of the time, they are.  But, on the other hand, nothing can light up a dull day like a child just being themselves and offering up a bit of innocence and the majesty of God.

It might be worth taking a look around you.  The Redbud trees are about to fade into the background again.  But one thing is for certain: there are Redbud trees and Redbud people lurking all about you, gifts from God, and God is about to show you beauty and glory in and through them.

The Smudge

Those of us who are pastors, are about to encounter one of the most gripping moments of the year: Ash Wednesday, the day of the smudge. 

It seems simple enough. Take last year's palms from Palm Sunday. Burn them. Sift them so
that only the black powdered ash is left. Invite the people to come and kneel before the altar. 

As they kneel, dip your thumb in the ashes, put your thumb to the kneeling person's forehead, make the sign of the cross, and say the simple words "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

Simple, yes, but profoundly gripping. 

I ponder all the foreheads my thumb has traced. Some are smooth and young and fresh, wondrous examples of God's creative powers. Some are wrinkled with deep furrows: evidence of worries and struggles, past and present, and exposure to harsh elements in the world around us. Sometimes the thumb passes over skin as soft as cashmere; sometimes it bounces roughly over furrows like a car going over uneven railroad tracks.

But all of these foreheads came from the same source and all are destined for the same transformation. They all came from dust. They all will return to the dust.

Sometimes an infant is brought in mother's arms, a child who last Ash Wednesday was literally dust, but now the dust is transformed into tiny fingers, eyes, and lips: God has brought the dust to life. It is hard for a pastor not to feel God looking over his shoulder, and God whispering in his ear as the thumb reaches out to make the smudge: "Pastor, do you see the miracle before you? Do you see what I have done with the dust? Have you shared the joy of this miracle with your people?"

Sometimes, one stricken with cancer or heart disease, comes and kneels with a knowing expression upon their face, knowing full well that the time is near for their body to return to the dust, to become again like that smudge on their forehead. No words need to be spoken between pastor and parishioner, but both know the meaning of the smudge.

Sometimes, one who has stood at the grave of a mother or father, comes and kneels with all of the questions, uncertainties and hopes that death brings. Sometimes the smudge helps that person connect again with their loved one, to hold their dustiness in common, to acknowledge the truth about dust, and to hold on to the promise for dusty people beyond this life.

We are people who should never go too far afield from the smudge. We should never get so far away from it that we can no longer see the smudge. We should never lose our reference point of from where we came nor to where we are going. People who know they are dust know that it took a miracle for dust to be filled with life. People who realize that only God could make life out of dust know that if God made life out of dust once, God can do it again. God knows the secret. God knows the recipe. When we have returned again to dust,

God knows what to do with our dust. We won't be just a smudge. We will have life!