Union

"Union with Christ is really the central truth of the whole doctrine of salvation not only in its application but also in its once-for-all accomplishment in the finished work of Christ." --John Murray

I had felt like a fool out there in our garden right off the front porch.

A picket fence frames the rows of tomatoes and peas, lettuce and beans. Sunflowers march along the periphery. Standing at attention in the garden’s center, a miniature windmill silently whirls, morning glories entwining up it sides. And there I bent over, twist ties in hand, tying the pole beans’ sprouting runners to rough wooden stakes.

“Smile, Ann. This is fun!” Darryl grinned as he drove in another of the branches he had cut from the woods.

I frowned. “I feel like a fool. I envisioned the pole beans climbing up bamboo poles…or the swirling steel stakes from Lee Valley. Not these…” I gesticulated, fumbling for the right word… "not these trees!” I glanced over the fence to see if any of our neighbors were driving down the road.

Darryl laughed and picked up another limb. “Oh, c’mon! This is an experiment that hasn’t cost us a dime. Let’s find out what happens!?”

I muttered something about there probably being a reason why I had never seen any Mennonites with tree limbs staked for their pole beans…and waved limply at the passing Mennonite neighbor who drove by slowly, neck craned.

Our breakfast ritual soon included Darryl and I checking for any progress on the pole beans. Would they entwine such thick “trees”? Were the neighbors thinking we were preparing to burn multiple guilty parties at the stake?

This morning I leaned over the porch railing and shook my head. The “trees” were completely curtained in verdant leaves; the bean and the stake becoming one. The runners had wrapped themselves the full height of the 6 foot “trees” only now to be arched in mid-air, stretching, reaching, seeking to climb even higher.


There is an old rugged Tree I seek to wrap my life around, with which to become one. The world may slow to stare and think it foolish.

But entwined around this stake of death, I discover bountiful new life. And find myself stretching, reaching, seeking to climb higher up and deeper in.

To Him who hung on a Tree for me.

Lord, forgive my preoccupation with appearances. May I be a fool for You. For a life wrapped around the Tree finds itself seeking to grow higher up into the Son.

1 Corinthians 1:18 For the word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.

Photo: Caleb snapping our heaps of beans
Post from the archives, July 2006