A tree lives at the back of the Good Samaritan Convent at Lawson, New South Wales. Until two weeks ago, the Sisters had lived beside the tree since 1924. Visiting and contemplating the tree, I have often wished that the tree might speak, that it could tell me what it has seen and heard, writes Congregational Leader Sister Catherine McCahill.
Then I learnt to listen in a different way. I learnt to use my eyes, my touch, my smell. The bark is fibrous and rough to my touch, some of it flaking off in my hand. I stand up close and realise that I will need at least two or maybe three human companions to reach around its girth. Up close I cannot see the sky through the thick canopy. I stand back and I know the tree is at least twice the height of the convent and hall buildings.
Image: Sister Catherine McCahill SGS.
Dividing near the base, the branches fork and twist. I don’t have a measuring stick, but I estimate the canopy of leaves that glistens and shivers in the sunshine is at least 15 to 20 meters in diameter.
We are on the ridge of the Blue Mountains and I realise how far that tree can see from its branches, far into the national parks – the Grose Valley to the north, and the Megalong to the south. I am not so tall; I can only see to the south. I envy that tree.
I move in closer again. There are so many creatures inhabiting the tree: insects, spiders, molluscs. Beetles and ants are busy, in and out of holes in the bark, scurrying from the tree to the ground and back. Various designs of spiderwebs adorn the bark, some abandoned and some occupied, all ready to capture the next meal. Snails and slugs have left trails across the lower part of the trunk; I sight only one living specimen.
Above me, I hear the songs of birds. The leaf coverage is too dense to make out most of the sources.
Image: Sister Catherine McCahill SGS.
Now, I realise that I am immersed in a rich community of life, a diverse ecosystem in and around, being neighbour with the tree.
I notice that the tree does not have any like companions nearby. Only this one tree has survived whatever calamity, natural or human, has removed other specimens of its kind. Why, I think to myself. Was this tree fortunate, or more worthy or was its survival a chance fluke of nature?
What about the human community in relation to the tree, I wonder. As it grew from a small seedling, did the children of Dharug and Gundungurra peoples (the local Indigenous people) play in its branches, climb its limbs looking for birds’ nests? Perhaps their elders sheltered from the summer heat under its branches.
What did you see, tree, as the new white people arrived? How do you hold the sights and sounds of disruption, involuntary displacement and bloodshed? Do you weep for that time, those people? Is that the moaning that I hear in the movement of your leaves?
Moving back now from the tree, aware of its strength, its invitation and lessons to me about seeing, hearing and touching, I find myself more aware of “our common home”.
This is the Season of Creation, a time to celebrate and experience creation, with Christians and all people of goodwill. It is also a time to act for and behalf of our battered and bruised “common home”. This year marks the tenth anniversary of Pope Francis’ landmark encyclical, Laudato Si’ – On Care For Our Common Home.
Image: Sister Catherine McCahill SGS.
My life experience has taught me that we, humans, will care for whatever we love. So, my engagement with, my falling deeper into a loving relationship with creation, not just at the macro level but at the level of each and every part of creation, impels me to protect, to change my behaviour in favour of all creation, and to advocate for this common home.
The tree at Lawson stands tall and strong. Seemingly, it does not need me. It was there before us, and it will be there well after we have passed by. I could say, “It is just another eucalypt” and pass by. However, once I listen with my eyes, my ears, my touch and my heart, I cannot pass by without making a commitment to this neighbour.
Knowing the tree and aware of my relationship to all of creation, I experience conversion. Slowly and consciously, I find the time and commitment to change my use of resources, my recycling habits, my eating patterns and more. With delight, I find more time to touch and be touched by more trees and all of creation.
This is being neighbour.
Prayer of Pope Leo XIV for September 2025
Lord, You love everything You have created,
and nothing exists outside the mystery of Your tenderness.
Every creature, no matter how small,
is the fruit of Your love and has a place in this world.
Even the simplest or shortest life is surrounded by Your care.
Like St Francis of Assisi, today we too want to say:
“Praised be You, my Lord!”
Through the beauty of creation,
You reveal Yourself as a source of goodness. We ask You:
open our eyes to recognise You,
learning from the mystery of Your closeness to all creation
that the world is infinitely more than a problem to solve.
It is a mystery to be contemplated with gratitude and hope.
Help us to discover Your presence in all creation,
so that, in fully recognising it,
we may feel and know ourselves to be responsible for this common home
where You invite us to care for, respect, and protect
life in all its forms and possibilities.
Praised be You, Lord!
Amen.
