The semi-trailer flatbed ahead of me was loaded with small, cut spruce trees. It didn't take much creativity to anticipate their destination as a Christmas tree lot in some distant city. Although reluctant to admit it to my friends at the state patrol headquarters, driving does not always receive my undivided attention, so I began to trace the future paths of these trees.
If these trees could feel and think, what would be going through their minds? Perhaps they would be caught up in the glamour of it all. Maybe they had heard about the lights that will soon adorn their needles and the fragile ornaments that will dangle from their branches.
Can they imagine themselves before a picture window, the center of attention in a family room? Can they see beautifully wrapped presents spreading outward under their branches?
Jim White
Perhaps, if they could feel, they are feeling smug. Passing other conifers beside the highway they may feel like royalty on the way to their coronations—complete with a crown of lights. These poor trees visible from the flatbed will never know the glamour and glitz that awaits us Christmast trees, they might reason. They will never have a family gather admiringly around them.
How dreadful, they might think, to be anchored to one spot. They, on the other hand, have been freed of the roots that kept them tied down and are on their way to a glorious future.
My mind then turned to consider the thoughts of the highway-side trees. Could they be envious? They would never see the bright lights of the city—much less have strings of them draped over their languid limbs. They would never know the tinkle of tiny silver-colored bells nor would they hear the giggles of children as they tore open their presents.
Their branches would be adorned in the winter by blankets of pure white snow and icicles and in the summer by the birds, bees and butterflies that flittered through their outstretched limbs. They would be bowed by the winds that blew and, on occasion, broken by the weight of their burdens. But they would also know glorious sunshine.
If I had a choice, I wondered, which kind of tree would I be? To be honest, there is something in me that is attracted to the glimmering scene I anticipated for the cut trees. But I couldn't get away from a sobering thought. January 2 is coming. The date may vary from household to household, but every cut tree will grow brittle and die. In truth, they were already dead even if they didn't know it. After the season, the ornaments and the starry crowns and the lights will all be removed.
I could foresee the time, not too distant, when all the attention will be withdrawn and the cut trees will be dragged, unceremoniously, to the curb. Some will be buried amid other discarded objects in landfills or burned. Some will be piled in ravines to discourage the ravages of erosion. Others will be cast into lakes to sleep with the fish—or to at least provide hiding places for them.
On the other hand, those other trees will live. Being rooted and grounded may be limiting, but it is also nourishing. Providing nesting places for God's creatures may not match the temporary garish glamour of the Christmas trees, but the living tree provides for life beyond itself.
For that matter, can the glitter of gaily colored ornaments match for beauty the red splash of a crested cardinal nested safely in the bough of our rooted tree? The living tree will know years of useful service.
The plight of the trees became, of course, a metaphor for the kinds of lives we might choose for ourselves.
Something in our human natures is attracted to glamour, glitz and glitter. To be the center of attention, to receive the adulation of others, to be adorned beautifully and to be admired and even envied are human desires.
If we can't have it ourselves, we sometimes fixate on those who do have it and receive our thrills vicariously through them. We thumb through magazines to see how they live and what they do, where they go and what they name their kids. How sad is that?
But the kind of life that is essentially self-centered, although appealing, is relatively brief. The Bible does not deny the attractiveness of the “Christmas tree” life, but it does put it in perspective.
Moses was a man who could have chosen the “Christmas tree” kind of life. Reared in Pharaoh's court as his grandson, he could have chosen the glitter of gold and the adoration of worshipful throngs. But he chose his roots. Of him, the author of Hebrews was inspired to write: “He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a short time” (11:25, NIV).
At this time of year we are doing more than choosing the kinds of gifts we will give. We are also choosing what kind of people we are to be. We make selections daily about our values and our motives.
We are tempted to choose appearance over authenticity. At times we wish to hearken to the call of the wild lifestyle rather than listen to the Spirit's gentle-as-wind call to faithfulness. We want to be on the move rather than be rooted and grounded in God's purpose.
No one can blame us for feeling the things we do. The allure of the world is great. But all things considered, if I were a tree, I'd rather be rooted beside the highway than on my way down the highway. As a human being, I'd rather have life everlasting than a temporary good time. I'd rather have my name in the Book of Life than have my face of the cover of People.
Are they mutually exclusive? Can't you have both? What was it someone asked Jesus? Can a rich man inherit the kingdom of heaven? Jesus didn't say it was impossible. But he said it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle (Luke 18:35).
During this Christmas season give yourself the gift of reflection. As you prepare for a new year, consider the metaphor of the trees. Consider also the words of the Baby Jesus now grown to manhood: “I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10, NIV). Being rooted in Christ always wins out in the end.
Have a blessed Christmas season!!