A Tree

The body of Christ

is as a tree planted,

drawing sustenance

from His omnipotence,

life from above, below, beside.

Its roots lost to day’s light,

anonymous to those above,

anchored in time, from dust,

and to the dust returned.

The trunk- the tree’s legacy.

It has withstood time’s test.

Branches sway thither,

tossed by tumultuous wind,

each finger stretched,

facing Jerusalem,

Judea, Samaria.

Touching Rome, Canterbury, home,

reaching out to the ends of the earth.

Leaves and fruit fill boughs,

drooping to the ground

under the weight of bounty,

eager to feed people’s souls.

I am but a bud,

not fully blossomed.

I, too, could bear fruit,

or be blown away

by the storms of life.

Fed by those before,

clinging to my roots,

I take my place

and open up.

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A History Major’s Rant

This semester, as I engage with the texts of the past, I’ve been struggling on an emotional level with the material I’ve been reading for courses.

It is so hard to be so steeped in humanity’s failures, to see the death and dying, to see the fighting and the drinking and the drugs effect so many people’s lives. It’s hard to read about the destruction of the earth and other people so someone could make a quick buck. It’s hard to read about people dying brutal, bloody deaths, inflicted by other people. It’s hard to read about the injustices committed because of race, or gender, or people group. It’s hard to see the broken Imago Dei in the past, without looking away.

People come to my major because they think that History is an easy “A.” They think it’s about memorizing facts, names, dates. That’s not what it’s about, and I’m reminded of that every semester. It’s easy to lose sight of the people behind those names and dates, the ones who made this world we’re in now what it is.

Some days, I just want to find peace, love, joy. I long for a restoration from this broken reality. That’s the hope of Christ, and I can’t imagine doing my job without it. I don’t think I could do my job without it.

All of this is to say, it’s easy to say that hurtful thing. I know, I’ve done it repeatedly. But hurt people hurt people. In five words, that’s my summary of history. Guys, I’ve come to treasure those moments where people show kindness, no matter how small. It’s not the stuff that’s often remembered in history texts, and it seems like it’s far outweighed at the time. But it’s the stuff that makes us human. It’s the stuff that keeps us going. We can’t keep on like this. If we profess to be image bearers, then aren’t we called to reflect the goodness that God is? Even a little light can be bright in the darkness.