Tree of Life

Michelle Cromer was hiking in a forest in the Lake Arenal region of Costa Rica. She came upon a huge and ancient ceiba tree. The ceiba trees were considered holy in Maya-influenced pre-Columbian civilizations; they are called “The Tree of Life.” It was said that their roots lead to the underworld; their trunk is the world in which we live, and the tree’s spreading branches hold up the sky. She had an “ah-hah!” moment:

         “As I stood under her creaking boughs, swaying, crooked limbs, overhanging branches coated thickly in pale green moss, I could feel a distinct and familiar shift in me… Standing there, looking up, I did the most unexpected thing – I dropped to my knees and wept uncontrollably. The rush of emotions – joy, peace and most of all, love - was so unexpected. It felt like the tree – this tree – was welcoming me home.” [i]

 “Trees are invitations to think about time and to travel in it the way they do, by standing still and reaching out, and down,” wrote Rebecca Solnit[ii]. Most of us have had “ah-hah!”  experiences in life – seeing the Northern Lights for the first time, standing beneath a giant Redwood, or sitting with a dying friend, to name a few.

When I entered the sanctuary of Peace Church (UCC) in Duluth, MN for the first time, I was overcome with a similar feeling. I felt strangely “at home” here - as if I had been here all of my life. It was as if my evangelical past and my progressive present were coming together in new ways. I was immediately impressed by the congregation’s choice of two striking works of art to guide their meditations. Jesus of the People by my friend, Janet McKenzie, hangs prominently in its worship space. Janet had used a Black female model for this Jesus. For that audacity she won the National Catholic Reporter’s worldwide art competition in the year 2000. 

More surprisingly for this decidedly Protestant congregation was a copy of the iconic Our Lady of Guadalupe, said to have appeared miraculously on Juan Diego's original tilma. I doubt that one can find either in the sanctuary of any other UCC congregation in America.
As I walked toward three large crosses that dominate the front wall, and toward the Table and these pictures, I felt physically pulled toward the right side of the sanctuary. In that moment, I saw Leah Yellowbird’s painting, The Tree of Life. I would like to say it called to me, but that would be wrong. It screamed at me. “Come here!” it demanded. I did. And I wept.

I don’t know the journey that this exquisite painting took to find its way into this place, and into my consciousness. Yellowbird said that she created the entire piece in a busy public space. People came and went, and came back again - asking questions, making suggestions and generally encouraging her. It took four years.

Leah Yellowbird[iii] identifies strongly with her First Nations Algonquin-Metis and Anishinaabe heritage. At an early age she learned traditional beading patterns from her aunt whose influence you can see in her work today. After a difficult time in her life, she moved physically to Grand Rapids, and artistically into painting, but she retained the

precision and delicate beauty of the finest beadwork of her tradition. Today her work is displayed in museums throughout the Midwest. Her online website contains some of the most beautiful artwork you will ever want to see.

 The Tree of Life painting has its roots in a period of turmoil and deep trauma, she said, but when I look at her painting, I don’t see the suffering. “Nevertheless,” Yellowbird said to me, “if they are honest, most artists will tell you that their art begins in trauma.” 

 The Tree of Life appears in many traditions around the world. In our Christian tradition, it appears at the beginning of Time, and at its ending, and throughout human history.  

 Yellowbird stresses that this is not a Christian work of art, at least not explicitly or literally so. Notice, she points out, that this Tree stands on the back of a turtle, Turtle Island.

 Robin Wall Kimmerer, among others, tells the Haudenosaunee creation story this way:

 At one time humans lived in the Sky world. At its center stood the Tree of Life. One day a fierce wind blew through the heavens. It toppled this great tree. Where the tree once stood, there was a hole. 

 A young woman, Gizhgokwe (who also is called Skywoman), walked over to the hole and peered

down. She saw only a deep, dark blackness. She came closer to the hole. And closer. The soil beneath her feet began to crumble, and she started to fall into the darkness. Quickly, she grabbed a branch from the Tree of Life, but it broke off in her hand. Into the abyss she fell.[iv]

 But it was not an abyss. At the bottom, there was water. Nothing but water. For as far as anyone could see, water, and water dwelling creatures. 

A flock of geese saw her falling. Knowing she was not a water creature, they flew up and caught her in their wings. She found herself sheltered in the soft feathers of the geese.

 A great ridge back snapping turtle swam slowly beneath Gizhgokwe and offered its back. The geese brought her gently down upon the back of the turtle.

All the sea creatures understood that this was not enough. She would need earth. They remembered that there is mud at the bottom of the sea. One by one they tried to retrieve it, but all of them failed. Finally, a little muskrat descended into the depths where, unfortunately, it died. When its body rose to the surface, they found a small dollop of mud in its paw. 

