— The Leaves of the Tree

There is a pot of mint
on the kitchen windowsill,
the leaves a little ragged
where my wife pinches them off.
When I wake with a cough,
she breaks three leaves into a cup,
pours hot water over them,
and sets it by my hand
without a word.
The steam rises green and clean.
I breathe it in,
and something in my chest
lets go.

These are the words I take from Revelation,
written by John the prophet on Patmos,
whose full name we do not know,
perhaps not the one who wrote the Gospel,
an exile who saw, at the very end,
a river and a tree.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life,
bright as crystal,
flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb
through the middle of the street of the city.
On either side of the river is the tree of life
with its twelve kinds of fruit,
producing its fruit each month;
and the leaves of the tree
are for the healing of the nations.

The tree of life.

I remember, by way of reflection,
Genesis,
the garden,
the river that went out from Eden,
the tree of life in the middle,
the cherubim and the flaming sword
guarding the way.
The Bible ends
where it began.
The way to the tree is open again.

I remember Ezekiel too,
water flowing from the temple,
deeper and deeper,
trees on both banks,
their fruit for food,
their leaves for healing.
And the psalm,
like a tree planted by streams of water,
the one who delights in the Torah.

This is the verse I keep turning over.

The leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.

Not the nations destroyed.
The nations healed.
After the beasts,
after the bowls,
after Babylon’s fall,
the last word for the nations
is a leaf.
Medicine.

This week,Halloween season, in Saarbrücken, Germany,
on the border with France,
a bank planted the first of ten peace trees,
a young linden at a school,
part of an avenue of peace trees
planned to stretch from Paris to Berlin,
a sign of reconciliation
between two nations
that fought three wars in seventy years

Schoolchildren beside a sapling.
Old enemies planting leaves.
I grieve every soldier of those wars,
French and German,
and every child who never grew old.
And I watch the leaves
begin their healing.

Nothing accursed will be found there anymore.
But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it,
and God’s servants will worship,
they will see God’s face,
and God’s name will be on their foreheads.

They will see God’s face.

I remember, by way of reflection,
Moses on the mountain,
asking to see God’s glory,
and hidden in the cleft of the rock,
allowed only to see God’s back.
And the priestly blessing Israel still prays,
The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make the Lord’s face to shine upon you.
That blessing is fulfilled.
God’s gifts and calling are irrevocable.
Every face that longed
will see.

And there will be no more night;
they need no light of lamp or sun,
for the Lord God will be their light,
and they will reign forever and ever.

And he said to me,
These words are trustworthy and true.
See, I am coming soon!
Blessed is the one who keeps the words
of the prophecy of this book.

Coming soon.

Here it must be said plainly:
Soon has been counted
in charts and calendars,
in dates that came and went,
in fear sold in paperbacks.
Soon is not a date.
Soon is a nearness.
Closer than my own breath.

I, John, am the one who heard and saw these things.
And when I heard and saw them,
I fell down to worship at the feet of the angel who showed them to me;
but he said to me,
You must not do that!
I am a fellow servant.
Worship God!

Twice John falls at the wrong feet.
I take comfort in that.
Even the prophet
needed to be told twice.

Do not seal up the words of the prophecy of this book,
for the time is near.

Do not seal it up.

Daniel was told to seal his book.
John is told to leave it open.
Revelation was never meant to be locked in a chart.
It was meant to be read aloud
in small churches under empire,
to give them courage.

See, I am coming soon;
my reward is with me,
to repay according to everyone’s work.
I am the Alpha and the Omega,
the first and the last,
the beginning and the end.

The beginning and the end.

Blessed are those who wash their robes,
so that they will have the right to the tree of life
and may enter the city by the gates.
Outside are the dogs and sorcerers
and fornicators and murderers and idolaters,
and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.

I cannot read this quickly.

Here it must be said plainly:
Dogs was an old insult,
and it has been thrown at Gentiles,
at Jews,
at the poor,
at whoever we wanted outside.
John’s list ends with falsehood.
The gates are open.
The robes can be washed.
Only the lie stays outside,
and the lie lives in every heart,
including mine.

It is I, Jesus, who sent my angel to you
with this testimony for the churches.
I am the root and the descendant of David,
the bright morning star.

The root and the descendant of David.

The last name Jesus gives himself
is a Jewish name.
Son of David.
Of Jesse’s stump,
Isaiah’s shoot.
The Messiah of Israel,
the morning star of the nations.

The Spirit and the bride say, Come.
And let everyone who hears say, Come.
And let everyone who is thirsty come.
Let anyone who wishes
take the water of life as a gift.

Come.

The Bible’s last invitation.
Not to the worthy.
To the thirsty.
To anyone who wishes.
As a gift.

I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book:
if anyone adds to them,
God will add to that person the plagues described in this book;
if anyone takes away from the words,
God will take away that person’s share in the tree of life.

Here it must be said plainly:
This warning has been used
to attack translations,
to forbid new languages,
to frighten honest readers.
It was a scribe’s seal on one book,
against those who would twist it.
The ones who added most
were the chart-makers and the date-setters,
who added wars and enemies
John never wrote.

The one who testifies to these things says,
Surely I am coming soon.
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

Come, Lord Jesus.

The church’s oldest prayer,
Maranatha,
in the language Jesus spoke.

The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints.
Amen.

Grace.

The last word of the Bible is grace.
Not wrath.
Not the beast.
Not the lake.
Grace, with all the saints.
With All Saints this Sunday,
and days before we vote,
I let the last word be the last word.

At seventy-seven,
after forty years in the pulpit,
after the bent scales of partiality,
after rough words,
after praying less in my strong years,
after watching my church divide,
I come to the end of the book
and find a river,
a tree,
a face,
an open gate,
and grace.
Grace does not retire.
I am a clay jar
standing by the river,
thirsty,
and told to come.

And God whispered: Begin.
Not once, but every morning.

Every time a leaf is broken for healing,
every time old enemies plant trees together,
every time someone sees God’s face in another’s,
every time the book is left open and not locked in a chart,
every time the thirsty are told, Come,
every time grace is the last word,
every heart that rises after saying,
I cannot,
and then, after one long breath,
Perhaps I can.

This is Revelation in the language of my soul:
a river bright as crystal,
a tree whose leaves heal the nations,
a face at last seen,
and grace with all the saints.

To drink the water as a gift,
to break leaves for the healing of the nations,
to leave the book open,
to say Come to every thirsty one,
to let grace be the last word.

The window is filling with light,
and the light comes through the mint on the sill,
green and clear,
and my wife reaches past me
and pinches three leaves,
and the steam rises,
and something in the whole world
lets go,
and begins.

God who is the beginning and the end,
let the river flow and the leaves heal every nation.
Show us your face and open every gate to the thirsty,
and let your grace be the last word with all the saints.