The Living Fence

“They are like a tree planted near streams of water, that yields its fruit in due season; its leaves never wither.” — Psalm 1:3 (NABRE)

What quiet gestures of others have helped protect and nourish me? How can I honor the unseen labor that guards the borders of my life?

In a world where many fences are built to divide, exclude, or mark ownership, there is also a movement toward boundaries that heal—edges of land that shelter life, honor the soil, and protect communities without fear. At a time when our ecosystems suffer, and the land is stripped bare, the planting of trees along borders becomes an act of quiet resistance and sacred restoration.

St. Francis of Assisi reminds us that even the smallest part of creation belongs to the great song of praise. A fence of living trees, then, is not just utility — it is worship.

I did not plant the trees myself. It was my father and brother who quietly planted moringa, narra, mahogany, and paper trees along the boundary of our field. I watched them from a distance. Their hands moved with care, their gestures simple, unspoken — yet deeply meaningful. They were not just fencing land — they were entrusting the soil to life.

Each tree held a different promise: Moringa, for nourishment; Narra, for memory and strength; Mahogany, for shade and longevity; Paper tree, for gentleness and protection. In silence, I received this as a blessing—as a sign that even in families marked by past wounds, a living fence can grow—planted not only by hands, but by hope.

This moment reminded me that ecological healing is not always done by activists or experts — sometimes, it begins with fathers and brothers planting trees. The fence they made is not barbed nor guarded.

It is alive — it breathes.

It welcomes birds, softens the sun, and marks the land not with ownership but with belonging. Franciscan spirituality teaches us that creation is not property — it is kin. And Vatican II, through Gaudium et Spes, urges us to read the “signs of the times”—even in fences, even in gardens.

In this living fence, I see a paraliturgy—a ritual of restoration, even without words. The Spirit (Geist) moves in these gestures—through my father’s aged hands, and my brother’s quiet strength.

MY PRAYER: God of all life, thank You for my father and brother, who planted trees not for praise, but for protection. Bless their labor. Bless the soil. Bless the future this fence will guard. Let this boundary become a living witness—that healing is possible even in silence, that fences can embrace rather than exclude, that trees planted today may bear peace tomorrow. Amen.

Michael Manzano Bantolin is a teacher and missionary who received his Master of Arts in Religious Studies from Saint Louis University. He is also the founder of the emerging Koinonia Institute, which seeks to heal memory, restore dignity, and build bridges between churches, cultures, and communities.