tree of heaven

a sprout grew boldly up from the surrounding turmoil of overgrown herbs, the first to bring order from the unkempt mess: billowing tufts of rolling pastures which went through seasons of color and life. the sun-drenched space seemed to call its seed to awake from its bed and rise, up above the wind-tossed meadow, to stand apart from pretty flowers ever bounding upon lacy stems. a sturdy leader lifted itself towards the open sky headed by a growing umbrella of leafy branch after leafy branch, each stretching as far as it were tall by leaves structured in symmetry: compound feathers catching the wind with their smaller sails, daring to topple the green stick planted firmly in this foreign site, but it could only bend.
its taproot was different from those around it: not fibrous or splitting or sprawling or netting. it searched out depth from the first, building in bulk by the strength gathering in its leaves. its curious culture produced a tonic to serve its growth and support itself. it outcompeted its neighbors: those that simply grew and grew until the time to bloom and then to sow and die. and when the cool season waxed on and winter's frost approached to silence the field in muted shades of tan, the crown golden as the sun fell from the woody stalk left behind, a dozen crescent scars worn about its apex.
the tree was itself the seed of a more delicate planting, limited by the climes from which that hailed: the cold never threatened there, only the dry. but in this new place, drought came with a fierce freeze that lasted long enough to kill. its tropical ancestors could never survive such a desert, but this tree made its advance with special grace; and surely, when the sun returned its intensity and warmth covered the ground, when seeds and shoots of all the dead plants of yesteryear again brought forth verdant life from the land, the towering staff of Moses sprouted once more in an explosive array of bronze fingers. these swiftly reached for the heavens, changing into their pleasant green hue and producing a beautiful palm habit that appealed to the eye of man. and so it grew: branching outwards, soaring upwards, year by year adding to its girth, becoming more sturdy in its plot and converting the mess at its base.
then, one season, it bloomed, produced its seed in full force by the energy stored in its root, and the next year, a hundred of its sons sprouted among the grasses, gone out to change the world around them. for this was its design, written into its being even in warmer regions: to change a field into a forest, to build up the soil in support of a more complex ecosystem. it was created to pioneer the charge and then, when the time came, to step aside and let the true glory take over.

a specimen traveled around the world, not by its own choice, but by the will of him who sent it. it was taken from its place merely for the beauty it took on: a palm tree for the temperate clime. it was welcomed into a world that despised the old-growth: thick hardwoods and dark canopies erased to feed the expansion of civilization, to build its homes and fuel its factories. the landscape made barren needed dutiful trees to line the systematic grid of its streets, and this one's speedy growth was its boon: in the span of man's maturity, it reached a hundred feet. its shade could be beat by those that grew more slowly, but its airy stature held a different appeal, and the way it caught a breeze entertained the fancy of the modern man.
its ability to tame an open space was also turned into utility, protecting soil where else it would be lost to forced, albeit natural erosion. other uses were found in the industry of silk production, while the artist began to cultivate it as an exotic worthy of focus in the garden. with all of these benefits, how could the pioneers of the New World not bring it with them?
but as with all fads, it soon was shown too good to be true; for, the tree loved its place in the unkempt field, the places allotted to the poor of the land: it sought out such places, escaping the refined establishments it was granted in order to bring life into the void. it forsook its duty defining grand streetways and sprouted up from the dusty street itself; it denied the companionship of neighbors in the fight for stability, and it single-handedly broke down rock to produce more rubble; it worked its way backwards, too, sending its seeds to infiltrate forests wherever the sunlight stepped down to touch the floor; its wind-swept leaves could not support the delicate life of the silk moth, and so it was removed from that station as well; and its abundant inflorescences, once marked for beauty, were now marred for a physical stench which offput the dreamer lain at its feet as well as the dinner party sat on their patio.

what once was known as a tree of heaven was now called a tree from hell; what they invited into their land, they now considered a nuisance that they could by no means rid themselves of. in the city, it grew from cracks in cement, and to cut it down left the root hidden in the very foundation of progress. sometimes, it grew up in crevices of the more desired trees, as if offered protection from those ready to pluck a seedling from its place, but when left there, it was made apparent which was the more uncomfortable in the shared space. where destructive forces caused buildings to be razed to abandoned lots, the tree willingly stepped in to bring its shade, establishing itself where nothing else chose to grow so boldly. entire districts were known by its presence; groves of it traveled down the roadways where no one cared what decorated the landscape there; it spilled into the native ecosystem like a naturalized pest. not even fire could tame it, for, with the loss of leaves it sent up a million sprouts from its very roots, ready to take over from the ashes of its sacrificed neighbors.
in time, there was found to be one effective means against the invader: chemical warfare. if any good came from our world wars with our equals, it was the science of disease-prevention and a subsequent war against pests of all kinds. we learned, of course, that moderation was key, else the whole of the food-chain would suffer; but in the same way, the epidemics could only be treated to a point, and new means were developed against new behaviors. but the tree could not be eradicated; its roots in the new lands were as old as the colonies. it was here to stay, only kept at bay whenever man could be bothered to intervene.
intervention came with surprising force at the arrival of another pest, but it was all too little and too late. the insects were not invited; a pure accident excepting that global trade allowed their travel beyond their natural circumstances.

they hatched and climbed and sprung to freedom,
their black and white turned red,
they found the food that they knew well,
and made the tree their bed.

groves of trees returned droves of these,
like locusts on the wind,
and when they feasted on our farms,
we knew that we had sinned.