 Gizhgokwe spread this mud over the back of the turtle. She sprinkled seeds from the branch she  had brought with her from the Tree of Life. She danced, and the world became green with every kind of wild plant.

 Robin Wall Kimmerer concludes that Gizhgokwe teaches us how the world works. It works through an exchange of gifts. Rescue and gratitude, muskrat life for woman life, mud and song, turtle and dance, seed and soil. “The practice of reciprocity among beings enables life as we know it.[v]

When Michelle Cromer knelt before that grand old ceiba tree in Costa Rico, she placed both hands on the ground before it. She felt an energy go through her hands, through her arms, her neck and into her face – right to where she had four melanoma skin cancer surgeries just three weeks before. “Maybe,” she thought, “the large roots hold memories of ancient times and of the ancestors themselves. Who knows? Here’s what I do know – there is an intelligence, an interconnectedness, a collective consciousness embedded in our planet and this same energy occupies this tree.”[vi]

Now let’s turn our attention to another Tree of Life. I intend no cultural appropriation here. It is not my desire to make either Ms. Cromer’s ceiba or Yellowbird’s Tree into Christian trees. But the comparison may be instructive and, hopefully, enriching. 

A poignant, painful, lovely hymn comes down to us from the Sixth Century:

Faithful cross, true sign of triumph,

Be for all the noblest tree;

None in foliage, none in blossom,

None in fruit thine equal be;

Symbol of the world’s redemption,

For the weight that hung on thee![vii]

It is sung still today among Catholics during Passiontide, and especially on Good Friday. But speaking of Christ as the “fruit” that hangs on a tree, I must confess, brings to my mind Billy  Holiday’s poignant

anthem, “Strange Fruit,” about lynchings and hanging trees.[viii] This association is spot-on. Was Jesus’s death not a lynching? Were crosses not instruments of terror, barbaric cruelty, and death? How then can this be the “noblest tree”?

In the Hebraic creation story on which our Christian narrative rests, there is a garden. At the center of the garden are two trees: the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.[ix] Much has been written about these two trees.

To Dr. Craig Smith these two trees embody fundamentally opposite orientations of consciousness. Their presence represents the tension between unity - seeing all things as interconnected (the Tree of Life) - and dualism - seeing things as right and wrong, black and white (the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil). To live in Paradise is to live within the unity of all things. But to eat the fruit of dualism leads us to see all things as separate and ourselves as alone. It brings exile and death.[x]

Is the cross the Tree of Life or the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil? Which is it? Can it be both?

“Art begins in trauma,” said Yellowbird. Easter begins in traumatic desperation – Christ’s trauma and ours, and the trauma of the world. Golgotha longs for Easter, and dreams of a garden where life flourishes and beauty abounds. We long for Eden, and dream of a world of innocence and play.[xi]

Let us ponder this “noblest tree” carefully if we dare. Its roots run deep into our collective psyche. The two trees of Eden intertwine to become the cross on which Jesus hangs. It bears ancient memories of evil and good, cruelty and redemption, depravity and love, suffering and salvation intermingled. The cross of Christ will never allow us to turn away from the painful brokenness in our world. It also will never let us forget the greater love in which we are embedded. “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”[xii]

“I am the way, the truth and the life,” said Jesus. “I have come that you might have life and have  it more abundantly.”[xiii] The cross of Christ will always embody both desperation and hope, both trauma and healing. This noblest tree has become, for us, the Tree of Life.

 

© Rev, Gilbert Friend-Jones

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[1] Michelle Cromer, The Tree of Life, Michelle Cromer Blog, September 6, 2016.

(https://michellecromer.com/the-tree-of-life/)

[1] Rebecca Solnit, Orwell’s Roses. Penguin Books, 2022.

[1] “Artist Leah Yellowbird Gallery Tour,” 2019. YouTube. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lxjsIO_ncC0) and her website: www.leahyellowbirdart.com.

[1] These illustrations may be found at http://www.native-languages.org.

[1] https://sacredred.blogspot.com/2013/09/turtle-island-whats-in-name.html

[1] Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass. Zest Books, 2022. Chapter One.

[1] Michelle Cromer, Ibid.

[1] "Pange lingua gloriosi proelium certaminis," St. Venantius Fortunatus, Bishop of Poitiers.

[1] Abel Meeropol (Lewis Allan, pseudonym); “Strange Fruit,” recorded by Billie Holiday in 1939, and sung by her at every concert until her death.

[1] Genesis 2:8-9

[1] Craig Smith, Commentary (footnote) for Genesis 2:8, The Inclusive Bible: The First Egalitarian Translation, Rowman and Littlefield Publishers,2007. p. 6.

[1] Gilbert Friend-Jones, The Art of Easter, When Easter Interrupts: Reflections on the Meanings of Lent and Easter. CreateSpace.com, 2010. Pp.97-107.

[1] John 15:13

[1] John 14:6; John 10:10