Lent 3:  Going Deeper

Sermon preached by the Reverend Patricia Farris

March 14, 2004

Scripture:  Psalms 63:1-8 and Luke 13:1-9

Today we hear Luke’s version of the Parable of the Fig Tree.  Jesus frequently used common, ordinary things to bring his stories to life and would have been very familiar with figs.  Figs are quite common throughout the Mediterranean and the Near East and have been since ancient times.   Along with oranges and grapes and olives, figs are still found in both wild and cultivated forms.

Mark Rotella has written a delightful book, part autobiography and part travel narrative, entitled Stolen Figs:  And Other Adventures in Calabria.  Calabria is the toe of the boot of Italy, a rugged peninsula of mountains and coastline.  The grandson of Italian immigrants, Rotella goes with his father to visit, to trace their roots and rediscover their culture.  It is there, amidst luscious meals and colorful characters, including the Mafia, that Rotella learns how to steal figs from a neighbor’s tree--without getting caught and ending up in jail!

But many of us have probably never seen a fig or know where figs come from.  Urban kids, nowadays, grow up not knowing where a lot of food actually comes from.  I read one account of a Sunday School teacher trying to teach the parable we hear this morning about the Fig Tree and the only way she could make it come alive for her kids was to make a trunk and branches for a large tree and then hang Fig Newtons all over it.

Not figs, exactly, but not so far off.  Figs are, after all, full of sugar and naturally sweet.  They grow on beautiful, slow-growing trees with large leaves that provide shade and bear fruit much of the year.  Because they were so common to the region, figs are found throughout the Bible.  Their large leaves, you may recall, covered the nakedness of Adam and Eve in the garden.  We read that figs were used for healing wounds and boils.  They were traded in commerce and offered as gifts.  Their appearance heralded spring.  In the beautiful Song of Solomon, we read:  “for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.  The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance.”

So what are we to learn from the parable we hear this morning, Luke’s version of the parable of the fig tree?  A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard and he came, looking for fruit on it, and found none.  So he said to the gardener: Hey! I’ve been waiting three years for these figs and still I find none.  Cut it down!  Why should it be wasting the soil?”  But the gardener replies:  “Sir, let it alone for one more year until I dig around it and put manure on it.   If it bears fruit next year, well and good.  But if not, you can cut it down.”

Our fruitless fig tree gets a reprieve - one more year.  “Let me dig around it and put manure on it and if it bears fruit next year, well and good.  But if not, you can cut it down.”  It has one more year.

To be clear here, the owner of the vineyard, probably a city man, visits his fields to assess their productivity.  This is reasonable.  Dead wood removed.  Non-fruit-bearing trees are taken out so that healthy trees can take their place.  He is reasonable, but just barely.  According to the laws of Leviticus, newly planted trees were not to be harvested for the first three years.  Having given this fig tree its minimum allowance, he determines “enough is enough.”  Why should it be wasting the soil?

But the gardener here offers another solution.  His tone is respectful, but he’s clearly taking the side of the offending tree.  “Sir”, he says, “I myself will aerate the soil and fertilize this tree.  Let’s give it one more year.  If it bears fruit, fine.  If not, you can cut it down.”  What we have here is a reprieve, not a guarantee. 

What is Jesus telling us in this parable, using the oh-so-familiar fig?  And why does the church hear this story during Lent?

The parable follows two accounts that speculate on the relationship between sin and punishment.  In the first instance, Roman soldiers had killed Galileans.  Jesus makes it clear that they were not killed because they had sinned more than those who had been spared.  The second instance refers to an accident, the collapse of a tower, in which eighteen were killed.  Again, Jesus makes it clear that they were not killed and others spared due to any measure of their sinfulness. 

It’s as if Jesus knew our human tendency to try and explain the things that happen in this world.  And how he knew we’d so often get it wrong.  When some are killed and some are spared, it’s not because they were bad people and those who survive are good people.  The dead died through no fault of their own.  The first group was in the wrong place and the wrong time and were slain by Pilate’s troops.  The second were in the wrong place at the wrong time and died in an accident.  They who died were not bigger sinners than you who still live.

The parable of the fig tree brings home Jesus’ point.  All of us will die one day, that’s a fact.  Here Jesus urges us to repent now, to do the needed work in our own souls now, to turn from sin now, and bear what Matthew calls the fruit of repentance.

It’s as if Jesus knew we would be tempted to dwell on the fate of others, to speculate, and ponder and wonder why, and all the while failing to turn our gaze inward, to where our own spiritual work needs to be done, here and now.   Repent, he says.  Make the change in your heart that needs to be made.  Do it now.

Jesus teaches that our very souls are to bear fruit in this life.  God cares that this happens.  God cares enough to find it out if we are wasting the soil in which we are planted, if we are taking for granted our place in the vineyard, if we are just coasting along year to year hoping no one notices the impoverished state of our harvest.  Lent is the church’s season to pay attention, to face the painful and awkward holes in our lives and fill them up with fresh air and fertilizer.  Jesus is the loving, merciful gardener saying wait:  give me another year with this one.  Give me another year and I will do all I can to see that this tree bears fruit.

This is a story, finally, of mercy, on both counts.  God cares enough and loves us enough to come and check on us.  God longs for our fruitfulness and our faithfulness.  God cares enough to come into the vineyard and seek us out, one by one, and see how we’re doing.  And Jesus loves us enough to say:  wait.  Give it another year.  Give it another year.  Let’s see if there won’t be some delicious figs to pick.

And so it is that one person finds the strength to stop drinking, again.  Another decides to spend more time with her kids.  Another chooses to be wiser about use of time and money.  Another resolves to be a better friend to his friends.  Another pledges to get more involved with people less fortunate.  Another sees environmental waste and says “enough!”  Another recommits to daily prayer and time in God’s presence.

Repentance means a change of heart.  Jesus has just given us one more year.  What can we do today to change the state our soul will be in next Lent?

Several years ago, the author, Stephen Levine and his wife decided on New Year’s Eve, that they would live the coming year as if it were their last.  Levine, who works with terminally ill patients, wanted to take all the lessons he had learned about living and dying and apply them to his own life while there was still time.

He writes:  “In their last year many people feel as if they have a second chance at growth and inner healing.  Many speak of catching up with their lives just in the nick of time.”  Some change their work situation, some learn a skill that has no apparent purpose, some reclaim their love of nature or music, some invest in their closest relationships, some explore spiritual growth, turning toward the mystery.

Lent is the time to admit that we cannot live as if we can steal some figs from someone else’s tree in order to bribe our way into God’s favor.  The journey inward and journey outward of Lent is our opportunity to tend to the fig tree of our own soul, tending and fertilizing, open to growth, to new life, through the pruning, cultivating love of Christ Jesus.

So I ask this morning, as a suggestion for our Lenten journey this year:  what if each of us undertook the experiment?  What if we decided to live this year as if it were the only one we have?  What would we change about how we live?  What would our priorities be?  What fresh air and fertilizer would we need to produce what the apostle Paul called ‘the fruits of the Spirit,’ sweet and rich as figs:  love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control?  Then, if God were to examine the fruits of our lives a year hence, what might God find?

Notes:

Mark Rotella.  Stolen Figs:  And Other Adventures in Calabria.  North Point Press, 2003.

Stephen Levine.  A Year to Live:  How to Live This Year As If It Were Your Last.

New York:  Bell Tower, 1997.