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TWO FROZEN REFLECTIONS:
SNOW, STOIC TREES, GOD AND ME
I
Remaining Steadfast Warm
In the Struggle’s Snow Storm
Looking out up above
the snowy ground into
a branched tree with spiny
snow sprinkled leaves, there
it was: a small reddish colored
leaf; its dangling stem hanging
from a small bent-down branch.
As I sat there staring,
my mind began imaging
this leaf into a Calvary cross
that gradually imaged into
a hued hanging body.
In awe, looking down onto the
snowy ground, the revelation of the
allegorical vision revealed its juxtaposed
lesson: crucifixion and lynching trees—
(Jesus and Simon of Cyrene)
Indeed, from the first snatching of
our ancestors from the womb of
Mother Africa, to the snowy days
of these treacherous times, we have
known that our God is the God of the
oppressed who gave us the life of his Son
that we ever may know that he will always
struggle with us on our freedom sojourn.
Therefore, let us be ever mindful that in
the mattering of our black lives, no matter
what the weathering may be, we must make
it plain that we will wholeheartedly remain on
the battlefield of the Lord—struggling with
his grace unto death—in the resurrection
and holy renewal of our sacred liberation.
Thus, let us be not dismayed in the present
rainy, snowing, and freezing political
discontent; rather let’s be forever mindful
that like the settling of waters of Noah, the
halting and melting is coming and that our
present political disparities and black power
outings will have their resurrection and today’s
winter Babylon will soon meet its sated fate.
II
Hanging With The Tree Of Life
As I looked out into the frigid air,
once again my eyes focused on the
palisade of trees quietly standing
perpendicular to the frozen ground.
There are some trees that are
totally leafless; their frozen trunks and
naked branches reflecting silhouettes
of giant arboreal skeletons piercing
the sky with waiting resurrection poses.
Then there are others with spiny
ice-laden leaves and frozen cones
hanging from bending branches
burdened with heavy ice cycles.
Yet, their statuesque trunks—in stoic
dignity—continue to arch skyward.
My eyes filled with this silent still scene,
caused my mind to struggle once more
with keloid memories of lynching scenes;
but my faith’s spirit turned my focus onto
God’s tree of life and the fruit of the vine
that hung from its sacred branch.
Alas, the teasing chill that had come over
my soul like cold snow has become the victim
of the burning bush of warming hope—igniting
renewed faith in the coming dissolution of the
present winter’s pandemic discontent of political,
economical, social, medical and climatic discord
we now struggle—with God’s strength and refuge.
So, blessed be these teaching trees I’ve been
symbolically hanging out with; for they
have graciously reminded me that indeed,
we live and walk by faith, not by sight.