Guardian Trees ~ When Leaders Fall

I recently received a message from a friend of mine who lives in Oregon. There was no text, only a ten second video panorama of what looked like a war zone. Trees were strewn all over the ground. Splintered wood carpeted the scene. It took me a moment to realize that the recording was taken just outside of their house. I was shocked. After visiting them each year, I’ve come to know their land well. The forest surrounding their home has become like a friend to me. Now it’s an unrecognizable wasteland. I called my friend to make sure she was alright, and she told me the story of what happened.

Over the summer, new tenants purchased the adjacent property. They were first-time landowners and did not consult anyone about managing their forest. The couple decided that they wanted more sun, so they hired loggers to come and cut down the trees on their property. Residents in the area (some of whom had been in land management for 40+ years) reached out to the new neighbors and explained that the trees on that side of the forest were special, known as ‘guardian trees’, and that removing them would be catastrophic to the entire ecosystem. 

Guardian Trees grow up on the forest edge, in the full force of the wind. Because of this, their roots go far deeper into the ground to give them added stability. They tend to be thicker and sturdier due to the harsh elements. This principle is why it’s so important to remove stakes from young trees when they begin maturing; if the supports are left in too long, the tree won’t develop a good root system and will die. The buffeting of the wind encourages the tree to reach down ever deeper into the ground to stabilize itself. In the case of guardian trees, their strength allows them to protect the entire forest behind them. Thus, guardian trees are adapted to withstand the full force of the wind, while those behind them are more vulnerable to the elements.

Sadly, the new neighbors went ahead with their plan and removed their trees. Within a fortnight, the forest behind them began to fall. Loggers were called in immediately to remove any trees close to other houses in the area. After a few bad windstorms spanning 2 months, the entire forest was gone. The lush ferns that had grown up under the shadowy canopy began to dry and brown, finally shriveling away. Birdsong disappeared from the mountain. The herds of deer faded away like phantoms. Scores of hundred-year-old trees lay scattered and splintered on the ground, leaving behind only an eerie silence and a memory of the sanctuary that once was.

This story grieved me deeply. I felt angry… but why? My mind turned to the philosophical question of ownership. What’s wrong with doing what I want with my property? If it’s my land, I should be able to cut down my trees. I should be able to have a permanent bright pink bouncy castle or pour concrete over my portion of the mountainside. The problem is this: my actions and decisions only affect me to the extent that my reality exists in a vacuum. But none of us exist in a vacuum. My volitional will spans far beyond the boundaries of my backyard or bank account. Like the ties of the land, human beings are intimately and intrinsically connected. If I pollute the head of a river, it will affect the drinking water at its base. If I make bad decisions, there are consequences, and those consequences affect far more than just myself or my direct sphere of influence.

I have had the good fortune to live in many different places. Some of those cultures exist communally. Personal space barely exists in the subways of Beijing, or in the crowded streets of Bangkok. I’ve worked side by side with Honduran women over a hot stove high in the mountains of Tegucigalpa where the cooking is often done together. I have strong memories of sitting on a mat on the floor with a host of Tanzanians, all of us circled around a pile of ugali and stew, eating supper with our hands, smelling each other’s smells, sitting almost on top of each other to reach the food! It was beautiful and raw, like Africa itself. That sort of community isn’t simply being close to other people, it’s a recognition of a reality that’s been stifled in the west. It’s an awareness of our belonging, of needing and being needed. Yet many western cultures have moved toward a more individualistic paradigm, perhaps due to affluence. We have lost sight of what it means to be members of each other, parts of each other.

The Bible says that we who are in Christ belong to one another (Romans 12v5). 1 Corinthians 12v26 says, “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” Similarly, Ephesians 4v25 declares, “let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another.” In this paradigm, we are each other’s belongings, not in an objectifying sense, but in a profoundly loving way. We belong to each other as brother belongs to sister, as wife belongs to husband, as child belongs to parent. When Cain asked the Lord if he was Abel’s keeper, the answer was yes. The Lord went on to explain to Cain how his sin had affected the very ground itself. “One sinner destroys much good” as Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes 9. Wouldn’t it be great if my sins only affected my little world? But according to the Bible, that’s not the case at all.

How did we come to believe that our sin does not affect other people? My friends, we are being deceived. The first lie Satan tells us is that sin does not exist. Next, when our eyes are opened to it, he tells us that our sin will not hurt us. Then, when we see the damage it causes, he tells us our sin will only hurt us and not others. When we see others hurting because of us we might reason that they’ll get over it in time… Or that our confession will cause people more pain than if we kept on sinning … and the lies go on and on in a never-ending web of deception until we are utterly broken. But it is never too late. The arm of God is long enough to reach down any pit and pull us back out again.

One thing that pains me recently is the thought of fallen spiritual leaders. Sometimes the Lord brings someone to the forefront, someone to stand firm against the enemy and lead others to do the same. When they fall, they fall hard, and the little saplings behind them suffer greatly. Since the discovery about Ravi Zacharias’ secret life, many people have reached out to me for answers. People feel betrayed and confused. Some are having a crisis of faith. I myself have had to ask hard questions about my theology. How could a man who led so many to Christ be so wicked for so long? I myself feel somehow culpable because I joined this ministry; thus, even though I and others had no idea this was happening, we contributed to the abuse in an unknown way by working under the name of the abuser. From the victims of his sexual abuse, to the family he deceived, to his own coworkers, countless hearts are hurting because of one man's sins. The fallout of this one fallen leader has been immense. The forest feels ravaged, desolate, with just a few battered trees still standing.

Perhaps you have also felt let down by a spiritual leader. There was someone you trusted and stood behind. You saw strength in them and marveled when they stood the test of storms. But now the leaders have fallen, and the wind-storm is ripping across the mountainside. Will we fall down, too? This season will test the roots of those who remain. Now will reveal if our trust was in Christ, the soil, the solid rock, or if our trust was in man who passes away like a shadow. As the hymn says, “On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.”

Another question I invite you to ask along with me: how am I responding to the fallenness of spiritual leaders? How I respond says a lot about my own heart. I’ve seen so much finger-pointing, blame-shifting, and slander. This is not the right response. When Jesus was in the upper room, He told His beloved friends that He was about to be betrayed. When the disciples realized that the betrayer of their Lord was among them, they did not point fingers at each other and ask, “Is it him?!” Instead, they hung their heads in sorrow, and with tears in their eyes they whispered, “Is it me?” That should be the response in our hearts. When I see someone fall into temptation, when their sinfulness is revealed, I should not stand over them and say, “At least I’m not like him.” Instead, I should look into the mirror, invite the Holy Spirit to search me, and ask, “Is it me, Lord?”

This is not the last time a spiritual leader will succumb to temptation. Nor is it the first. But we can glean great wisdom from living through this time if we are willing to yield to God and be transformed. I have so much more to learn; these are only preliminary musings of what’s sure to be a years-long journey to deeper understanding. My prayer now is that we will love God deeper, wider, and stronger. Let our hearts be rooted and grounded in the love of Christ, for this is a steady foundation that will never erode or be shaken. He is the leader we can stand behind, the guardian tree of our souls.