July 23, 2003
Wild olive
Lucy, who signs herself off as “the ‘wild’ flower lady of Holly Lake,” wrote a while back that the Out of Nowhere Devilwood Tree Saga “sounds like my kind of gardening with my kind of dilemma.”
I had reported on the devilwood’s progress in two previous memos that even with such an encouraging beginning, its future didn’t look all that bright. Now, the future has dimmed even more. What was green is now brown, what was pliable, brittle. It is difficult even to find the slightest hope.
The devilwood is also known among gardeners as the wild olive (Osmanthus americanus, if you prefer). It rarely needs pruning, for it has a pleasing natural shape of its own. Woodworkers say it is so tough that it’s the “devil” to work. It also holds up wonderfully well in gale winds.
When Lucy heard of its impending demise, she also wrote, “Greetings and sympathy for your poor little old sweet olive — don ‘t you like that better than devilwood?”
Names mean a lot in our tradition. Jacob got a new one in a wrestling match. Simon got a new one plus a set of keys by no fault of his own. One of the more exciting parts of Holy Baptism is to name a child with a blessing.
But we don’t stop there. We use names not only to bless, but to curse.
Some of our very own in whom we’ve entrusted the oversight of our spiritual nourishment have recently named us before the whole world as “confused, errant and disintegrating.” We’ve deserved such names largely, it seems, because we want to align some the church’s polity and liturgy, as clumsy as it sometimes can be, less with the security of religion and more with the risk of faith and love.
Strange, for it is that same lumbering and sometimes erring polity that gave these overseers the supervision and names and authority by which they presume to accuse us. Ironically, tradition has at times also named them “pontiffs” in honor of their calling as bridge-builders.
As Lucy suggested, maybe “wild olive” is a better name. So it is, for like the church, it stands up well in gale winds, has a reasonably beautiful shape, and is the very devil to change sometimes. And it also has branches to offer in the same peace and hope that once brought Noah to his knees in thanksgiving.