I drove home today, Great and Holy Saturday, from Matins, and as I went, I saw beside the road an Oak Tree. Clearly it has had the temerity to grow too close to the road, for someone has lopped off most of the branches that, until recently, overhung the road.
The tree is old, much older than the road, older probably than the old railway that the road is built on. It is one of those great old oaks that abound in English fields.
It occurred to me that this Oak is an icon of Christ.
The oak stands in the ground obeying the Father's law for trees: stand in the ground and grow: take in the air and make wood and leaves and acorns. The oak obeys His law perfectly, it stands there, the winds blow, the seasons pass, it grows; men come and lop bits off and burn them, but it never complains, it stands there and turns air into wood and leaves, and sometimes acorns.
Christ stands at the centre of all things, He too obeys the Father's law perfectly: stand at the centre of all things and love and make Saints.
Men come and lop off His Saints and burn them, Men come and nail Him to a tree, but He does not complain, He still stands there at the centre of all things, and loves, and sometimes He makes Saints.