PINING FOR PINES

Dying--not dyed--needles

Proud of his German ancestry, at Christmastime my dad delighted in belting out that culture's legendary circa-1550 holiday song, “O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum” [O, Christmas tree, O Christmas Tree]. How fractured his German was, we kids never knew. But he sang it with gusto, typically when he brought home a tree from the local tree lot for us to decorate. Some years, by the time he went tree-shopping, just the scawny “Charlie Brown” trees were left--cheap! Besides, with enough of the family's eclectic decorations, who would discover the tree's emaciated state?

Now, in a revival of those years-ago trends, we're seeing more color-flocked trees. Excuse me, but they remind me of the current hair-dye fad that has men and women sporting “do's” in neon colors of the rainbow. Please, no garish holiday trees. Evergreens should be....green.

Sadly, some trees in my yard are exceptions, random branches turned orange by a fungal scourge called “blight.” Researching cures for that problem, I realize I'm no tree doctor. But my battle with the yard's ailing trees also makes me think twice whenever I read Psalm 1. Now, there's a tree ready for a nature's beauty pageant. It's been nourished well by sun and water. It produces great fruit and is a symbol of prosperity. In contrast would be the tree representing the ungodly, as useless as wind-blown chaff. For a Christmastime analogy, it would be a Charlie Brown tree: just a few scraggly limbs on a wimpy little cross-bar stand.

Another Biblical tree that I find hard to understand is described in Revelation 22. Just what wonder of nature could produce fruit every month (v. 2)? And have leaves full of the medicine to heal nations? With symbols so mysterious and wonderful, we'll have to wait and see until that Day.

Trust me, when that happens we won't be belting out “O Tannenbaum!” No, we'll sing wonderful hymns of praise to God. For He created this marvel called “tree.” During His tenure on earth, His Son walked among them, enjoyed their shade, picked their fruit, and used them for sermon illustrations. Oh, any tree—how lovely are thy branches as they reminder us of our Creator-Provider God!

Getting ready for the Parade!

Our great-niece is looking forward to a parade in May. She’s one of ten high school seniors who’s hoping to be “queen” of our local festival, which celebrates spring’s fruit blossoms. The honor comes with a generous scholarship and a grueling public relations schedule. Our “blossom” celebration covers two weeks with parades, carnivals, food and craft fairs, pancake feeds and (for the athletic, or those who ate too many pancakes), a run down the parade route to the river. It’s a big deal in our valley.

Some of my earliest memories are of parades—in my case, the Rose Parade in Pasadena when I was a little girl. My family lived in the then-blue-collar community of South Gate, far enough away that "going to the parade" meant a long drive early New Year's morning through heavy traffic. One of my dad’s co-workers put up a viewing stand on the parade route. I suppose we had to pay for sitting there, but that was the least of my little girl's concerns. I got to see Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, and maybe the Lone Ranger, on their famous horses with lots of silver ornaments! Of course, bands and floats also passed by until I was so tired from overload that I fell asleep on the way home. I read somewhere that today's Rose Parade floats altogether use 40 million flowers. It’s hard to imagine.

In antiquity, huge parades heralded military victories. In early Roman times, the conqueror came into the city under a great arch in this order: local political leaders, trumpet players, carts with the spoils of war, white bulls for sacrifice (to the pagan “god”), the arms and insignia of the conquered enemy, the enemy leaders and families, the conqueror’s weapons, the conqueror in a horse-drawn chariot, his adult sons and officers, and finally his army. Curiously, the conqueror’s face was painted red. Sometimes a slave held a golden wreath above his head.

These customs were on Paul’s mind when he scolded the Corinthian church about spiritual pride: “It seems to me that God has put us apostles on display at the end of the procession, like men condemned to die in the arena” (1 Cor. 4:9). These carnal, boasting believers thought they had it all and weren’t respecting Paul and other spiritual leaders.

My most favorite parade is yet to be. Revelation 5 describes angels beyond numbers encircling the throne of Heaven, praising Jesus: “Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise” (5:11-12). The enemy and his entourage won’t be in this parade. Satan and his followers will be long-gone, forever excluded from Heaven. To me—that’s a big deal—the really big deal!

Rose parade? It’s okay. But I’m counting more on seeing (or marching in) the “He-arose Parade”!