The Evergreen in the Churchyard

In the village of Luss, on the western shore of Loch Lomond in Scotland, there stands a yew tree in the churchyard that has been growing since before the Reformation. Parishioners have buried their dead beneath its branches for over five centuries. Wars came and went. The Highland Clearances scattered families across oceans. Two world wars carved names into the stone memorial by the gate. And still the yew grows, its roots deepening into soil that holds the dust of fifteen generations.

An elderly groundskeeper there once told a visiting pastor something remarkable. "This tree," he said, running his hand along the rough bark, "was here before any of us, and it will be here after. But it's not the tree that comforts me. It's what the tree reminds me of — that some things simply do not stop."

When David brought the Ark into Jerusalem and commissioned this psalm of praise, he was not offering God a polite thank-you. He was declaring something ancient and unstoppable. The Hebrew word hesed — that fierce, covenantal love of the Almighty — is not a feeling that fades with circumstance. It endured through Israel's slavery, their wandering, their failures, their exile.

"Give thanks to the LORD, for He is good; His love endures forever." Not for a season. Not until we exhaust His patience. Forever. Deeper than any root. Older than any tree. And still growing.