Chopped-Down Trees and Lent

I get attached to trees, so when two HOAs (my own and one nearby) decided that “dangerous” trees should be chopped down, I was horrified.

Supposedly the two tall pines in a common area of my neighborhood had a problem with their root system that would make it easy for them to fall over—just like the third one in the trio had done last summer during a monsoon. After being marked with a white tie, both were chopped into chunks. I drove by during the “dismantling,” and my car smelled like pine all the way down the street and into my driveway. The scent signified both life and death to me.

Driving by the vacant area is still unsettling three weeks later. So, so empty.

The gigantic cottonwoods that lined a nearby lake, a favorite walking area of mine, were considered a risk to passersby because a branch randomly fell down and almost hit someone. I had spent a lot of peaceful moments watching the trees release heart-shaped green or yellow leaves to the lake below. Hummingbirds liked to land and pause on the twiggy limbs.

I still have not been able to bring myself to face the emptiness of this special place. To mourn the majestic trees and remember the beauty and pleasure that they gave me.

Why did fear motivate these actions? In the span of a few hours and with the buzzing of angry saws, the magnificent growth of several years meant nothing. The shade and the beauty were irrelevant. But now the community has nothing to fear.

So what do the chopped-down, missing trees have to do with Lent?

Lent is about intentional emptying. It’s about removing the metaphorical trees that may trip us up or distract us so that we can see God more clearly.

It’s about purposeful emptying so that we can remember that we need God more than we need the things we fast from.

It’s about subtracting and simplifying our lives so that we can see what really matters.

And it’s about being present with the uncomfortable emptiness of loss and brokenness and imperfection.

And perhaps, in the emptiness of silence, we may be better able to hear the voice of Jesus saying, “Do not be afraid.”

Intricate designs of a cottonwood trunk.