Let me tell you about a tree.
Years ago, our staff was on a spiritual retreat in the Colorado mountains. Our guide, Matt Sertall, a Presbyterian author and pastor, invited us to walk into the forest with a strange challenge:
“Go find a place that feels right. Say hello. Ask permission to be there. Then sit. Listen. Learn what creation might be trying to teach you.”
I’ll be honest – I felt ridiculous. A seminary-trained pastor, talking to trees? But something about the invitation tugged at a deeper part of me.
Eventually, I found a small evergreen surrounded by towering trees. I introduced myself. I asked to sit. And in that quiet moment – awkward, still, open – I was surprised by grace. I began to ask questions: “Do you get jealous of the big trees?” And somewhere in my soul, I heard:
“Jealousy is a human emotion.”
That small tree wasn’t competing. It wasn’t striving to be tall or impressive. It was simply being what it was, where it was, rooted, present, and alive. And I realized: maybe I didn’t need to measure my ministry, my faith, or my worth in comparison either.
I asked the tree, “Do you get jealous of the big trees?” And somewhere in my soul, I heard: “Jealousy is a human emotion.”
That encounter reminded me that spiritual formation doesn’t only happen in sanctuaries or sermons. Sometimes it happens in silence. In soil. In bird song and mountain wind and the holy act of paying attention.
We were made for connection with creation. And yet, most of us lead in controlled spaces – in rooms with perfect lighting, carefully crafted soundtracks, and a heavy emphasis on performance. What if part of our renewal – your renewal – requires stepping outside?
Pastors and ministry leaders carry so much. Vision. Grief. Hope. Conflict. And the weight of trying to be “on” all the time. What if nature could carry you for a while?
This isn’t about abandoning the gathered church or trading pews for pine needles. It’s about reclaiming the wild, sacred space inside you. The child who used to throw rocks in streams and run barefoot through fields. That child is still in you. And that sense of wonder? It’s not just sentimental, it’s spiritual survival.
We were made for connection with creation, and yet, most of us lead in controlled spaces
So here’s an invitation:
Go outside.
Slow down.
Touch. Listen. Ask what the trees and the robins and the rain might be trying to say. Let nature return you to a right-sized life where you are not the center, but a beloved participant in something ancient and alive.
You don’t need to earn this moment. You don’t need to perform for it. You just need to be.
And maybe, just maybe, the God who makes all things new will meet you there, in the breeze, in the stillness, in the holy laughter of a bird who flies without needing to impress.
Faith is made whole in community.
But sometimes, it starts with a tree.
(This blog was curated from the episode “Talking Trees, Laughing Birds, and Getting Spiritual with Nature” from Pastor Jay’s podcast, The Good Courage Podcast. For more, visit this podcast episode: https://open.spotify.com/episode/4Mw3s7xn48ueUNDB5XtUAo?si=69eff1f839544180)
