A Treehouse, You Say?

Previous post here: Who Am I? (To Talk About God?)

One of my seminary professors, as he blessed our graduating class on our way, advised, “Every year you should be able to say, ‘I used to believe this, but now I believe this.’” I took to heart the idea of a faith that is organic (living) and pliable (room to grow, flexibility to morph). Thanks to Mark Allan Powell for this gift that keeps on giving!

It was the 2021 discovery in an old file of the hard copy of my final paper, my Constructive Theology, that nudged me to ask myself, “How would you build your belief system now?” The world of 2021 was far different from the world of 1993, when I graduated with my M. Div. I sat down and began to jot notes. What did I believe? And why? Over the next several months I’d revisit the document and add to it. Then I set it aside.

It wasn’t until this past summer that I found that document and reread what I had written. That’s when I realized I might want to do something with it. So here we are.

A word about the idea of constructing. I don’t want to use building a house as an analogy, because I worry for too many of us it calls up pictures of a church, the exact imagery I want to stay away from. Church buildings are often confining and delineated by the very nature of what they represent, a place for orthodoxy. We probably feel we have to behave a certain way when we enter, and maybe within those walls censor our own thoughts and questions. Even our voices change there, how we speak and how we are willing to hear ourselves and others.

Eternal thanks to my dear memoirist writing pals, Eileen Drennen and Lauren DePino, who helped me come up with the image and title for our foray into the world of theology.

Brainstorming with Eileen, I blurted out, “I don’t want to build a house. I want to build a treehouse,” without really knowing why I’d said it, but certain it was true.

And Eileen took that and ran with it. “It has to be able to grow and change with the tree,” she said.

“Yes! It grows organically. And you can get up high enough to see farther,” I said. “See the bigger picture.”

Eileen added, “Half kidding, but thinking about this big old cozy screened-in porch where you are wanting people to come hang out and be willing to engage in deep thoughts and real conversations.”

“Oh, hell, yes! A big old porch. Done!”

The picture came alive in my mind, all of us lolling in thrifted, oversized, overstuffed chairs, about halfway up a massive, sprawling oak tree with the valley spilling out below and the sun making diamond points on the meandering river. There is the low murmur of voices and occasional laughter. A slight breeze sets leaves dancing. Somebody shows up with a pitcher of iced tea and a tray of glasses.

When I floated “The Treehouse” name with Lauren, she responded, “It feels natural and authentic. Whimsical. Childlike.”

“That’s what I want,” I said, and I thanked my buddies and got to work writing.

Within minutes Lauren sent me a screenshot from a friend’s Instagram post she’d just seen. “Tonight we’re staying in a treehouse on an avocado farm surrounded by volcanoes,” her friend had shared. I took in the lush green and blue sky and distant mountains.

“It’s a sign!” Lauren said, and I felt it in my bones.

So, here is your invitation to The Treehouse. Plan to wear play clothes, because there will be sap and sweat and sawdust, and mud from when we dig in the dirt to plant seeds and maybe some mudpie making and wading in the creek to hunt salamanders during fun breaks. Bring your curiosity and good humor and your willingness to be surprised. Bring your hopes and dreams, too, for ways this world can be a more loving and life-affirming place. And please bring extra patience and an imaginary box of paints or crayons, and we’ll see where this all goes.

And, hey, if you think of someone who might be interested, please consider sharing this post with them.

I’m wishing you all a very sparkly New Year’s celebration, and I’ll see you in 2024.

Next post: I Am Also This.