As June faded into July, I knew I had a reflection to capture in words. Sometimes it’s best to let things percolate a while amid the events of life–making space to simply let the pause bring perspective.
Beauty has a way of surprising us and for me the astounding beauty of lush green forests, mountain peaks in clouds, and pure waters did not move my heart like the barren land of southern Wyoming scoured clean by wind. It wasn’t a recent visit to the spectacular ascension of the Grand Tetons in the Park, nor the magnificent fullness of Maroon Bells in Colorado that called to my heart this summer.
What spoke to me were those open swaths of desolate Wyoming land that seemed to breathe with ease. There was no restraint in the earth there. It seemed only to be what it was, with no particular expectation. Treeless, barren, and the gentle up-down of rolling rock and soil touched my spirit in what I can only allude to as empathy.
The unconditional nature of grace seemed to pour up out of the earth as it so often similarly reigns down from the heavens. An exchange of beauty was happening, and of healing. What has been was seemingly offered up with ease in acknowledgement and even reckoning. And the reckoning was not bitterness, but of pain and deep, deep sorrow. Acceptance from the vast sky overhead embraced these wounds.
Death is the absence of breath, and there in the outstretched, open expanse, I found breath again and hope.
Sometimes you just have to put the brakes on things, essentially calling it quits for a while, claiming No! to the pace—No! to the anxiety—No! to someone else’s well-intended agenda. For anxiety breeds anxiety, which is to say, fear, which is to cling to some kind of assurance of false control. And that anxiety can take over. Just look at the political mayhem of governments, the warring of nations, the saturation/dependence on social media, the catastrophe of natural disasters, the desecration of human life and environment, trafficking, homelessness, poverty, starvation, and yes, even the incessant chatter of nervous words. It can all feel just plain heavy with a dire need to come up for air.
Somehow the contours of what one sees in the wilderness may offer a mirror into the predicaments at hand.
In 650 B.C., the newly called prophet Jeremiah is asked what he sees by God himself. How utterly amazing that the Creator of the universe is interested in what this inexperienced young man perceives.
“What do you see, Jeremiah?”
And, right out of the gate, Jeremiah replies,
“I see a branch of the almond (watching) tree.” (Jeremiah 1:11)
The ancient Hebrew text for the word almond (shaqued) and the word watching (shaqoed) are intertwined in this scriptural wordplay. The springtime first- and always-to-bloom almond tree is here referred to as the watching tree which symbolizes not only hope and renewal, but the watchful heart and eye of God.
And God replies:
“You have seen correctly, for I am watching to see that my word is fulfilled.” (Jeremiah 1:12)
No doubt the role of a prophet in this historical context must have conjured up a bit of fear in Jeremiah, especially in the face of the violent lawlessness and threatening world powers that loomed close by. I doubt he knew exactly how his future would play out. Little did he know of his eventual arrest, imprisonment, public disgrace, exile, and death for his outspoken opposition to the idolatry of the people and their break with the Mosaic Covenant.
And yet, in this first recorded dialogue in the Book of Jeremiah, God not only lays out Jeremiah’s calling, but assures the youthful prophet that the gifts of grace will see him through:
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
before you were born I dedicated you,…” (Jer 1:5)“…I am with you to deliver you…” (Jer 1:8)
“…I place my words in your mouth!” (Jer 1:9)
“This day I set you over nations and over kingdoms, to root up and to tear down, to destroy and to demolish, to build and to plant.” (Jer 1:10)
These must have been words of profound mystery to the young prophet as he sees yet another vision of a boiling cauldron which foretells an invasion from the North. Both visions represent the thrust of the book of Jeremiah: God’s fulfillment of his prophetic word and the imminent destruction (exile) yet to come.
Much of this Old Testament account may sound a lot like fire and brimstone from an iron-tongued prophet who was disdained by the multitudes. And yet it is through sermons, oracles, confessions, dialogues, prophetic signs, letters, and historical narratives, that Jeremiah reveals his fidelity to God’s message.
And the real sweetness follows 31 chapters later when Jeremiah relays God’s promise of a New Covenant.
“… I will put my law within them, and I will write it upon their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” (Jer 31:33)
For me, the impact of the open, wind-swept, Wyoming terrain was my almond branch of sorts because looking out over that vast and barren expanse, I felt understood and watched over, with the impacts of our suffering world acknowledged by what felt like a divine and sorrowful nod from heaven.
Always a comfort when one’s heart is cherished and understood. Grace has a way of surprising, and I love the creative and beautiful way it comes with hope—always hope.
Wishing you an almond branch of beauty and hope in whatever shape it comes to your heart.
“For God does speak—now one way, now another—though man may not perceive it.” (Job 33:14)
Thanks for stopping by. ♥
John Bergsma, Brant Pitre, A Catholic Introduction to The Bible (Ignatius Press, 2006) 779-815.
The Holy Bible, New International Version, (Kirkbride, Zondervan, 1983) 770-839.