Nurse Trees in the Smokies

If you have ever travelled to the Great Smoky Mountains in Eastern Tennessee - at least on the high backwoods trails - you've seen life emerging from decay and destruction.

The old American Chestnuts which dominated the high ranges a century ago are gone.  These were beautiful trees that were large and expansive.  They created a canopy that gave the floor of the forest a shady place in which smaller ferns and plants could grow.  As western settlers entered the area, they brought with them small, viral pests that brought down the great trees. 

Their hollow shells still line the floors of many glades and vales.

The loss of the grand chestnut, almost killed the logging industry - which almost killed the mountains.  Logs were taken at such a rate that erosion and mudslides were common.  Gone were the protecting canopy and the fruit for squirrels and other smaller creations of God.

Over the last few decades, a remarkable thing has happened in the high country.  Where chestnuts once stood, new forests are emerging.  When you walk the ridge trails, you see the remains of the chestnuts, but you also see the cradle of a new forest.  You see "nurse trees."

As I passed a "nurse tree" recently, I wondered if these shells weren't God speaking to the Church that we have known in the last century.

• Something has "blighted" our church structures
• The limbs are too big for the trunks to support
• The great structures are falling
• Losses, and unwelcome change bring bad news on a regular basis

I wonder, though, does God have something else in mind for the giants that once dominated our faithscape?

• Are we to give up our massive structures to "nurse" smaller, stonger, and different growth in the forest of faith?
• The sprouting sapplings growing from the rich bed of decaying chestnuts are not chestnut.  But, they are trees.  Some small, others large and able to withstand the rough climate of the mountains.
• Some of the new growth bears fruit, but others bear only beauty.

As I sit here pondering the changes that come in life, I wonder what the nursebed I create for those who come behind me will be like.  Will the soil be soft and receptive of any seed that will sprout?.  Will there be nutrient to strengthen the weak and help the new life grow strong?

Maybe the old structures have to fall in order for there to be new growth to give nurure and comfort.  Time will tell. One hundred years from now, will pilgrims in the forests of faith see massive structures that hide the sky and block the rain and wind, or will they see wispy glades of moving trees whose roots reach deeply down into the soul-soil of those who went before?

 - Simeon Stylites the Elder