Thus says the Lord God: Cursed is the man who trusts in man, who seeks his strength in flesh, whose heart turns away from the Lord. He is like a barren bush in the desert that enjoys no change of season, but stands in a lava waste, a salt and empty earth. Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose hope is the Lord. He is like a tree planted beside the waters that stretches out its roots to the stream: it fears not the heat when it comes, its leaves stay green; in the year of drought it shows no distress, but still bears fruit. More tortuous than all else is the human heart, beyond remedy; who can understand it? I, the Lord, alone probe the mind and test the heart, to reward everyone according to his ways, according to the merit of his deeds, says the Lord almighty.

Jer 17:5-10

Notes from Takasaki.

Spring happens earlier here. The wind is cold, but the sun is warm. A woman walking her dog saw us taking pictures of mundane things–plumb blossoms, tree bark, birds, and she smiled.

Food tastes different here. I get the sense that it’s messed with less, fewer preservatives. I feel that way because my body is reacting to it differently than the food back home. Apples definitely taste and smell better; more like they did when I was a kid. At least I tell myself that.

Trees are older, bigger. Forests seem more prolific when they’re cedars, bamboo. In the mountains, they reach out towards the sky, standing beside each other, confident, almost wise in their age. Trees beside the highways here have to be at least two hundred years old, maybe older. There’s a Shinto shrine here in Gunma we visited last time we were here, where there were cedar trees over 1000 years old. The oldest, now dead, was called the “Shogun of the Mountain”–and the trees descendants now fill a forest around the shrine. We’re going to be going to several bonsai nurseries in Omiya later in the trip, but today we’re going to one in Gunma that I suspect doesn’t see many western visitors.

I have always had a respect, a love, of trees. I have a hard time getting rid of trees in the back yard, so it feels like a forest in the very early stages. There are two feral maples by our fish pond that started growing the same year Dan and I started dating. They’re going to be ten years old soon.

The Old Testament reading today speaks about how one who trusts in God flourishes like a tree, branches outstretched towards the sky, roots running deep. While trees can survive alone, they thrive in an ecosystem that is diverse, full of life. When there is drought, the tree may have suffer but still thrives, still bears fruit, still produces seed, flowers. ln the Lenten season, we are like trees tested by drought. If our faith is strong, our suffering may not be as intense, we may not invest as much in acknowledging our suffering. There will be fruits, moments in our sacrifice that have inspiration in the moment. They may be subtle, like a glimmer of sunlight through the leaves of the trees, or seemingly supernatural, like the scent of flowers were none are present. Or they may seem in the moment fleeting, given pains we may feel, only becoming visible later.

I wish I could wander in the mountains, walk in the forests here. I wish I brought hiking boots so I could. Today, we settle or a mountain temple where, no doubt, there will be trees to see, to touch, to experience.