ave you ever seen a redwood tree in its natural habitat? In the mountains along the Pacific coast, you will stand with neck craned upward to view these majestic and towering specimens of God’s creation. They scrape the sky while standing shoulder to shoulder with each other in what seems like very close quarters. Sequoia sempervirens can become so tall that their own circulatory system can’t pump water up to the whole tree, so the needles of the redwood have the capacity to drink in water right out of the sky, absorbing needed moisture from the fog.

You would think that redwood trees, the tallest of living organisms, would surely have deep roots. Something so tall, so heavy, and so vulnerable to the weather must counterbalance its height with roots that penetrate deep into the earth. Redwoods which can grow higher than 30-story skyscrapers rarely grow roots down beyond 12 feet underground. Instead, they spread out laterally, extending over a hundred feet from the tree’s base. This is the secret of their stability. Each redwood tree’s roots interconnect with the roots of neighboring redwoods, connecting one with the other throughout the redwood grove communities of the coastal forests.

In our competitive, corporate and cultural context, it seems more like a dogwood-eat-dogwood world.  We look at a forest and assume the trees are trying to one-up each other. Each tree of the forest is vying for light and air and water. After all, each is a valuable resource to the individual organism and to the eco-community. It stands to reason that the trees would block each other, ensuring they get the most and the best of what nature has to offer. But for redwoods, they’re connecting to thrive, rather than competing. For these giants no one tree truly stands alone.

When the forest floor floods, the mat of roots the redwoods have created together secure all trees, the strongest and weakest. When the wind gusts come so strong that you would expect a tree to topple, the neighbors steady its base and keep the redwood grounded, keeping the community together. The redwood standing alone is majestic and strong, but together they are invincible. You might even say indivisible.

At the end of Jesus’ public ministry, we finally see the disciples huddled together in close quarters. They are uncertain about the future, but they are in unity, seeking clarity about their purpose as substitute teachers in the absence of the Master Teacher. In Acts 2, we read that they were together in one place reflecting on three years lived with Jesus. They prayed together with connected hands and hearts for the promised power of the Holy Spirit. They were together and had everything in common, anticipating something great, but not knowing how greatly they would change the world by the power of His Spirit. This was Pentecost, 50 days after Christ’s great sacrifice. The Holy Spirit showed up!

In 2025, we too can experience together the power of Spirit-led ministry to our students with glad and sincere hearts. Together we can withstand what seems like unimagined winds of suffering and strife. Sincerely connecting and communicating together, with God, will weave our hopes and hearts together for effective ministry to His treasured children and youth. Let us join, together, and experience Pentecost in 2025 so that our students may drink in the majesty of God’s love and grace from the heavens.

Adapted from I’m Thinking about Trees, by Michelle Hornish, Small Deeds Done Blog in Substack.

Dennis L Plubell

Interim Vice President for Education