What would you do if you knew the world would end tomorrow?
Some people would probably go the “orgy of worldly pleasures” route. Loot the stores, max out all the credit cards, drink yourself blind, and bed anyone you can, because tomorrow we die. I hope nobody reading this finds that even vaguely appealing.
Some people would probably say it’s best to head to the church, go to confession, receive Communion, and then spend your final hours in penance and fasting, using up your last chance to stave off God’s just punishments. I can’t really argue with this, but I also can’t claim this is what I would do (except for the confession part. Always go to confession!).
So what would I do?
The other day I read a post on social media that said: “If I knew the world would end tomorrow, I would plant a tree today.” This is a paraphrase of a quote often attributed to Martin Luther, but there’s not really any evidence he said it, and it doesn’t really sound like him to me.
What it did sound like is the kind of whimsical, glitter-tossing sentiment that generally makes me roll my eyes. Something along the lines of “Dance like nobody’s watching” or “Angels are just teddy bears with wings” (an actual bumper sticker I saw one time, which still haunts and baffles me).
But the more I thought about it, the better I think it is. Possibly the best possible answer to the question, “What would you do?”
Don’t think of it as a statement of brainless optimism, sassily tra-la-laing in the face of reality because you are a magical being that dances like nobody’s watching and then posts about it on Instagram before everything goes black, and we are supposed to find this in some way beautiful.
Don’t take it that way. Think of it instead as doing your Father’s work.
I actually have planted a lot of trees in my life, and there is something about planting a tree, and always has been. I remember being very young and squatting in my family’s driveway one summer, following a wordless urge to bury a maple tree “helicopter” seed in a few inches of sun-baked sand. I don’t know why I did it. I suppose I had heard of planting trees, and I wanted to do it, too.
It didn’t grow, of course. I don’t even know if I thought it would. But it was a good thing to do, planting a tree.
I have had more success planting trees in recent years. I have a peach tree, five years old, that I love dearly, and that seems to love me back; I put in a few apple trees that are probably going to start bearing fruit this year. I have some kind of prunus that could turn into anything, because I originally planted an apple but the caterpillars ate it, and then the anonymous root stock exuberantly decided to sprout, so I’m letting it go.
One time I lived in an apartment house where the landlord had a sapling in a bucket, that he never got around to planting. One day I decided to do him a favour, and I planted it. In retrospect, I had no right to plant his tree. It ended up growing too fast, and it had to be cut down. But that didn’t occur to me at the time. I just saw the poor thing trapped in a plastic pot, and it seemed like the right thing to do to put it in the ground. There is something about planting a tree.
A recent college graduate said he had been planning to go and earn an advanced degree, but now he wasn’t sure. Would there even be graduate schools around in a few years, the way this country is headed? Would there even be jobs in his field? I didn’t ask, but I suspect he’s having even bigger fears about getting married and starting a family. What if it all falls apart? What if the country collapses? What if the world comes to an end?
Or, as I hear it phrased sometimes: How can you bring an innocent baby into a dark world like this?
I don’t envy young people starting out today. There’s no world war or famine in this country, but there is so much that feels catastrophically uncertain. Things we took for granted just a few years ago – things like the rule of law, the separation of powers, even the facade of basic decency – are crumbling at the roots. It really is hard to make plans when people with way too much power are prancing around on stage with chainsaws, revelling in chopping things down.
But yes, really, truly, this is the time to plant a tree. This is the time to learn as much as you can about things that matter, whether that’s at graduate school or doing some job you love or serving the people you care about. The day before the world ends is the time to remind ourselves that the world will end, but the Holy One, blessed be he, will not.
And what does God do? What did he do when he made the world? He planted a tree. He made the garden, and then he made man and woman, and then they made a child. Making, planting, taking part in that unspeakable larger-than-the-cosmos action of creation is always the good thing to do, always the right thing to do. It is what God does, and we can do it, too.
Someone planted a tree, and the wood that grew from it made the manger where the baby Savior lay. Someone planted a tree, and the fruit that hung on it was the crucified body of Christ, who through his death brought about salvation. Thanks be to God that someone planted those trees.
Plant a tree, especially the day before the world will end.
I’m not telling anyone to be reckless. Prudence is still a virtue, even if the world is going to end tomorrow. You are in charge of using your God-given intellect to discern if it’s the right time to have a baby, or launch big plans, or agree to something new. But do not turn away from any of these good things just because a tomorrow you don’t know may be dark. We already know it will be dark, that night will come eventually. This has always been true.
But we also know what else has been true since the beginning:
“All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.”
I love that phrase, “The darkness comprehended it not.” It means that the darkness did not envelop or extinguish the light; but it also means that the darkness does not understand the light. It does not understand God, who he is, why he does what he does. Why, when he doesn’t need to do anything at all, He chooses to MAKE things.
Neither do I! But I have heard of the things he does, like planting trees. I don’t worry so much about what to expect; I just want to do it, too.
