Jeremiah 33:14-16
“His Promise to Save You”
December 2, 2012 - First Sunday in Advent

         There once was a town with a Tree growing in the center of it. It was an apple Tree. It grew very tall, but some of its branches hung so low that when the apples were ripe even the youngest citizen of the town could reach up and pick one. And the fruit was certainly worth picking. It was scarlet red on the outside and snow white on the inside. The texture was crisp and the taste was sweet with just the right amount of tartness, and there was plenty of juice to run down your chin when you took a bite.

         The town was very proud of its apple Tree. Though many of its residents had long since forgotten, the Tree was the reason for the town. The Tree had grown there before anyone ever lived there. It must have been planted by someone. Its branches were so beau­tiful and its fruit so sweet that it was certainly not a wild Tree. If anyone took a mo­ment to think about it, she realized there must have been a Tree Planter. But after many generations, not many people of the town thought about it much. In fact, most of them assumed their own founders had planted the Tree.

         “Made-in-the-Shade” was the name of the town. At first, the name reminded everyone that the town grew up under the shade of that wonderful Tree. But after awhile, “Made-in-the Shade” was simply a description of how people who lived there felt about their situa­tion. It was, among the towns of earth, a beautiful little city. There was a nice green central park around the Tree, a main street with neat little shops that did good business, and well-cared-for homes with trimmed lawns and painted shutters. They had a fine school, plenty of jobs, and everyone had enough food. People were almost always kind to each other. And, of course, there were always plenty of delicious apples. So, folks who lived there thought they had it made.

         One early fall day, however, some children were playing under the big Tree. Tired and a bit hungry, a boy reached up and pulled down an apple for a snack. It did not look quite right to him, a little smaller than usual and the skin was wrinkled. But the Tree’s fruit al­ways tasted good, so he took a big bite. Then he made a face and spit it out. It was sour and dry and not at all crisp. He was surprised, but he simply dropped that apple to the ground and picked another. To his amazement, it tasted worse than the first. He tried yet another with the same result. The rest of the children watched him and then they too picked and tasted apples. Every one was terrible. They ran off to tell their parents.

         Within an hour, almost the whole town gathered in the park. Nearly everyone took a bite out of an apple. They were all wretched. They propped several lad­ders around the Tree, hoping that fruit from the higher branches might be better. It was as disappointing as what they found lower down. No one knew what to do. They stood around in little groups and shouted at each other and tried to decide whom to blame for this disaster.

         Finally, one old man waved his hand and shouted until he got everyone’s attention. Then he told them a Story he remembered from his mother, about a Tree Planter and about instructions for caring for the Tree. “We should have watered it,” he said, “and put fertilizer around it, and pruned its branches, and sprayed for insects. We ne­glected our Tree. So what can we expect?” What he said made everyone start shouting again. “Wait,” he tried to say, “there’s more to the Story!” But no one cared. They ran off in all directions.

         Before you know it, a huge fire hose sprayed water on the ground on one side of the Tree and a dump truck poured manure on the other side. Men with pruning saws climbed the ladders and hacked away at the branches. Women with garden sprayers coated every leaf and apple with insecticide. The Tree, taken for granted for so many years, was now the center of the most activity the town had ever seen! All the while, the old man stood off to the side, shaking his head, and wishing someone would listen to the rest of his Story.

         They kept it up for a week, alternating water and fertilizer, and every once in awhile chopping off yet another limb or spraying an apple with poison. By the end of the week the Tree looked worse than ever. Much of its foliage was gone. The ground around it was knee deep mud and manure. What apples were left fell off. And no one wanted to eat apples soaked in bug killer. Eventually they all just went home and waited to see what would happen.

         The Tree was never the same after that. Neither was the town. The Tree dropped all its leaves and no buds sprouted behind them. It stood bare in the sunlight and cast an ugly shadow over everything. People quarrelled with each other. Some moved away. To make up for lost business, shopkeepers raised prices. A few people began to go hungry. Several shops closed. Homeowners quit mowing their lawns and painting their shutters. Soon the whole city of Made-in-the-Shade looked as shabby as their Tree did now.

