A Dry Tree
Last week I received an email from a lady who was born with a very bad squint and used to cry herself to sleep some nights; she hated having school photos taken.
Many things seemed to emphasize that she was second rate to others. Imagine how discouraged she felt when she came across Leviticus 21,
For no man who has a blemish... or a defect in his eye...or has been emasculated...shall come near to his God." This also left her feeling second rate.
She concludes her email with these words: “I do not know how many times I had read through the Bible and yet I had somehow missed Isaiah 56. I just wept with joy as God's love and healing swept over me. I have never felt second rate again; in Jesus I am loved, perfect and beautiful. Reading that chapter brought it all back, thank you.”
“That chapter” she refers to, is a chapter in my book It’s All About Him. I am writing today to someone who is discouraged. You feel rejected because you are different. I feel compelled to share with you “that chapter”.
A DRY TREE
The teenager clenched his teeth and his fists in a supreme effort to hide his feelings as he limped across the courtyard. Waves of nausea swept over him. “It’s for your own good.” His mother’s words hammered in his aching head. Without anesthesia, in cold blood, his masculine identity had just disappeared under the humiliating slash of a sharp knife.
He clutched at his stomach and retched. Female sniggering came from behind a curtain nearby. Somehow he straightened up and kept walking towards his living quarters. “Your position demands it.” He recalled the sneer on the official’s face during the interview. It had all sounded so tantalizing, a position in the royal palace, status, security. And then the sharp reality: castration.
Blinded by the excruciating pain, he all but stumbled on the knotted root of a dry tree. He stopped, leant against the rough trunk and looked up at the dead branches. They reached towards him, taunting him. No leaves, no fruit. Who am I? What am I? He struggled with his new identity: a eunuch. A groan escaped his lips and his eyes filled with tears he was too proud to let fall. “That’s me. I’m only a dry tree.”
Days turned into weeks and his wound became a scar. Time erased the humiliating memories. All but one. The words crackled like sun-burnt twigs. “I’m only a dry tree.” Elegant robes covered his shame. Gold graced his neck and clinked in his pockets, but deep down inside the eunuch knew and believed he was a second class citizen. He was valued only for what he did, not for what he was. The work was exacting and demanded all his attention. Promotion followed promotion. Then one day, Queen Candace named him Treasurer of Ethiopia.
The African dignitary stood alone watching the crowds enter the temple. He too had come to Jerusalem to worship, but Jewish law placed a restriction on him. The words of that law cut into his soul as he repeated them under his breath: No one who has been emasculated by crushing or cutting may enter the assembly of the Lord.
Anger, resentment and impotence jostled for first place in his mind. Excluded even by God? Not allowed to worship with His people? Cut off? Had God cut him off? He had no descendants to carry on his name; when he died his name would just disappear from memory. An outcast, ostracized, he felt dozens of eyes boring into him. He lowered his head. He was a foreigner, a eunuch, a dry tree. Why ever had he come?
The Treasurer settled himself into his carriage and reached for the scroll. The journey from Jerusalem back to Ethiopia was tedious and reading aloud would help pass the time. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth. The Treasurer scratched his head. Who did this refer to?
By oppression and judgment, he was taken away. And who can speak of his descendants? For he was cut off from the land of the living… Cut off? Without descendants? Who was the prophet talking about? Suddenly he was aware of a man walking beside his chariot. “How odd,” he thought. “There was no one there a minute ago.”
“Do you understand what you are reading?”
The Treasurer frowned. “How can I, unless someone explains it to me? Come up and sit with me.”
The African stretched out his hand and welcomed the stranger who introduced himself as Philip. “Tell me, please, who is the prophet talking about, himself or someone else?”
Philip took the scroll in his hands and began reading Isaiah’s prophecy, explaining how it talked about Jesus. The eunuch leant forward and soaked up every word. The message of Jesus touched his withered spirit. Oppressed, afflicted, judged, taken away, cut off. He identified with Jesus.
“After the suffering of his soul, he will see the light of life and be satisfied.”
The water of life seeped into the dry barren ground of the man’s soul. He sighed deeply. He couldn’t remember ever having felt truly satisfied. He will bear their iniquities. He made intercession for the transgressors. The eunuch lowered his head. He was a transgressor, a law breaker. The chariot kept moving. The eunuch kept listening and believing. In a curious way he felt revitalized emotionally and spiritually, and yes, physically, almost as if warm sap was running through his veins. As they travelled along they came to some water.
“Look, here is water. What can stand in the way of my being baptized?” The eunuch held his breath. Would there be an obstacle? Would this be another desire denied him as a consequence of his sexual situation? Another “No”?
“If you believe with all your heart, you may.”
“I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.” He spoke with confidence, and without hesitation ordered the carriage to come to a halt. He climbed down. Philip followed and together they went down into the water. The eunuch closed his eyes as the water washed over his head. When he opened them, Phillip was nowhere to be seen. Mystified, he climbed back into the carriage and immediately reached for the scroll, thirsty to read more. Not in his wildest dreams did he imagine how the words he was about to read would change his life.
Let no foreigner who has bound himself to the Lord say, The Lord will surely exclude me from his people. And let not any eunuch complain, I am only a dry tree.
The eunuch gasped. He re-read the last phrase: And let not any eunuch complain, I am only a dry tree.
A scene flashed before his eyes. He saw himself, a mutilated humiliated teenager. He felt the physical agony, the emotional torment, the spiritual significance and heard for the last time the taunting refrain: Only a dry tree. He swallowed and continued reading. For this is what the Lord says: To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose what pleases me and hold fast to my covenant— to them I will give within my temple and its walls a memorial and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that will not be cut off.
He blinked back the tears. Another scene came before him: a man outside the temple, his head bowed in shameful acceptance that he was a foreigner, a eunuch. Wiping his eyes, he continued reading:
And foreigners who bind themselves to the LORD to serve him, to love the name of the LORD, and to worship him, all who keep the Sabbath without desecrating it and who hold fast to my covenant— these I will bring to my holy mountain and give them joy in my house of prayer. Their burnt offerings and sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house will be called a house of prayer for all nations.
Running his finger under the vital words he re-read them aloud: “foreigners … I will bring to my holy mountain … give them joy in my house of prayer… their burnt offerings and sacrifices will be accepted on my altar.” Accepted!
Satisfied, the eunuch leaned back in his carriage, closed his eyes and smiled. Waves of joy swept over him. That joy can be yours today!
Kathleen