Just a few steps from my front door is a large, mature, leafy tree. The trunk itself must be about two meters tall before the thickest branches spread out. I couldn’t join my hands together if I wanted to hug it, because the trunk is bigger than my arms can reach.
The roots have sprouted from the ground, and have even broken some nearby cement blocks, inviting me to pay attention and be careful when walking around it.
Over the years, this tree of unknown age to me, has continued to grow.
When we first moved into this home, it was during the summer, so its branches were loaded with green leaves. A few months later, with the arrival of autumn, seemingly overnight the leaves changed from a bright green to a dull orange.
As the leaves became less and less attached to the tree, it was easier for the light wind to remove them. The result was a crunchy, whimsical carpet that blocked the visibility of the sidewalk leading to the door.
Several years ago, in one of these scenes, my daughters began to gather leaves with the intention of making a very large pile to run and jump in the dry leaves. They took out the rake, gathered and gathered leaves, while the gentle wind scattered them again and again. When they managed to gather more or less the amount of leaves they wanted, they began to play. They took space, began to run, and jumped. And… amidst laughter and giggles, they hit the grass tail bone first. They discovered that the amount of leaves was not enough to cushion the weight of their still small bodies.
Although they were a little disappointed, they managed to continue playing. What they did next was go get the dog. We have a small breed dog, who is very docile and sweet. Well, it was the dog that ended up in the pile of leaves again and again. For the size and weight of the dog, the number of leaves was enough to cushion the jump.
When the cold and hunger were strong enough, my daughters came home, excited to play the next day after returning from school.
It happened that the next day, one of the neighbors started cleaning the common area, and collected all the dry leaves.
When my daughters arrived, and saw everything clean of leaves, they were disappointed and sad. Since not all the leaves on the tree had fallen, I told them:
-Let’s see how many more leaves fall with the wind again, and you can make another pile.
To which one of my daughters responded:
-I feel bad for the tree, it already has very few leaves, and many have already fallen.
-Yes, that’s true, and it still has some more.
-Yes, I know, but I still feel bad for the tree. Doesn’t it hurt when the leaves fall?
The tenderness and innocence of the comment brought a smile to my face and made me think at the same time.
Every year, this tree sheds all its leaves, and it does so without reservation. It lets go of everything, it lets everything go. It doesn’t keep anything. And it lets go of everything to renew itself, to keep growing. Trees like this one, give off even more leaves when they are pruned.
In one of the most complicated passages for me, Jesus tells the apostles that if your hand, eye and foot are an occasion of sin, it is better to cut them off, let them go, in order to enter the kingdom of heaven.
My daughter, in all her innocence, felt bad for thinking that the tree was hurt by shedding leaves. The tree can renew its leaves every year because there is space for more to grow. It follows a natural course of the seasons.
Could it be that we can learn something from the tree that lets go of what it has created for so long?
The hand, the eye, and the foot are parts of our body, and although taking the passage literally is a bit drastic, Jesus wants to tell us something.
How do you receive these words of Jesus? Could it be that He is referring to letting go of something that is considered “very personal”? Something that when released allows us to grow?
I am not sure that for the tree its leaves and branches are an occasion of sin. But we can learn from what nature teaches us, that letting go of something very personal is not the end.
However “personal” it may be, is there something that Jesus invites you to let go off, to release, to cut?
If the Spirit leads you, share with Jesus the carpenter what it is that you dare to let go of. And perhaps, together you will be able to see your growth and renewal.
Marisol
P.S. We can hear about the value of letting go of what is necessary in the readings of the XXVI Sunday of Ordinary Time, year / cycle B.
