Listening to the Trees: Tu BiShvat, The Canticle of the Sun, and the Sacred Rhythm of Nature
Exploring the deep-rooted connections between Jewish, Christian, and ancient traditions that honor trees, the elements, and the cycles of life.
Post-Tu BiShvat Reflection: A Call to Listen
Tu BiShvat has passed, but its message remains: the trees continue their silent work, reminding us of renewal, patience, and the unseen forces of life. In the quiet pulse of winter, a subtle shift occurs—a whispering promise of transformation carried by the trees. For those attuned to the rhythm of the Earth, this time marks a transition: the sap begins to rise, unseen yet vital, preparing for the eventual blossoming of spring. Across cultures, this liminal space has been honored with rituals that recognize trees as more than silent bystanders to human history; they are living presences, witnesses to time, and carriers of memory.
At the heart of this reverence lies Tu BiShvat, the Jewish New Year for Trees, a celebration that echoes across religious and spiritual traditions, finding resonance in St. Francis of Assisi’s Canticle of the Sun , in ancient pagan tree worship, and in contemporary ecological consciousness.
Beyond Tu BiShvat, this article serves as an invitation to listen—to the trees, the wind, the earth, and the songs of those who, across centuries, have seen divinity in the natural world. Whether in winter’s stillness or spring’s awakening, the sacred rhythm of nature continues to unfold.
For me, trees have always felt like sentient beings, holding stories within their soul-bark. There’s something profoundly humbling about standing beneath an ancient oak or touching the rough skin of a birch tree, knowing that these beings have endured centuries of change. They exist in deep time, unhurried, watching as civilizations rise and fall. They remind me of the importance of patience, of growing at one’s own pace, and of the quiet resilience that nature embodies.
Tu BiShvat: The Jewish New Year for Trees
In Jewish tradition, Tu BiShvat (the 15th of Shevat) marks a pivotal moment in the agricultural calendar. Originally tied to biblical laws of tithing fruit trees, it has evolved into a spiritual and ecological celebration. In Kabbalistic tradition, the Tu BiShvat Seder was developed as a mystical rite, where fruits and wine represent the spiritual essence of trees and the interconnectedness of all life.
The ritual divides fruits into three categories:
Fruits with a hard shell and soft interior – symbolizing protection and hidden potential.
Fruits with pits at their core – representing growth from within.
Fruits entirely edible – embodying wholeness and balance.
Through this, Tu BiShvat becomes more than a feast—it is an act of listening, a meditation on growth, sustenance, and the sacredness of trees as providers of life. It is a reminder that the unseen forces of nature—like rising sap—carry the promise of renewal.
I find myself drawn to Tu BiShvat as a moment to reconnect—not just with nature but with my own inner cycles. What am I nourishing? What needs more light? What has outgrown its space? These questions return each year, just as the trees prepare their unseen transformations. I think of the trees I have encountered over the years—how each one has left an imprint, a memory of shade, shelter, or quiet wisdom. Some trees have been places of solace, others of revelation. Tu BiShvat reminds me that, like the trees, I, too, am constantly growing, sometimes in ways not immediately visible, but always reaching toward the light.
The Canticle of the Sun: A Christian Hymn to Nature
Centuries after Tu BiShvat was rooted, another voice emerged, offering a hymn to the interconnectedness of all life. St. Francis of Assisi, in his Canticle of the Sun, composed one of the most profound expressions of eco-spirituality, reflecting a vision not unlike that of Tu BiShvat—where nature is a sacred companion rather than a passive backdrop. His words, praising Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Brother Wind, Sister Water, and Mother Earth, mirror the reverence found in Jewish traditions that celebrate trees as living participants in the divine web of existence.
His words, written in the 13th century, echo Tu BiShvat’s reverence for nature, seeing it not as separate from the divine, but as an active expression of it. Just as Tu BiShvat calls for gratitude for trees and their fruits, the Canticle of the Sun calls for gratitude toward the elemental forces that sustain life. Both traditions emphasize humility, interconnectedness, and care for creation—values that, in our era of ecological crisis, feel increasingly urgent.
