Every autumn, when the feast of Sukkot returns to Jerusalem, one first notices neither theology nor symbolism but fragrance. The perfume of the etrog mingles with the fresh scent of the myrtle and the willow. The tall lulav rises above them all. These are not liturgical ornaments placed beside the prayer. They are themselves carried in prayer. Held together in the hand and turned towards the four directions of the world during the hakafot (circling around), they proclaim with remarkable simplicity that creation itself has entered the act of worship (Lev. 23:40–43; Neh. 8:15; Mishnah, Sukkah 3–4; b. Sukkah 37b–38a).

Nothing has been altered. No craftsman has reshaped these plants.

This is perhaps the first lesson of the Feast of Booths. Before humanity transforms creation, creation already blesses God. “The heavens declare the glory of God,” sings the Psalmist, long before human beings begin to speak of cultivation or sacrifice (Ps. 19:1–4; Ps. 104; cf. Gen. 1:29–31).

Rabbinic tradition never treated the four species as an arbitrary collection of plants. Their diversity became an image of Israel itself, whose members differ in knowledge and deeds yet remain inseparable in covenant (Lev. Rabbah 30:12). Other commentators saw in them the fertility of the Land, the dependence of humanity upon rain, or the praise offered by the whole created order (Mishnah, Rosh Hashanah 1:2; b. Ta’anit 2a). Yet beneath these rich interpretations lies an even simpler intuition: these living plants participate in worship without ceasing to be themselves.

For Christians, this raises an unexpected question. The Church inherited the Scriptures of Israel and never abandoned this biblical landscape of trees, vineyards, harvests and gardens. Palm branches accompany Christ’s entry into Jerusalem (Matt. 21:8–9; John 12:12–15). At Pentecost, churches throughout the Byzantine world are adorned with fresh branches, flowers and grasses, recalling both the descent of the Holy Spirit and the renewal of creation (Acts 2; Pentecostarion, Vespers of Pentecost, Kneeling Prayers). Entering such a church is to step into something resembling a garden rather than a monument of stone. Worship acquires colour, fragrance and the quiet language of living creation.

Yet Christianity also introduces something new. At the centre of its liturgical life stand bread and wine. Unlike the four species, they no longer appear in the form in which they were gathered from the earth. Wheat has been harvested, ground and baked. Grapes have been pressed and fermented. Human hands have worked patiently with the gifts of creation (Matt. 26:26–29; Mark 14:22–25; Luke 22:14–20; 1 Cor. 11:23–26).

This difference is so familiar that we seldom pause to consider it. Yet it may be one of the most significant questions shared by Jewish and Christian liturgical reflection.

Why........

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