🪵 Bezalel: The Spirit-Filled Craftsman of Exodus

The Olive Tree: Rooted in Resilience and Reverence

How this ancient tree became a symbol of peace, endurance, and blessing throughout scripture and history

There’s something sacred about the olive tree.

Maybe it’s the way it twists and bends with time but never breaks. Maybe it’s the way its fruit brings both nourishment and anointing. Or maybe it’s that, from Genesis to Revelation, the olive tree shows up again and again—quietly reminding us that some things are meant to last.

In the heart of the Mediterranean, olive trees grow where other trees won’t. Rocky soil. Blazing heat. Long droughts. And yet, their roots stretch deep, anchoring them for centuries—sometimes even millennia. It’s not uncommon to find an olive tree over 1,000 years old still bearing fruit.

That’s the kind of resilience that doesn’t just happen. It’s built. Season by season, storm by storm.

And maybe that’s why God used the olive tree so often in Scripture—because it mirrors the kind of people He calls us to be.

A Sign of Peace

The very first time we see the olive branch in the Bible is after a storm—the storm. Noah had been floating for months on a world washed clean by judgment. But then, one day, a dove returns to him with an olive leaf in its beak.

A simple sign.

A fragile, green sliver of hope that said: “It’s okay now. You can start again.”

That olive leaf became a symbol of peace—not just between man and nature, but between God and humanity. It whispered of restoration, of dry ground, of a future after the flood.

Even today, the olive branch remains a universal symbol of peace. It's carved into coins, waved in parades, inked into emblems. But its origin is rooted in a moment when God chose to show mercy instead of wrath.

A Tree of Anointing and Blessing

Throughout the Old Testament, olive oil was sacred. It wasn’t just used in cooking or lamps—it was used for consecration. Kings were anointed with it. Priests were set apart with it. Even the tabernacle was anointed with oil made from crushed olives.

That’s a powerful picture: the oil that flows only after the pressing.

It’s through pressure that the olive yields its blessing. Through crushing that it gives up what’s most valuable.

Sound familiar?

Jesus Himself prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane the night before He was crucified. “Gethsemane” means oil press. And there, under the weight of what was coming, He sweat drops of blood and said, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”

Even in His moment of anguish, He was being poured out—just like the olive.

A Tree That Keeps On Giving

One of the most beautiful things about the olive tree is that it doesn’t just live a long time—it produces for a long time.

Even when its trunk is hollowed out with age, new shoots spring from its roots. That means an ancient olive tree can look gnarled and weathered above ground, but still be full of life and fruit.

The psalmist writes, “I am like a green olive tree in the house of God” (Psalm 52:8). It’s a statement of trust, endurance, and spiritual vitality. When everything around us is shaky, the one rooted in God continues to grow.

Paul picks up this imagery in Romans 11, calling us “wild olive branches” grafted into the cultivated tree of God’s promises. It’s a reminder that even Gentiles—those outside the original covenant—have been invited into the blessing.

The olive tree doesn’t just stand for Israel. It stands for inclusion. For the enduring, ever-expanding mercy of God.

Why It Still Matters

At Hedges Woodcraft, we love working with olive wood. Its swirling grain patterns are like fingerprints—no two alike. And its strength? Remarkable. It’s dense, smooth, and full of character, just like the stories it has carried for centuries.

But more than that, it reminds us of something deeper.

The olive tree tells a story of resilience. Of bending, not breaking. Of continuing to bear fruit, even after being pressed and pruned. Of beauty emerging from struggle.

In a world obsessed with speed and instant gratification, the olive tree calls us back to patience… to generational faithfulness… to roots that run deep.

It reminds us that the most lasting things are often the slowest to grow.

Final Thoughts

So whether you’re holding one of our handcrafted pens made from olive wood or just looking at a tree in Scripture, I hope you see more than just wood or leaves. I hope you see a legacy. A symbol of peace, anointing, and hope. A quiet witness to the faithfulness of God—across deserts, across centuries, across lives.

Because the olive tree doesn’t just grow.

It endures.