Irish Jesuit Province

The Silent Sermon of the Months. VI: June: The Sermon of the TreesAuthor(s): Joseph GuinanSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 45, No. 528 (Jun., 1917), pp. 341-345Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20504816 .

Accessed: 10/06/2014 18:30

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

.

Irish Jesuit Province is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Irish Monthly.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 188.72.127.30 on Tue, 10 Jun 2014 18:30:32 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

THE IRISH MONTHLY

JUNE, 1917

THE SILENT SERMON OF THE

MONTHS Vl-JUNE--THE SERMON OF THE TREES

IN the kingdom of trees and shrubs it is the proud privilege of the evergreen to retain its proper garment of leaves all through the dreary winter weather-which, to the general dismay, usually persists in prolonging its undesirable exist ence long beyond its allotted course.

As for the rest of the arboreal tribe, the deciduous trees, they are reduced to raggedness in October, nakedness in

November, and skeleton-like deformity afterwards, until charitable April begins in pity to array them again in beauty. May takes up the task of clothier; but it is onlv June, the highly-skilled, finished costumier and artiste, that gives the final touches to the trousseau of surpassing loveliness, whose matchless sheen glistens and shimmers in the sunshine of the long warm dav of their bridal with

Summer. It is a wedding-gown softer in texture, richer in colour, more beautiful in design than the artificial looking, glossy-coated raiment of their confrtres, whose

withering ever presages decay and death. Yes, "leafy June" best describes the month when the

year is in the full, fresh vigour of its davs. Look at the grand, glorious trees in full leaf, and learn the lesson they teach. To the reverent-minded the nmost common-place among them in its vestment of rich green is a silent

preacher, telling of the power and wisdom of God. It is a

nun-like, veiled worshipper standing with outstretched arms in mute adoration before the Lord. It betrays, as it were, the emotions of the creature before the Creator. In the calm, still niaht it is motionless, as if in an ecstacy; in the

88

This content downloaded from 188.72.127.30 on Tue, 10 Jun 2014 18:30:32 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

342 THE IRSH MON1THLY

storm it bows profoiundly; in the light breeze it trembles, as if in reverential fear of the (Great Presence; and anon

it plays faint aeolian music in HTis praise.

Indeed, inlagination may revel in the many strange and

pleasing fancies which the leaves in June give rise to.

When at rest thev remind one of couintless baby-faces

looking through the tiny windows of the trees; when stirred by the wind they recall the clapping of children's hands in glee; and, when a gust ruslhes past, they flutter

with the soft beating of angels' winlgs. They speak, they whisper; they sing, they murmur; they laugh, they sigh; thev smile in the sunshine, they weep in the rain. For

the joyful their ruistling is sweet music; for the sorrowful

it is a plaintive dirge.

Examined closely, what wonderful exarnples they pre

sent of the Great Artificer's handiwork. They charm the

eye with the most pleasing diversity of form, oval, oblong,

pointed, serrated, heart-shaped, tongue-shaped. Indeed, even on the same tree scarcely two can be found exactly alike, just as no two human faces are absolutely similar in

features. Each and every one of the myriad host of leaves

is in itself a little miasterpiece, a matchless work of art in

design and execution. Look at the skeleton leaf in Novem ber, when the flesh, so to speak, has melted away from it, and you will see an iniMitable piece of the most delicately

formed, intricate fibrouis net-work. No filagree tracery of the old masters can compare with it. No hand, however

cunning it may be, can do more than imperfectly im-nitate it. Hew, it miay be asked, is this marvel of consummite

craftsirmanship produced, and wlhv is such perfection dis played in so trifling, so insignificant a thing? Canl the

wizard of scienice, the superrnan druink with the pride of

intellect, answer? No, he stands mrute before the little fluttering leaf, and cannot explain it. It is a riddle, a cryptogram, which tIme Atheist cannot solve without admitting the existence of a Divine Artist, whose power and wisdom confound him. He cannot walk the waters

without sinking, and must needs crv to God for help. He

is blind as Bartimeus, the beggar of Jericho, but, unlike lhim, will not bring himnself to say, "Lord, that I may see !"

This content downloaded from 188.72.127.30 on Tue, 10 Jun 2014 18:30:32 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

THE SILENT SERMON OF THE MONTHS 343

We can trace an analogy between the life of the tree and that of man. The acorn, thrown carelessly by the hand of a child, bursts its bonds in the Spring, and grows into a tiny plant, so frail and delicate at first that even

a dew-drop may bend it, and perhaps warp its stateliness for ever. It has its childhood, subject to vicissitudes and accidents; its youth of varying fortunes of wind and weatlher; its vigour and maturity, of quiet power and sleep ing strength, defying the tempest fury; its middle age of dignity and lordly miagnificence; its green old age of indurated rucged strength and massiveness; and finally, its inevitable slow decay and death. But, even when centuries old, it will, June after June, unlike man, renew its youth and comeliness with a fair robe of green that hides its deformities, and renders it as spruce and debonair as its youthful brother of fifty. At last, how ever, in spite of the wide-extended roots hungrily seeking nutriment for the shrivelled limbs of the dying giant, it will become a blasted trunk, whose sapless limbs will never more put forth the beautiful green leaves that flourished and faded wlhile dvnasties rose and fell. What a wonder ful historv attaches to the tree, spared by the woodman, and allowed to finish its course of silent preacher before the Lord, none knoweth how long?

