The Tap-Tap-Tap of the Holy Spirit

While hiking in the woods, I noticed an unusual sight: two trees standing side by side. They appeared to be the same age and type, likely sprouting from the same mother tree. Yet one was riddled with holes—evidence of the pileated woodpecker I often see darting from tree to tree, making its unmistakable, monkey-like call. The other tree was untouched. One tree was “holier” than the other (pardon the pun).

Why did the woodpecker choose one tree and not the other? Most likely, it sensed insects beneath the bark. To achieve this unexpected level of “holiness,” the bugs had to go. The untouched tree may have had just as many insects, but for reasons unknown, the woodpecker did not perceive it as receptive to its probing.

Now entering the midpoint of my Lenten journey, I find myself wondering: Which tree am I? Stretching the metaphor a bit, the woodpecker becomes the Holy Spirit—searching for receptivity among all the trees in the forest. When the Spirit finds a willing heart, it begins the work of removing the “bugs”: the habits, vices, and hidden faults that lie beneath our hardened exterior.

This process leaves holes—visible marks of purification. But holes are better than bugs. They become signs of healing and, ultimately, signs of holiness. The wounds on the hands of Jesus after the resurrection weren’t erased, but glorified.

Another lesson from these two trees is that I cannot make myself holy. I often slip into that mistaken mindset during Lent. Giving up ice cream (which, by the way, has not gone particularly well) will not make me holy. Holiness is not self-manufactured; it is a gift received. As the Second Vatican Council reminds us in Lumen Gentium, “By God’s gift, [the followers of Christ] complete in their lives this holiness they have received” (40).

Holiness begins with receptivity—being open to the gentle tap, tap, tap of the Holy Spirit.

As I look back on this Lent, I realize I resemble the unmarked tree: outwardly intact, yet hiding plenty of bugs beneath the surface. I find myself asking: What’s making it so hard for this gift of holiness to penetrate?

The good news is that with God, it is never too late. It’s never to late to respond again to this universal call to holiness—a call not just for some trees, but for all. There is still time to invite the Spirit to tap-tap-tap on this rough bark of mine.

Which tree best describes your Lent?