Last week we went to our favorite Farmer’s Market and bought a few plump, “please-bite-into-me” handfuls of cherries. I love cherries. As a kid (and not just a kid!) I used to climb on our neighbor’s tree in a village near Belgrade, sit on a big, sturdy branch and eat to my heart’s fullness, my legs dangling down, waving at the ground at least ten feet below.

I must admit that while enjoying the fruit of the tree it didn’t even cross my mind to consider the intricate connections between the fruit in my mouth and the stem to which it was attached – which, in turn, was attached to the twig, attached to the branch, attached to the tree, attached to the root which, with its elaborate system of capillaries was attached to the loamy soil beneath – all this in just one direction. In the other and all around there was the Sun, the rain, the air; alterations in weather in their slow yearly rotations - the seasons, as we like to call them, which with their periods of growth and dormancy, blossoms and the harvest produce this amazing juicy feast – a delight to the eyes and the taste buds, a celebration of life and an excavation of joy laying dormant in seemingly simple, ordinary experiences.

The inescapable but often overlooked fact is that somebody must have planted and taken care of the tree with love and patience (and lots of hard work!) – pruned it in its season, maybe grafted in a better, more durable or blight-resistant variety, sprayed it against harmful insects and disease so that over a number of years the tree became not only a quiet fruit producing factory, but also a refuge from the heat; a home for the baby swallows; the place for the children to hang an old tire and swing around and around, their laughter bouncing off other trees in the orchard; a firm pillow to lean against while taking a Sunday afternoon nap in its shade; purifying lungs for the entire neighborhood; a quiet secret-keeper; an ever-present, non-judgmental confidant to the brokenhearted and despairing.

My ego-centric, consumerism-driven appetite saw none of this but the cherries – something created for sole purpose to satisfy Me and give Me pleasure. Somebody much wiser saw an entire universe of mysterious connections – fruit being just one (delightful nonetheless) by-product of this monument of grace and mercy.

From there my thoughts wandered into even more fascinating universe of God’s revealed Word and the cherry picking approach I so often have as I consume my pet verses and passages for my own pleasure, mindlessly spitting out pits on those who are passing by – twisting the meaning and misinterpreting the Author’s intent; misapplying the truth, carving the self-serving nugget out of God-purposed context, in a single motion amputating the word of God from the Person of the Triune-God and reducing His glorious majesty to a cherry-producing vending machine. As if this is not bad enough, more often than I care to admit I have participated in “bowls of cherries” parties where this cherry-picking practice as it relates to God’s word is perpetuated in the entire communities of those who are called by His Name. This approach may be understandable and permissible for those who are new to the life of grace, to the babies in Christ; but, to remain there indefinitely would mutilate beyond recognition the family resemblance the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit desire to manifest through our broken lives…the family likeness that would transform our self-serving existence into a nesting ground for the swallows… a faithful branch attached to the Tree of Life, on which carefree children could clamber up without fear and thoughtlessly pluck out soul-satisfying cherries, oblivious to the wondrous universe all around.