Unity Begins at the Tree

Few passages of scripture have shaped my understanding of discipleship more than Lehi’s vision of the tree of life. Although it is one of the most familiar accounts in the Book of Mormon, I continue to discover new truths each time I study it. Recently, one lesson has stood out with particular clarity: unity among disciples begins when we remain firmly rooted in Jesus Christ.

When we think about Lehi’s dream, we naturally focus on its symbolism. We remember the tree representing the love of God (1 Nephi 11:22), the iron rod representing the word of God (1 Nephi 11:25), the straight and narrow path, the mists of darkness, and the great and spacious building filled with pride and mockery.

Yet one of the most profound lessons comes not from the symbols themselves but from Lehi’s actions.

He does not leave the path.

He does not release the iron rod.

He does not argue with those in the great and spacious building.

Nor does he venture into the mists of darkness searching for those who have let go.

Instead, after partaking of the fruit, “he did beckon unto them” that his family should come and partake for themselves (1 Nephi 8:15).

The order is significant.

Lehi first comes unto Christ. He experiences God’s love personally. Only then does he invite others to come.

That pattern teaches an enduring principle of discipleship. We are best able to help others when we ourselves remain anchored in Christ.

The Savior taught the same principle in His parable of the Good Samaritan. The Samaritan did not ignore the wounded traveler. He went to him, bound his wounds, lifted him onto his own animal, carried him to safety, and ensured his continued care. But he did not remain with him in the ditch. He lifted him out.

Lehi beckons without leaving the tree.

The Samaritan lifts without remaining in the ditch.

Both teach the same truth: ministering flows from spiritual strength, not spiritual surrender.

Elder David A. Bednar once observed, “We cannot give what we do not have.” His words capture the heart of Christian ministering. We cannot bring light by walking away from the Light. We cannot strengthen another’s faith while neglecting our own. Every act of true ministering points toward Christ, never away from Him.

President Gordon B. Hinckley taught that every member of the Church needs three things: a friend, a responsibility, and nourishment by the good word of God. Those needs are deeply connected. Nourishment comes as we feast upon the word of God and partake of His love. Responsibility keeps us moving along the covenant path. Friendship becomes the means by which the Savior extends His love through ordinary disciples.

When those three work together, faith deepens and unity grows.

Throughout my life, ministering has taught me this lesson again and again.

As a young boy growing up along the Redwood Coast of Northern California, I saw our ward cover hundreds of square miles. Church required a forty-five-minute drive, and one of my parents’ home teaching assignments was another hour and a half beyond that. Once each month, after church, our family climbed into our Volkswagen station wagon and made the long journey.

As a child, I mostly remember how endless the drive seemed. I counted trees, watched the scenery roll by, and admired the family’s unusual home with its pet deer, goats, and peacocks. Looking back, however, what I remember most is my parents’ quiet faithfulness. They never complained. They simply went.

Ministering meant sacrificing comfort and convenience because people mattered more than schedules.

Without realizing it, I was learning what Alma described as being “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light” (Mosiah 18:8). Love is rarely measured by convenience. More often, it is measured by quiet consistency.

Years later, after our family moved to Utah, ministering became much easier in terms of geography, but no easier personally.

By then, I was old enough to accompany my father on visits, and another brother in the ward frequently recruited me whenever his companion was unavailable. I was not always enthusiastic. There were afternoons when I hoped they would forget to ask.

But discipleship often begins with obedience rather than desire.

Nephi declared, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Nephi 3:7). He did not promise complete understanding before acting.

Over time, those visits changed me. Caring for elderly members, delivering the sacrament, and simply sitting with people softened my heart in ways I could not have anticipated. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland has taught that when we offer what we have, the Lord supplies what we lack. I found that to be true. As I went, the Lord gradually changed my desires.

Ministering was no longer something I did.

It was becoming part of who I was.

Perhaps the greatest example of Christlike ministering came from my grandfather.

As he lay dying of cancer in hospice care, his bishop came to visit and asked if there was anything he could do.

My grandfather pointed toward the kitchen and asked him to retrieve a list from beneath a magnet on the refrigerator.

It was his ministering assignment.

Looking at the bishop, he quietly said, “These are my ministering families. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it this month. Please take care of them.”

Even at the end of his life, his thoughts were directed toward those he loved and had promised to serve.

Moroni called charity “the pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47). That afternoon, I witnessed charity in its simplest and most beautiful form. Ministering had become so deeply woven into my grandfather’s discipleship that concern for others naturally eclipsed concern for himself.

Years later, I experienced another lesson.

For many years, my companion and I ministered to a faithful single sister whose declining health eventually prevented her from attending church. We visited regularly to bring her the sacrament, share the scriptures, and spend time together.

Sometimes we forgot the bread, so the sacrament became crackers, cookies, or whatever she happened to have on hand. Sometimes we fixed furniture, assembled shelves, solved technology problems, or helped with her iPad. My children often came with me, and she delighted in their visits.

But what she needed most was rarely something that could be repaired.

She needed someone willing to stay awhile.

She needed someone willing to listen.

Alma taught that the Savior took upon Himself our pains and afflictions so He would know how to succor His people (Alma 7:11–12). Ministering follows that same pattern. It is less about solving problems than sharing burdens.

She taught me that presence is often the greatest gift we can offer.

Looking back across these experiences, I see a common thread.

Ministering has never primarily been about completing assignments.

It has been about becoming a different kind of disciple.

It has taught me to sacrifice without resentment.

To obey before fully understanding.

To place others ahead of myself.

To slow down long enough to truly see another child of God.

Most importantly, it has taught me that lasting ministry always begins at the tree.

Those who hold fast to the iron rod, partake of the fruit, and remain rooted in Christ become capable of inviting others to do the same. They do not abandon truth in an effort to rescue others. Rather, their own closeness to the Savior becomes the very source of their ability to lift.

Ministering does something sacred.

It blesses those who receive it, but it also transforms those who offer it.

Visit by visit.

Conversation by conversation.

Prayer by prayer.

The Lord quietly enlarges our hearts until we begin to love as He loves.

And in that process, something else happens.

The Church becomes more than an organization.

It becomes a family.

The young strengthen the old.

The strong carry the weary.

The lonely find friends.

The questioning discovers patient companions.

One by one, the Lord knits our hearts together.

Lehi’s vision reminds us that joy is found at the tree, but unity is found in the beckoning. As we remain firmly rooted in Christ and lovingly invite others to come unto Him, He changes us. Through that quiet, lifelong process of ministering, He not only sanctifies individuals but also builds Zion—a covenant people united in faith, hope, and charity.

Perhaps that is one of the greatest miracles of ministering.

As we help others come unto Christ, we discover that He has been changing us all along.