There used to be a large garden
behind our house that the previous pastor’s wife had planted and tended. I’m
sure that at one point, it was a beautiful patch of ground with all sorts of
colorful flowers, fruits, and vegetables growing within it, and I’m sure that
it was a pleasing sight for both this couple and everyone who visited the
parsonage.
When we moved in, though, this was
no longer the case.
Weeds—some now taller than me—had
infested the garden. It looked like our backyard was trying to slowly birth a
jungle in the middle of Central Jersey, and neither Jess nor I had any idea
what to do about it.
Now, I’m sure that this is no
surprised, but I am just about as far as one can get from possessing a green
thumb. I’ve tried planting trees, vegetables, flowers—you name it, I’ve
probably tried it—and each time I’ve ended up with either kindling for a fire
or a whole mess of weeds. When it comes to the lawn and garden, I’m best left
just mowing and weed whacking. I leave everything else in my wife’s capable
hands. She is much, much better at actually being able to grow things. Our
first year here, she put in a vegetable garden in the backyard, and we had
fresh green beans, peppers, and tomatoes for dinner for a while. It was
wonderful. She also put in a number of flowers and trees in the front to liven
up the look of the house, and one of those sets of flowers—daffodils or
something—are starting to peak up from the ground right now.
I was going to let her tackle rain
forest trying to encroach upon our land, but she took one look at it and
admitted she had no idea what to do with it. So, after about four months of
living there, I did what I do best with lawn and garden care: I started cutting
stuff down. I cleared out the weeds, the overgrown tomato plants, the thorny
vines, and everything else from that patch until all that was left there was
churned up dirt and two small trees—one right in the center of the patch and
one off to the side.
It’s kind of funny that these were
the only things left standing because they were also the only things that
looked like they were no longer alive. Neither had any leaves. Neither were
especially large, and neither looked like they were going to be around much
longer. Honestly, the only reason that I left them standing is that the weed
whacker wasn’t able to cut through them. I’d have to find an axe or hatchet for
that. Later, I asked Jessica what she wanted to do with the trees, and we
decided to wait and deal with them in the spring.
When spring finally arrived, Jessica
started talking about what we were going to do with those trees. We wanted to
put a fire pit in the backyard, and the barren, post-apocalyptic jungle patch
seemed to be the ideal choice. But what were we going to do with these trees? They
still had no leaves on them, and they looked dead.
Luckily, I did not have to make
that decision. One day, I got a call from Jess saying that she solved our tree
problem. I didn’t think much of it until I got home, and then I went in the
back to see what was done. Jess had dug out one of the trees and moved it to a
new place in the yard. Apparently, she had gotten so frustrated with the tree
that she had dug around a while and then just ripped it out with her bare
hands, dug a new hole for it, and filled it in with fresh sod. We both thought
for sure that this would never work. I figured I was going to have to go out
and chop it down anyways, even after all her work.
For months and months, though,
Jess watered that tree and cared for it, and wouldn’t you know it, leaves
started to sprout from it. It still looks on the verge of turning into
firewood, but it’s fighting on, and it keeps showing signs that it’s still got
life left in it.
And I was ready to cut it down.
In our Scripture lesson today,
Jesus shares with his disciples and us a parable that also has to do with
trees. In this story, a vineyard owner checks on a fig tree on his property. He
checks it for figs each year for three years and finds none. Finally, he makes
a hard decision: it is time to cut down this tree to make room for another that
will hopefully bear fruit. He tells one of his vineyard workers to cut it down,
but instead of immediately hacking away, the worker asks the owner to give him
one year: one year to care for the tree and to see if he is able to coax some
fruit out of it. He promises to dig around the tree—to aerate the soil and to
remove any roots that might be stealing nutrients from the fig tree—and he
promises to give it fertilizer so that it has the best chance possible to
thrive.
Then, if after this year of
intense TLC the tree still refuses to yield fruit, the worker will cut it down.
What a wonderful parable for us to
work through, especially in light of the fact that we are smack dab in the
middle of Jersey farmland. I’m curious: How many of you grow your own
vegetables or fruit at your house? How many of you are in some way connected
to—even if it’s just regularly buying from—one of the local farms around here?
Yeah. This is an important lesson
for us, one with which we can all resonate.
Now, I do not know much about
farming and the care of plants. I’ve already confessed to lacking a green
thumb, so this should come as no surprise. But just to show that I’m trying, I
did some homework on the care, cultivation, and history of fig trees. Did you
know that the fig tree is one of the earliest recorded plants in our written
history? It makes appearances in all sorts of legends and religious texts, from
the Hebrew’s Genesis account of Adam and Eve making clothing from fig leaves to
Buddhism’s account of the first enlightened person sitting under a fig tree.
Fig trees have been around for at least as long as people have, and culture
after culture have relied upon them for nourishment.