wherever the tree grew, they gathered, setting up a base camp from which to head their assault: the bitter tonic, which the tree had held in its arsenal all along to fight back the neighboring crowds, became the same in the bug to protect against the bird. so they learned to find it out. thousands of them flocked to a single stand of root suckers, where the green growth offered the best tap. generations of them ascended the parent tree to overwinter their eggs, and coated the bark in their honeydew which catered directly to black mold. some of them went out in search of other tastes, bringing the tell-tale paint with them. free-flowing sugar in the early spring benefitted their young, and acres of maples were served to them on platters: the beauteous rainbow of our forests. then, to the willows, the birch, the apples, cherries, figs and grapes. other invasives which grew rapidly before now appealed to this rapid infestation, and though none of them brought the bugs the protection of nature as their host had, they instead found their strength in numbers.
did they kill that which they fed upon? no, not by design. but they certainly caused trouble. they denied maturity. they forced struggle. they weakened defenses; plants were made prone to the attacks of others. that they are not guilty of the more atrocious crime does not diminish the harmful role they yet practice. and what can be done to remedy the situation? to let it take its course is the response of nature; to roll over into the new future is no responsibility of nurture, as when the tree first escaped our control. but the activist is called to arms in defense of nature; the steward of creation does not soon yield to the status made quo. where preservation fails, conservation steps up; where imbalance and oppression threaten, equilibrium and charity rise to fight back. it is not enough to welcome change, but to guide it well. and after all is done, to remain standing.

and what does it mean, this allegory i've been writing? the tree of heaven, so aptly epitomized in the Latin for its height, is the church; the building, if you will; the political system of it; the bureaucracy that it establishes. it is designed to take care of itself, and yet it requires such aid that the poor it was supposed to help is most harmed by it. it was meant to grow by the care of God to care for the people, to lift them that they may lift others; and to showcase God's glory in it and through it, but it instead stole His glory for itself. it became a monster needing every resource to remain; it never gathered enough to give outwards but, in fearing its own demise, protected itself first. it sacrificed those native to its area of influence to become a mold-drenched eyesore begging others to help keep it clean. like a restaurant rushing patrons out to make room for more, if you could not afford to stay, you had overstayed your welcome.
to recognize its falsehood is of benefit only so far as one avoids it. such knowledge, however, is not enough to wield in battle against its growth or spread. as Chalmers¹ has said, "We shall never be able to arrest any of its leading pursuits by a naked demonstration of their vanity. It is quite in vain to think of stopping one of these pursuits in any way else, but by stimulating to another." the root of the tree, once overgrown to such size, could not be dug out by the mere alert of it being the problem; the root itself fought against such by putting the blame elsewhere.

Oh, it's the soil within which I'm sat; this waterlogged space would cause any tree trouble. Oh, it's the wear and the tear of the world which is at fault, the decay of which God has said affects us all in equity. Oh, it's the systems we've put in place to be the norm in this modern day; we cannot minister without power, and power comes from the utility pole, and the storm has removed it for the time being. Oh, it's the screens which project the words to the songs which we are teaching you, the songs we have committed to memory for the production this very day; pay no attention to the dusty hymnals settled into every pew, which are but outdated antiques of bygone days; they do not have the same lyrics as we have on the sheet music we've studied all week, so you must submit to us and not we to them. Oh, and the outstanding architecture, for which we took your donations across multiple calendar years, is already in need of repair, so you must find a way to fix that for us as well. Oh, but the ministries to the deaf and those of special needs and of single-status in our community, these can be sacrificed so that we can support groups that you will never come into contact with, that they may know it is you who has helped them despite being far-off and detached; perhaps they will come here when they are on their own feet and praise you for it. Oh, but the girl in our congregation who interrupts our sermon with her crying pleas for Satan not to take her life, she is merely a victim of mental anguish and we have known this for some time; let us remove her quickly so that we may get back to our teaching on the demon-possessed slave girl whom the Spirit saved during the age of the apostles.

but the ones in their very midst, who feel too troubled to even ask for help, they are shown their faults before granted aid. "Come back tomorrow," they may say, but tomorrow never comes. "Your needs are simply too great for us; we must end the year in the black." yes, and they will let you donate to their goodwill fund, but you cannot draw from it; you must first exhaust yourselves by your own means. six centuries before our Lord was born to us, Aesop taught the church more practical wisdom than He ever could: for the gods help them who help themselves. "But do not forget to support your missionaries, through whom the gospel is spread while we send our pastors on luxurious vacations so that they can hear from their god what agenda they should bring back to their churches for the upcoming months." would they never go alone into the wilderness? would they preach of what they learned about their coworkers' golf swings, while they judge them for the way they read a sermon? "And help us to market our church and to get our name out there, as we appeal to the sinners of the day, and keep them in their sin, for if ever they should leave it, they would surely see past our own façade, how we are unholy, though being called to it."
the lanternfly wears the mask; it looks poisonous but is not. and it can only dare to live up to the claim if it feeds on the tree that was allowed to flourish by false promises for centuries prior. these are the demons which came and took up residence when the church had forgotten its own purpose. they do not need to kill: only to weaken. they convince you of your lowly standing, but they cannot convict you. oh, no. for they cannot produce in you a godly sorrow. as Chalmers¹ put out in so many more words, "...the church, instead of being to him a school of obedience, has been a mere sauntering place for the luxury of a passing and theatrical emotion; and the preaching which is mighty to compel the attendance of multitudes, which is mighty to still and to solemnize the hearers into a kind of tragic sensibility, which is mighty in the play of variety and vigour that it can keep up around the imagination, is not mighty to the pulling down of strong holds."

only the Spirit convicts,
for only the Spirit can fix.

¹Thomas Chalmers, The Expulsive Power of a New Affection, 1819