There’s something deeply moving about the idea of addressing the sun, wind, and water as brothers and sisters. I often think about how different the world would be if we all spoke to the natural world with such reverence. What if, instead of seeing nature as a resource, we saw it as a beloved relative?
Pagan Roots: The Sacredness of Trees in Ancient Traditions
Long before Tu BiShvat or Christian ecological hymns, trees were already revered across cultures:
Celtic Druids considered the oak, ash, and yew sacred, believing they held wisdom and a connection to the divine.
Norse mythology spoke of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, a cosmic axis linking the heavens, earth, and underworld.
Roman and Greek traditions honored sacred groves dedicated to Demeter, Dionysus, and other nature deities.
Imbolc (February 1-2), a Celtic seasonal festival, celebrated the stirring of life beneath the soil, much like Tu BiShvat marks the hidden renewal within trees.
Indigenous traditions across the world, from North America to Asia, have long recognized trees as sacred ancestors, holders of wisdom, and messengers between the human and spirit worlds.
Across these traditions, trees 🌳✨ were not just symbols but living presences, imbued with spirit and energy. In the Jewish, Christian, and pagan worldviews, we find a recurring theme: trees and natural elements are not passive landscapes, but active participants in the story of existence.
A Contemporary Reflection: Honoring the Earth in Our Time
As modern environmental concerns deepen, these ancient traditions feel less like mythology and more like a guidebook for survival. The climate crisis reminds us of the urgent need to reconnect with nature—not as a resource to exploit, but as a kinship to honor.
Tu BiShvat’s call to plant trees, St. Francis’ invitation to praise the elements, and the ancient world’s reverence for groves all converge into a singular truth: our relationship with nature is sacred, and we must listen before it is too late.
This year, as Tu BiShvat arrives, I feel an even deeper need to pause and reflect. I recall the trees that have shaped my journey—the ones under which I have sought shelter, the ones I have planted, and those I have watched grow over the years at my grandmother’s garden. I think about the trees that have shaped my journey—those that have offered shelter, the ones whose presence has felt like a quiet companion, and the ones that have stood as reminders of resilience and change.
Stepping outside now, I feel the cool air on my skin, notice the stillness of bare branches, and recognize that I am part of this cycle—just as much as the trees are. Whether we plant, observe, or simply acknowledge, Tu BiShvat reminds us that nature’s renewal is also our own. What can we learn from the sap rising unseen? Perhaps, that renewal is always possible—but only if we make space to listen.
Closing Invitation: A Ritual for Listening to Trees
Find a tree—one that you feel drawn to, even if its branches are bare.
Stand or sit in stillness beside it. Close your eyes and listen—not just to external sounds, but to the presence of the tree itself.
Place your hand on the bark. Feel its texture, its solidity, and imagine the life force moving within, even if unseen.
Reflect on the unseen growth happening in your own life—the changes, transformations, and quiet shifts occurring beneath the surface.
Offer gratitude—whether through a silent thought, a breath, or a moment of acknowledgment for the tree’s presence.
Even in the stillness of winter, the trees remind us that life continues, waiting for the right moment to bloom again.
The trees 🌳✨ have been here before us, and they will be here long after. In honoring them, we honor ourselves—and the delicate, beautiful web of life that binds us all.
References 📚🌿✨:
St. Francis of Assisi, Canticle of the Sun, translated and edited in Armstrong, R.J., Francis of Assisi: The Saint, New City Press, 2000.
Hutton, R. The Pagan Religions of the Ancient British Isles, Blackwell Publishers, 1991.
Abram, D. The Spell of the Sensuous, Vintage, 1997.
Scherman, N. The Complete Artscroll Siddur, Mesorah Publications, 2001.
Kaplan, A. Inner Space: Introduction to Kabbalah, Meditation, and Prophecy, Moznaim, 1990.
Kimmerer, R.W. Braiding Sweetgrass, Milkweed Editions, 2013.
Delio, I. Care for Creation: A Franciscan Spirituality of the Earth, St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2008.
Pope Francis, Laudato Si’, Vatican Press, 2015.
Shiva, V. Earth Democracy: Justice, Sustainability, and Peace, Zed Books, 2005.
Macy, J. World as Lover, World as Self, Parallax Press, 2007.