So you can bet that this vineyard
owner, along with everyone else at the time, knew exactly when the fig tree
should flourish and knew when it was a lost cause. In the Middle East, fig
trees are abundant, and not much has to be done as far as upkeep. It takes
three years for a fig tree to begin showing signs of fruit. That first harvest is
not usually the greatest as far as quality or quantity of crop, but by the third
year, it should have been clear that fruit was coming. This tree should have
taken care of itself, but for some reason it was not. It should have started at
least showing signs that fruit was on its way, but for some reason it was not.
Maybe other roots below the
surface were choking out this poor fig tree. In orchards and vineyards, you
have to be careful about how close trees are planted to one another. Maybe the
wasps that pollinate fig trees were spread too thin and none had done their job
on this specific one. Maybe this was just an unhealthy tree—for no particular
reason—and it really did just need to be chopped down.
Whatever the reason, its time
should have been up. But this vineyard worker steps in and begs the owner to
give him a chance to care for the tree, to nurse it back to health. He begs for
the chance to clear away anything blocking the way of the tree, for the chance to
lay fertilizer around it so that it has the best chance to thrive.
You know, like any parable, Jesus
isn’t just talking about a tree here. He’s hitting on a theme that keeps coming
up in the Gospels, and one that’s probably just as hard for us to hear as it
was for the people who heard it straight from the lips of Christ: true men and
women of God bear fruit for the Kingdom.
Once the seed of grace has been
planted in an individual, that person has the opportunity to flourish under the
care of the Master. But, like any good tree in the vineyard, that individual
must produce good fruit for God. Fruit that will then lead to more and more
people having God’s grace planted within them, and lead to more and more people
bearing fruit in turn. Otherwise, that individual has missed out on the work
and the purpose that God set apart just for her.
Yeah. This is an important lesson
for us, one with which we can all resonate, isn’t it?
Because you see, this is also true
for the Body of Christ. Once God cultivates a church and grows a community of
faith in a place, that church is called to bear fruit for God, spreading seeds
of love and grace to all they come in contact with and multiplying the harvest
yield.
When the owner comes across this
tree that is not producing any of the expected fruit, the owner knows that for
the good of the vineyard the tree must go. In the same way, when a church is
not producing any of the expected fruit, it might be the case that for the good
of the Kingdom, that church might need to make way for another ministry.
It’s a harsh truth, but it is a
truth nonetheless.
But then enters the vineyard
worker. He does not immediately remove the tree and chop it up for firewood. He
does not immediately cut it down to make way for another one that might bear
fruit. No, he asks for patience and a chance.
You see, this worker knows that
the best chance for results are going to come from a tree that already has
strong roots in the soil and has already had years of growth under its belt.
Fig trees can go dormant for years at a time if they have to endure drought
conditions or sub-temperate climate changes. Sometimes, they just need the life
to be coaxed back into them. Maybe that is the case with this specific tree.
Maybe it really does just need a little TLC, and then it will bear fruit like
never before.
Well, the same is true for
churches as well. The best chance for results are going to come from a church
that is already established within the community and has had years of ministry
already under its belt. The best chance for good fruit is from a church that
already has bright-eyed, willing, and excited people within it, and that
already knows the needs of the community around it. But, these same types of
churches—much like ours—can go through periods of dormancy, times spent in
valleys that shed little light. Whether from past upsets and divisions, from
changes in the surrounding community, or a number of other factors, sometimes
churches enter seasons of drought themselves. Maybe, before the conversation of
transition or closure take place, the church just needs to be coaxed back to
life by willing vineyard workers. Then, after that, it might begin to again
bear fruit—fruit like never before.
But here’s the kicker: we do not
have a vineyard worker that is going to come and cover us in fertilizer… which
might be a good thing now that I think about it… But we don’t have anyone else
that is going to do the work of coaxing our congregation back to life. Instead,
we must step up and be the vineyard workers.
Like Jessica with her tree, we
need to recognize the needs around us and move to action to meet them. Like the
vineyard worker, we must delay that final act for the chance to nurse life back
into our ministries. We must step up
and do it, for no one else will.
But that’s not all. If you notice,
this parable is missing an ending. We the readers, along with Jesus’ disciples,
are left without conclusion and resolution. We do not know if the worker’s
endeavors bore fruit or if they were for nothing. We do not know if the tree
was ultimately cut down for its barrenness.
Jesus leaves the story open-ended,
and I think he did it on purpose. Because this is not just a story about a fig
tree. This is our story, and the ending of this story is not yet set in stone.
We have the choice to make on how we want to conclude our narrative. The
resolution is up to us.
So what kind of fig tree are we
going to be? As individuals and as a church, we must decide. Are we going to
bear fruit for the Kingdom of God so that the harvest becomes more and more
bountiful, or are we going to admit that our time of fruitful work is done and
that it is time to make way for another ministry that could be more productive?
The choice is ours. Let’s choose
life. Let’s choose fruit.
Amen.
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