Hillhouse Avenue looks different this time of year. Barren branches stand against the backdrop of a gray sky and slush-laden sidewalks during the winter months. If I were to spot an elm in full bloom on my walk to class today, I would not believe my eyes. How could a tree in the dead of winter be vibrant and alive?

In today’s reading from Jeremiah, we are presented with a similar dichotomy: the “barren bush in the desert” and the tree that “shows no distress” in harsh conditions. The difference between the two is the willingness to trust in the Lord above our own human strength. When we root ourselves in confidence in the Creator of the Universe, acknowledging the weakness of our flesh, we accept His invitation to live like the trees whose “leaves stay green” in all seasons. As we allow His Word to live within us and the sacraments to orient us toward the faith, we become beacons of hope and joy to our communities.

With our own Lenten sacrifices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving to serve as spiritual nourishment, let us remember that it is Christ—not man—that transforms us. Jeremiah warns that those who “trust in human beings” will bear no fruit in their self-assuredness and false sense of independence. Though we may appear strong and collected in the good times, how can we respond to adversity without having a firm foundation in faith? Paradoxically, the more we try to find “strength in flesh,” the weaker we become. Rather, it is when we offer our gifts and time unrestrainedly to the Lord that we bear fruit as the branches of Christ, the True Vine.

Most importantly, we must be willing to admit that our lives are a mystery. Jeremiah laments, “More torturous than all else is the human heart, beyond remedy; who can understand it?” Our God deeply knows the wounds and sufferings in our hearts that have scarred over with time. Regardless of whether we are anxious, ashamed, or angered by these vulnerabilities, the Lord calls us to trust that He sees the full picture even if we do not. After all, humans are finite beings, unbelievably small when compared to the scale of the universe. This does not make us insignificant to God, however. That the Creator of All Things loves us so deeply that he would call us to communion with Him inspires wonder and awe.

It is impossible for humans to know the ways of our God, and there is a peace in this realization. If we can trust that the God of All Creation is fully aware and present—even in the darkest moments—should we not sprint to the shores of His mercy, love, and forgiveness? Let us remember the images of the barren bush and the beautiful tree when our human frailty detracts from this vision. Only Christ can conform our hearts to His own and sustain us in the bleakest seasons of life.