In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. -- Revelation 22:2 (KJV)
In the midst of the garden. In the midst of the street.
Genesis says the first, Revelation says the second, and it is the same tree. Between those two sentences sits everything that has ever gone wrong — a command broken, a garden closed, that tree put out of reach behind a guard with a sword. Every human being since has lived east of it.
Now look where it is standing. In the midst of the street, the most public ground in the city, where anyone walking past can reach it. It bears twelve manner of fruits and yields every month, which is another way of saying there is no season when it has nothing for you.
The river tells you the same thing. A pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. It comes out of the throne, which makes the supply exactly as dependable as God is.
And the leaves are for the healing of the nations. Nations — the plural is carrying weight. Whatever the fall did between whole peoples, and it has done a great deal, is inside what gets treated.
Then the line the chapter turns on: and there shall be no more curse. The sentence handed down in the garden is lifted. Not managed, not compensated for. Lifted.
What comes in its place is ordinary and enormous. His servants shall serve him — work that finally goes somewhere. And they shall see his face, the face Moses was told no man could see and live.
So this does not end with humanity restored to a garden. It ends further along than the garden ever got, with the tree standing in a public street and no sword anywhere in the account.
What have you made peace with in yourself because you assumed it was permanent?
