If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound? This rather odd question has often been used by philosophers in posing a riddle concerning the nature of reality – namely, if something is not perceived can it be said to exist?
However, it was not the philosophical question about reality that concerned me when three huge trees came crashing down next to my house during a hurricane several weeks ago. Although I say that three trees came crashing down, I did not actually hear the sound of crashing; all I know is that in one moment all was well in the forest outside my house, and in the very next moment three big trees lay twisted on the ground. Thankfully, they missed falling on our house and car and on the guests who had just arrived for dinner.
While I neither heard nor saw the trees fall they were down indeed, and when the storm was over I was left with the difficult job of removing their massive trunks broken branches and tangled debris. As near as I could tell by counting the growth rings in a cross section of one of the tree trunks, a white ash, it was close to a hundred years old. I was rather puzzled that this very strong and healthy looking tree had fallen to this particular storm after surviving a hundred years of harsh weather and many other storms. Why had it not fallen to previous, more ferocious storms than this?
If trees could talk I imagine that each of those trees would have a story to tell. As I began clearing away the branches and cutting the broken trunks from their twisted stumps, I caught a glimpse of the stories. The ash was not nearly as healthy as it appeared; at its base the trunk was sickeningly rotten to the core. For whatever cause, underneath its outer strength and beauty the bottom of its trunk was hollow and decaying. It was a pulpy mess and what happened during the storm was inevitable. The tree’s appearance of health and strength was not reality.
I saw similar stories in what was left of the other two trees as well. A tall yellow poplar that had been growing alongside the creek wasn’t broken at all; it had simply been uprooted by the force of the gale, revealing an astonishing shallow root system. Alongside the creek, in close proximity to nutrients and water the root system had not developed any depth to provide long term stability as the tree matured. The shallow roots offered no foundation, no anchoring against the storm, and now roots and all were upended and exposed.
On the other side of the house a black spruce was probably the youngest of the three downed trees and was no more than forty years old. Unlike the ash and the poplar, its root system was solid and there was no evidence of rot in its trunk. It wasn’t until I noticed a sizeable crack in the trunk where the tree had twisted in the wind that I understood. The long two inch deep crack was discolored in comparison to the recently broken trunk, evidence of damage caused by a previous storm that resulted in weakening the integrity and strength of the trunk. It only took the force of another gale to finish the “job.” Often the story of a tree is not contained in the onslaught of a single storm.
As I continued clearing away the debris I contemplated the stories of the three fallen trees, stories that are not unlike the stories of broken and hurting people I meet in and out of prison. Stories that can sometimes come painfully close to home. The lessons of the fallen trees are clear but if they are not heard, their meaning will be lost. Like the ash many of us are able to maintain a wonderful appearance of spiritual vitality and strength that masks a hollow core and decay caused by things eating away at the spiritual vitality and moral center of our inner lives. And like the poplar, others of us thrive in shallow environments of popular, feel good religious experience without really deepening our spiritual roots and connectedness with Jesus through the disciplines of prayer, study, confession, and the accountability and support of spiritual companionship. Still others of us may be bruised and broken like the spruce, unable or unwilling to admit our injuries and brokenness, pride-fully trying to survive on our own terms, too embarrassed or afraid to get the spiritual, emotional, physical help we need to face and survive the storms of life.
And so it causes me to wonder — if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears and learns from its story, what difference does it make.
Jesus often challenged his followers to have ears to hear and eyes to see. So often what He taught was lost on them for they heard without listening and the saw without perceiving what He was teaching them and where He was leading them. The continuing challenge is to grow in strength and depth with Jesus and in our relationships with those who follow Him.
Ron W. Nikkel is the president and CEO of Prison Fellowship International (PFI). For more information, visit the PFI website.