         That winter was cold. The wind blew in great gusts and power lines came down as fast as they were repaired. To stay warm, townspeople lit fireplaces and wood stoves that had not been used for a long time. There was a shortage of firewood. No one knew who cut the first branch off the Tree. But soon everyone decided that a tree that no longer produced decent fruit was only good for one thing. Chainsaws buzzed in the park. Soon all that was left was the huge trunk. It was too massive for the unskilled woodcutters to fell. So it stood there with only the stubs of its once beautiful branches sticking out. It seemed like it was all over for the Tree and the town. No one even thought about apples. They were too busy trying to keep from freezing. It was a long, hard winter.

         Then one rainy day in spring a man walked through the empty park and noticed something. There was a Branch on the Tree, and it had buds! Word spread swiftly and for the first time since that disastrous day of bad apples, the whole citizenry gathered again in the park. Almost everyone was sure that no branch had been spared the fire that winter. A number of them began to call it a miracle. But a few skeptics simply blamed the woodcutters and said that they were so stupid they had missed a perfectly good piece of firewood. One even called for a chainsaw to correct this oversight.

         Too many people believed in the miracle to let them cut the Branch off right then. “Let’s see what happens,” they said. The old man whose Story had caused so much damage had tears in his eyes. “This is the rest of it,” he said, “this is the Promise.”

         They waited on into spring. The buds on the Branch became delicate white blos­soms tipped with pink. Pale green leaves grew behind the blossoms. One day a stiff breeze blew through the town and all the blossoms lifted away from the Branch and were carried into the air like a white bird soaring high. In a week or two everyone could see that the Branch was a true one. Nestled deep in the bright green leaves, tiny round fruit had set.

         That summer was better than anyone expected. Some of the closed shops opened their doors again. A few old timers moved back to town. Children played in the park. Most everyone had enough to eat, and those who had more than enough shared with those who had little. Everyone watched the Branch.

         By late summer, anticipation was running high. The Branch was covered with green apples. Streaks of red were just starting to appear. Those who had wanted to keep the Branch from being cut began to brag. “See,” they told the skeptics with excited optimism, “we told you. Before long we will all be eating apples again, just like it used to be.”

         What the optimists did not reckon with, though, was the bitterness of the skeptics. No one likes to be shown wrong, and these folks were no different. So they proposed a test. “Let’s just pick an apple now,” the skeptics said, “and see if this Branch is really what you think it is.”

         It was plain to see that the apples were scarcely ripe. Even those farthest along were still much more green than red. These folks had lived with apples all their lives and they should have known better. Yet they were all too eager, too full of anticipation to disagree much with the notion of tasting an apple now. A few quiet voices opposed the idea, but they were drowned out in shouts of, “Yes, yes, let’s have a taste!” You would have thought the old man would have stood up against the tasting, but all he would say is, “There’s more to the Story.” No one, though, was really listening to him.

         Once again the whole town assembled under the Tree. It looked very strange, with its one green branch stretched out and loaded with fruit. The fruit itself looked delicious, large and smooth and shiny, though it was still clearly green and not yet ready to eat. A ladder was fetched and the spokesman for the skeptics (who was the same man who had called for a chain saw in the spring) mounted it and grasped the largest apple he could reach. Of course, since it was green, it did not come easily. He twisted and pulled and almost tumbled off the ladder before it finally came loose in his hand.

         From his pocket, the man on the ladder produced a pen knife. He opened it with his teeth, still holding the apple in his other hand. He plunged the knife deep into the apple’s flesh, and twisted it until he had dug out a bite-sized piece. Juice ran down his forearm, more juice than there should have been from a green apple. With a sarcastic flourish, he popped the bite into his mouth.

         The sarcasm on his face became surprise. What he was chewing was the sweetest and best fruit he had ever tasted. Even green, it surpassed any other apple on earth. Yet he could not bear to admit it. He refused to be proven wrong again. He made his mouth pucker and twisted his jaw into a grimace. With all the force he could muster, he spat the delicious morsel onto the ground. “Sour!” he yelled, knowing it was a lie. “Sour and bitter and as dry as dust!”