What, then, is the lesson which the leaves whisper, when the mild zephyr of evening gently wakes them from their noon-day sleep? Is not the great stately tree in full foliage, with mighty outstretched arms, giving shade in the heat and shelter in the storm, the emblem of God's own beneficent Providence over all His creatures. No wonder the king of the forest, the oak, was regarded as a sacred tree in Pagan times; or that the arches of the woods should be chosen as the first temples of religious worship. There is a solemnity in the great towering mass of verdure, which somehow imbues the mind with that feeling of awe and reverence which we experience in the presence of the nobler and grander works of God. The lofty tree, arrayed in the pomp and pride of its June

splendotur, mav be said, indeed, to taunt us with our littleness and insignificance; but does it not, also, inspire

This content downloaded from 188.72.127.30 on Tue, 10 Jun 2014 18:30:32 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

344 THE IRISH MONTHLY

us with a sense of protection and security, such as the

little child feels wlhen encircled by the strong paternal arn.

As the traveller confidently seeks shelter under its wide

extending branches from the broiling sun, or the tropical

shower, so in life's journey we are oftein forced, in utter

helplessness and impotency, to rely upon the last refuge

of the vanquished, the watchful care of Providence. There,

even when despoiled of all we possessed and bereft of all

we loved, we shall find a Friend ever faithful and true,

better than father or motlher, brother or sister, wife or

child, comrade or lover. The truly religious-minded never utterly despond, muclh

less despair. Even when overwhelmed with misfortunes,

treading on one another's heels, like Job's messengers of

evil; even when sorely worsted in the struggle with

poverty, they calmly seek comfort and consolation in the never-failing goodness of God. They turn wistful, tear dimmed eyes to One, Who alone can help thenm when all

others fail. But the worldly-minded and the irreligious bear ill-fortune badly; and for them it is a not unfrequently a blessed, and a thrice-blessed moment, wlhen defeated and beaten to their knees in the fight against the grind and greed and callous selfishness of men, they are compelled to fall back on their last resouirce, the strong yet gentle sustaining Hand of God. It is the parting of the ways in many an ill-spent life, the sudden veering towards higher and better tlhings for many a wayward soul.

If we might be allowed to strain the comparison some what, we coulld find a suggestion of hospitality and wel come in the inviting shade of the massive full-leafed tree,

which with cosmopolitan charity denies protection to none. And thereby it teaches the lesson of Divine Benevolence. In ancient Ireland, we are told, there were free hostels for the traveller, with roads leading to them from all quarters, witlh ever-open doors, with kitchen fires never quenched, and caldrons ever full of meat for the hungry. Even so does God, tlhe Great Hospitaller, provide for the homeless, wretched ones of the world, the wastrel dis owned and abandoned by all, the prodigal perishing of want, the Magdalens cast out from society with scorn and

This content downloaded from 188.72.127.30 on Tue, 10 Jun 2014 18:30:32 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

THE SI.LENT SERMON OF THE AMONTHS 345

contempt. Nay, more, His compassion goes further still. The criminal huinted and lharried, whom no city of refuge

will open its gates to, the outcast put on a par with the

beast of the field-these have only to come repentantly to

God's ark of mercy, and the good Father of all will take

them in, even as Noah put forth hlis lhand to save the

poor fluttering dove that found not a place for her foot

amid the great swirling waste of waters. Under the wide-spreading shade of (God's universal

Providence the world-weary pilgrim of life may unloose his sandal shoon and rest. There he will find comfort and refreshment, and the sleep of peace which He givetf to His beloved.

JOsE1PH GUINAN.

Before prince Joseph, " lord of all the land Of Egypt "-thus by Pharaoh named-there stood An alien group, at whom, in angry mood,

He railed, implacable. The suppliant band TIe knew-his brothers, who had hated and

To strangers sold him. But his kindred blood Outcried their guilt, until he wept, subdued;

Ruitlhfiul to them who 'gainst hlim, riuthless, planned.

O Lord, our Lord, raised all this world above! In our distress to plead with Thee we dare:

Here burn, here cut, here merciless reprove; For we the guilt of Joseph's brethren share;

But-in eternity-as Thou dost love Thy brethren, Lord, them in Thy mercy spare.

JOHN CUNNINGHAM, P.P.

Templederry.

This content downloaded from 188.72.127.30 on Tue, 10 Jun 2014 18:30:32 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions