THE TREE
THE TREE
By Michael K. Farrar, O.D.
© God’s Breath Publications
www.godsbreathpublications.com
The young man was excited. His father had finally given him a chance to prove himself as a carpenter’s apprentice. He had worked in his father’s shop since he was a little boy. He loved working with wood, molding it and shaping it into tools, furniture and other useful items. Now at the age of 15, his father was convinced that he had the skills necessary to help more substantially with filling requests for their work. His father had received an order for numerous large timbers of finished wood. Very likely they were for a building of some sort or large house. While not a complicated task, it would be hard to find enough trees large and straight enough to fill the order. Most of the trees in the area where they lived did not grow very high and were very gnarled in appearance. He was sure his dad could meet the challenge and was anxious to help. His father had told him that he would need to supply two wooden beams as his part of the order. He would need to find the proper tree, chop it down, carve out of it two beams, and properly finish them for delivery. He was glad his father had now trusted him with this responsibility. He knew he was up for the task at hand. He would make sure his beams were the strongest and most impressive.
The young man set out to find the perfect tree. He walked out into the country and evaluated tree after tree. All day he searched, yet the tree that would meet his expectations eluded him. He went home somewhat discouraged, but not defeated. He arose the next morning and began his quest again. He searched the nearby forest climbing over hills and descending into valleys. He was growing weary, and wondered if he would ever find his tree. He prayed that God would show him the tree that would be just right. Then, there before his eyes was the tree he had been looking for. It stood in the middle of a clearing on a grassy knoll. It was taller than most trees and definitely straight enough to supply two large wooden beams he needed. He walked over to it. He gazed up from the base of its trunk to the sky, which filtered through its leaves. He almost had second thoughts about cutting down such a beautiful creation, but he knew he must help his father.
The young man drew out his ax and began to chop at the tall old tree. The blade dug deep into the wood as the young carpenter’s muscles strained behind the swings of his ax. He worked for over an hour chopping down the mighty tree. Then he heard a slight crack, and then another, and then the tree began to move very slightly away from him. As the cracking sound grew louder he watched as the tree fell towards the earth and crashed with a mighty thump. The ground shook beneath him. He knew that now, the hard work was to begin.
He began to trim branches from the trunk of the tree being careful not to encroach into the main body. The trunk held the beams he would eventually extract from this beautiful wooden giant. He topped off the trunk and then hooked his donkeys up to the large wooden carcass. He led the donkeys and encouraged them with strong words as they strained to drag their prize back to his dad’s shop. They worked as a team, pulling, tugging and hauling the large tree over hill and through streams finally to arrive home. Once there, the hard work of splitting the tree into the rough beams began. The young man worked a few hours and then sunset forced him to cease his efforts for the day.
The young man arose early the next day, and continued the process of extricating the beams from the body of the tree. He worked all day, splitting the tree gradually and carefully so as not to damage the beams that he could see within the wood with his skillful woodworker’s eye. Finally by early afternoon he had two long, large straight rough timbers before him on the ground. He was impressed, not only with what he had accomplished, but with the quality of the wood of which the tree was made. There were no wormholes, no large knots or imperfections in the wood. It would make a very sturdy support for whatever purpose it was to serve.
The young man now began to finish the wood. Out came the tools with which he would smooth and polish the sides of the timbers. Once or twice his father passed by with a curious eye. One time his father commented that he was impressed that he had found such a good tree. This made the young man proud.
The young man worked long and hard the rest of that day and the next fashioning the beam’s edges and making sure the surface was smooth. His father came by and questioned why he was spending so much time finishing the surface of the timbers. They were, after all, simply beams that would be used for construction probably and would not need the finish that wooden furniture or tools would need. The young man defended his work by stating that he wanted these timbers to shine and be the best, not only in strength, but also in appearance. He wanted whoever used them to know that they would not only bear a mighty load, but would be beautiful to gaze upon as well. He father shook his head and walked away mumbling.
The young man finally stood up to gaze down upon his creation. He was proud, very proud, before him lay two long wooden beams of magnificent beauty. Of course only a craftsman who worked with wood might appreciate such beauty, but to the young man this didn’t matter. His father agreed that they were the best of the lot. The young man was almost sorry to see his beautiful beams go, but knew that this was necessary to fulfill his commitment.
The next morning the entire order of beams was delivered and the young man and his father began other projects together.
The young man grew in stature and maturity and eighteen years passed by. We find our young carpenter facing horribly oppressive conditions.
The man is exhausted. Blood drips into his eyes from the wounds in his head. The thorny crown upon his head had been jammed deep into his scalp and some of the hard spikes had actually chipped away small pieces of bone from his skull. The circle of pain that runs around his brow is almost unbearable. His back is a mess. Pieces of flesh hang down from deep gashes in his muscles where the spiked whip lashed against his body. Blood runs down his waist, over his hips and circles around his legs like constrictive snakes. His body shows evidence of abuse from beatings as well. Deep purple areas dot his body where he has been struck with clubs and fists. If he wasn’t so dehydrated he might cry, but no tears can form. He has been without food and water for some time now and exhaustion has set in. Men around him kicked and spit on him. He could hardly hear the specific verbal abuses they tossed at him as he was led to this place. There were so many voices, so many harsh and derogatory words. He was so tired, in so much pain, so weak.
He stumbled and fell to the ground several times. These brief stumbles offered some relief from standing but it hurt his bruised knees to kneel. It also offered his persecutors a better target. Wooden clubs and human appendages delivered more merciless beatings to his already bloodied body. How much could he endure? As much as was necessary, he thought to himself. He must fulfill his heavenly Father’s will. Nothing else mattered.
A large man grabbed his arm and almost wrenched it from its socket dragging him across the gravel. The man threw him against a large wooden cross and ordered him to carry it. He rose to the challenge and slowly got to his feet with the cross digging into one shoulder. As his hand passed over the smooth wood of the cross, he felt a familiarity. Memories of his childhood flashed before his eyes. Through sweat and blood, his eyes glanced over the wooden cross he bore. It was one of the wooden beams he had fashioned as a young apprentice. His mind was in a fog, but he began to remember the first wooden timbers he had fashioned out of the mighty oak as a young man. He knew that the tree he had chosen for the wooden beams had been special. He knew that the beams would be used for an important work. Somehow he had known that he would see them again. He had in his hands again, the wood he had so diligently fashioned with sweat and skill. As he strained his neck to look forward he noticed that one timber had been cut shorter and attached at the top to form the patibulum, the cross piece upon which his hands would be nailed. He wondered what had happened to the discarded piece of wood?
As he stumbled down the path before him, his hands grasped the wood for stability. The feel of the wood brought back fond memories. Memories of his early childhood, his earthly father, the shop, his mother and the wonderful meals she would make for all of them.
A soldier’s whip broke his concentration on the past and redirected it towards his current state. The ache in his head and pain in his back quickly came back as the whip reopened the wounds of his earlier lashings. He thought of all of those who depended on him now, all of those who needed salvation, all those who believed and would believe. His mind focused on his Father in heaven and a new strength grew. He felt the Spirit close, very close. He must carry his burden; his cross for his Father and for all of those called His children. He knew what he would go through to complete his work. He must finish the course, otherwise all would be lost, and all the souls his Father wished to have fellowship with.
He stumbled again and fell. The whip came down hard, as did abusive language. The jeers of the crowd were deafening. He was not sure if he could rise again with the weight of the cross. From somewhere a man appeared and helped him carry the huge burden. Whether it was forced or willing help, he did not know, but it was a relief just the same.
On and on it went, step by painful step until they reached the summit of Golgotha. A soldier kicked him in the side and he reeled over, the cross pinned him to the ground with its weight. Several soldiers picked him up and laid him out spread‑eagle on the strong, sturdy wood. He could not have resisted had he wanted to. The hard wood dug into the wounds of his back as he lay upon it. He heard the dull clanking of metal as large spikes were taken out of a cloth bag nearby. He barely felt a strong set of hands grab his arm and hold it against the wood. A sharp pain shot up his arm as the metal spike entered his wrist between the bones. He knew this would serve to support him as he hung from the cross. His other wrist was violated in similar fashion. He felt more rough hands grab his feet and place them over one another. He cringed for he knew what was to follow. Then it came, the horrendous pain of the final spike, the third piercing the bones in his feet. This spike would support the majority of his weight while his ordeal continued. He felt himself airborne as he heard the groans of the soldiers lifting the cross and sliding the end into the deep hole. As the heavy wooden cross hit the bottom, the jolt ripped at his entire body as spikes pulled against sinew and bone.
Seconds seemed like hours as he hung on the cross he had made for himself. Then he saw a man on a ladder with the piece of wood that had been removed from the shorter beam. On it was some writing. He watched as the man nailed the piece of wood above him. He heard someone read it, they read, “Jesus, King of the Jews.” He knew He would triumph. Death could not hold Him. His Father would have what He desired. He would have all glory and honor as well as the children of faith He loved so deeply.
He was glad he had chosen such a strong tree to bear the weight of Him who was to save the world. It was fitting that he should be the one to have made the cross that bore the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
Matthew 28:2‑7
“There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men. The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”