Life, Death, and the Wisdom of Trees
We Must See Further
Life
In the Marine Corps, practicing the art of sending death down range is a way of life.
A warrior’s way perhaps, but a way nonetheless.
One crisp California morning, my buddies and I were assembled for a live fire exercise. For this exercise, we put live rounds into our magazine to practice “bounding” with our fellow marines. We would then proceed toward the target while shooting live rounds to give them cover fire.
After being instructed on what the exercise was to entail, we were all given the all too common sage advice from our instructor:
“Don’t frick’n shoot each other.” (I don’t think I ever heard a sentence in the Marines that didn’t include the “F-word” as a noun, verb, adjective, or adverb. It had a wide semantic range.)
Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that.
The exercise was to practice a sort of “leapfrog” maneuver. One marine would run forward while the other supported his manic run by suppressing fire. Then, when he hit the dirt, he would supply the suppressing fire for you to run past him and hit the dirt. This created the “bounding” or “leapfrog” effect. It was a standard way to advance upon an enemy.
In addition to the warning to not shoot each other, there were two main words of caution:
- Stay in your lane so you don’t run into your partner's cover fire.
- While running, keep your finger off the trigger. You could accidentally pull it, or when you try to hit the deck, you could also squeeze off some rounds.
Thus, the wise words earlier, “Don’t frick’n shoot each other.”
After these service announcements were over, we got locked in with our partners on the white-painted line to prepare for the maneuver. I looked ahead as we stood there waiting for the command to go. I had been so busy focusing on everything needed for the exercise that I hadn’t noticed the world around me. I was immediately struck by how beautiful the landscape was. There were acres and acres of green grass, old trees, and flowers. It was the kind of scene that should have classical music playing in the background, not the deafening clang of gunfire.
The absurdity was hard not to notice. the dogs of hell ready to let loose upon the pasture of paradise.
The guns rang out.
Marine mode on.
Death
At one time or another, the thought of death drifts in.
I know this isn’t a thing exclusive to those in the military, but it is a thought that sticks in the brain when one finds himself in the occupation of war and weapons. The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq had been dragging on during this time, and I didn’t know if or when I would be sent over.
What if a friend of mine died when we went?
What would it be like to die? It's hard to tell because you can only do it once.
Then, other thoughts would trickle in.
The looming menace of terrorism was hard to escape in those days. How are we going to win these wars? What will the resolution be? Will the terrorists ever be defeated? What will be the next war to fight? Will there be another World War, and who is the up-and-coming rival to fight next?
There was always speculation about who our next top adversary would be and if we could defeat them—always training, training, training, for a future foe to vanquish.
My current foe was the sneaky adversary of rotten bad luck. Some guys get it every year. They were killed by something ridiculous. I just hoped my buddy was awake enough not to shoot me in the back during a training exercise. How dumb of a way to go out, shot in the back for no reason.
Death. War. The struggle for military superiority. These were perennial topics of conversation then, but it seems like another lifetime now.
Wisdom of Trees
I was working my way up the lawn, firing, jumping up, sprinting, yelling, and firing some more. Along the way down range, I noticed this magnificent old tree next to me.
It was a perfect tree. Knarled, frayed, and twisted by decades of life well lived. The notches and groves spun up around the trunk, around every branch, as it took my eye up, up, up, disappearing into the canopy of bright green leaves that crowned the top of this old king. Even after all this time, he still held his foliage with vigor.
How long had he been here? How much had been witnessed by this tree?
The area where we train is mainly undeveloped. The tree has probably been here for centuries. Many human lifetimes have come and gone since this tree was a princely sapling.
And who am I, now lying prostrate upon his roots?
How many people the mighty oak had seen? They came just like me, running through his land, busy with their things to do. Their heads are so full of all their “important things.” The things they must do. The things need them. If they don’t accomplish the “things,” who will? The battles they must fight—the problems they must solve. Centuries of people, just like us, who were always so worried about so many “things.”
We often imagine too small. These are problems of finite creatures. We see the world only in view of the perpetual now, or at most, our lifetime, as if no time exists beyond us. Chronologically narcissistic, really.
That regal tree reminded me that much exists beyond us. Our natural perspective as humans is small. We don’t look to a more transcendent perspective on the issues we face currently or throughout our lifetime. Wars come, and wars end. Villians vanquished, and new knaves instigate. The world turns.
What are the things that genuinely matter throughout time? Those are the things to busy our short lives with. We need to approach our time with a far-sightedness beyond even that of trees.
What are the deep, eternal things of value? That is what we need to set our minds upon — God’s perspective.
There are many things short-sighted humans wish to stir and upset themselves for. However, that old tree taught me something that I still need to be reminded of from time to time. See far; look beyond our time. Look on with the eyes of God.
I created this blog to exercise the ideas that have haunted my mind. This blog will discuss and contemplate story, imagination, formation, Christian education, icons, symbols, pictures, and poetry. Journey with me as we delve into the deep cavernous thoughts of J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, George MacDonald, Malcolm Guite, James K.A. Smith, N.T. Wright, Charles Taylor, and The Holy Scriptures. If you are interested in or hate this content, join the conversation, as I will blog about these subjects and authors every Sunday morning.
