An orange orchard.

I once pastored two churches in the north of the North Island in New Zealand, in a place called The Bay of Islands. Sounds beautiful, and it was. This story comes from that place.

There was a beautiful orange orchard not far from where I lived in Kaikohe, in a picturesque place called Kerikeri. But the story of how it got beautiful is fascinating. The owner, Ben, explained that it was not always so. He will tell you (if he were still alive) that it was a gift from God. Years ago, when his mother had little money they bought this piece of run down property because it was all that their budget could afford. There was no house on the land, only a tin shed. Him and his mother had moved into that shed and made it as comfortable as they could – they froze in the winter and roasted in the summer.

The majority of the land lay on a rather step hill, and although the trees had been planted long before they came, they were doing poorly. Their leaves were yellow and the ground, generally, was as dry as chips. However, one tree in the orchard was the exception, it was perfect, and it grew in the most unlikely place – right on top of the hill in what seemed like the driest, dustiest spot in the whole orchard. Ten centimetres of bone-dry dust lay around the tree, yet the tree itself was a picture – a huge orange tree, about five metres in diameter, and almost the same in height. Its leaves were dark, glossy green, and the tree bore masses of large, golden fruit.

Mother and son puzzled over that tree for many months. Why was it so radiantly fruitful, while the trees all around were such pitiful specimens, stunted and sickly? At last, after two years, they could stand it no longer. They decided to know the answer.

Armed with two spades, they climbed the hill and dug that tree up. As they dug, they noticed the complete absence of roots under the tree’s branches, as is usual with citrus trees. No, the root of the tree was like a huge post, and it went straight down. After three solid hours of digging, they came to a pan of hard bluestone, and this single root protruded down still further into a cleft of the blue rock. Eventually they had to lever the root out of the rocky cleft, and the effort was so great they had to rest.

While they rested, the mother climbed into the hole and peered down into the open gallery from which the root had emerged, and then in an excited whisper she said, “Ben, I can see and hear running water.” On further inspection around the shaft from which the root had been removed they found two holes. The water was issuing from one of these with some considerable force, only to immediately turn over and flow straight down the other hole.

The two, mother and son, were astounded, intrigued, and delighted. They hugged each other. Ben rushed back down the hill, and struggled back with a bag of cement and some washing soda to make the cement set quickly. Then with a piece of field stone, they blocked and plastered the drain hole over. Within minutes, the large hole they had dug was half full of water. The flow was estimated to be about 70 litres per minute.

During the next few days Ben and his mother worked from dawn to dusk, digging shallow furrows down through the orchard, radiating from the hilltop like the spokes of a wheel, and, from that day the orchard flourished.

The flourishing orchard paid for tractors, cultivators, cars, and a homestead. Around the homestead were now roses, and a driveway with flowers. There was a new wind break of trees. Everything was a gift from the water, and it continued to sustain everything. The oranges were known as Ruby Bloods, widely sought after for their sweetness. Those who bought and ate the fruit enjoy the rich bounty of the water as well.

However, when they dug that tree on top of the hill, their elation in finding the water, caused them to forget the tree they had removed, and it lay in the dust and sun for hours. The sun burned the roots and it died. The only perfect tree in the whole orchard had to die, in order that the other scruffy trees might have life and have it more abundantly. This is the gospel as found in that orange orchard.

I don’t need to tell you of the water of life provided by the Death of Jesus and offered freely to all who will come (Revelation 22:17)