         How anyone could have believed him, especially the part about being dry—they all saw the juice—is hard to say. Yet most of them did. “Cut it off!” cried someone and others took it up. “Cut it off, cut it off, cut off that useless Branch!” The whole town was shouting and men were running for saws, while boys ran for axes. The few people who protested were drowned out in the hubbub.

         In only a few minutes the largest chainsaw in town was oiled and gassed and ready. It started with a roar and the skeptic carried it up the ladder. There were two swift and careful cuts beneath and then the call of “Look out below!” as the saw descended upon the top of the Branch. There was a huge cracking sound as the Branch’s weight tore it free from the Tree. The man on the ladder was almost knocked off as it swept by him and then nearly top­pled again as the Branch crashed down with such force that the ground shook.

         Then the real mayhem began. More chainsaws coughed to life. Axes were swung. Even children’s pocketknives came out. In a few moments, the branch was merely firewood, splinters, and sawdust. Every leaf was crushed into the ground and every apple was smashed with an axe head. The chunks of wood were picked up and carried off. Though it was still summer, no few fireplaces were lit and the apple wood blazed up chimneys. Smoke filled the sky. Darkness covered everything, though it was still morning.

         Unseen by anyone else, the old man and a few others lingered under the Tree. They searched among the crushed leaves and smashed apples and gathered a few seeds. They did not really know why. They just put them in their pockets or in their purses and went home.

         That fall and winter were colder than the last, and most people left town for good. The power went out again and there was no wood left to burn. So the few who stayed huddled in blankets and waited and hoped for spring.

         When spring came, the handful of people left in town came out to greet it with grim faces. Shops were boarded up and no children were to be seen. Made-in-the-Shade had fallen apart. It was not really a town anymore, and many houses were empty as the spring rains came down.

         One morning though, a woman woke up to silence and light. The rain had stopped, and the sun came in through her bedroom curtains. She pulled them back and raised her window and a warm breeze wafted in. On the breeze came the scent of apple blossoms! She caught her breath with a gasp. Swift as the breeze had come, she gathered her friends. The women ran to the park and to the Tree. Beyond belief, it was there, the same Branch growing again in the same place on the Tree! Its leaves looked like emeralds and its blossoms were glowing white in the sun, but there was an even greater marvel. All over the Branch were apples! Ripe apples. Apples red as blood and shining as if lit from inside. The Branch had come again.

         They did not pick any apples. They did not touch the Branch at all. They just stared and then turned and ran back to tell their men. At first they were not believed. The men were aggravated and angered by the silly story. But soon they themselves smelled the fra­grance in the air. Persuaded, they and everyone left in town went to see. Gathered then around the trunk, several reached up to touch the Branch, just to make sure it was real. It was. But no one picked any apples. They did not dare.

         Standing there, one of them happened to reach into his pocket and feel a small smooth shape. He pulled it out and it was an apple seed, one of those gathered from the scene of destruction the year before. He held it up to look at it and others noticed. In a few mo­ments, apple seeds were pulled from purses and pockets by almost everyone there. Those who had none discovered a few seeds still lying about on the ground.

         No one told them what to do, but they seemed to know. Everyone went home, found a sunny corner of yard, and there dug a small hole and planted a seed. Then once again, they waited. Each day they went to the park to observe the Branch. They gathered beneath it, just looking. Then they went home and gently watered the little mounds of earth over their seeds. By the time summer arrived, green seedlings had sprouted all over town.

         A day came when they all gathered in the park as usual only to find that the Branch was gone. So was the Tree. Only smooth green grass grew where it once stood. Not a few of them began to wonder if any of it really happened. But by then the seedlings in their yards were small saplings. All anyone needed to do was to look at the lush green of the leaves on those young trees to know the Branch was still alive.

         So they kept on meeting together in the park. Sometimes they just sat and remembered the Branch. Sometimes they listened to the old man, who would tell them the Story and how to care for apple trees. Every once in awhile, though, he would simply stop and say, “There’s more to the Story.” Now they believed him.

         Amen.

         Valley Covenant Church
         Eugene/Springfield, Oregon
         Copyright © 2012 by Stephen S. Bilynskyj