the fate of the fig tree: a sermon for lent

I was invited to give the sermon for the third Sunday in Lent at our church in Seattle on March 24th.  The lectionary text was Luke 13:1-9.  I’ve edited it down for brevity, but here it is:

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In the season of Lent, the church remembers Jesus’ journey to the cross; and this week’s text in Luke takes place as a part of that journey—when Jesus travels from Galilee (where he began his ministry) to Jerusalem (where it will end).  The crowd opens the conversation by asking Jesus about some troubling recent events: 

“There were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices”

…almost as if to say, “Did you hear about this Jesus?  Men from Galilee went to worship and Pilate had them murdered in the Temple.  What do you have to say about that?”

I have to admit, I’ve had some similar thoughts lately, things that I’d probably like to ask Jesus about if he were around…
Did you hear, Jesus, about the 50 Muslims who were killed in the shooting in Christchurch, New Zealand? What do you have to say about that? 
Did you hear, Jesus, about the anti-Semitic murders at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh.  What do you have to say about that?
Jesus, have you heard about the students who were shot in their classrooms at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School last year?  What do you have to say about that? 

And Jesus says, yeah… yeah, I know about that.  I know about the Temple.  I know about Christchurch and Tree of Life and the students at Marjory Stoneman Douglas.  I know about Sutherland Springs, and Charleston, and Orlando, and Vegas, and everywhere else.  I know.  Are you asking me if God had a hand in those things?   

The common understanding at the time was that God rewards those were righteous and punishes those who sinned—so if something bad happened to you, it must be a direct result of something you did wrong. 

“Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? …Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you.”

Jesus essentially says to them:  I know you want me to justify these things, I know it will make it easier to think that there’s a reason that they died, but I won’t… because that’s not how God works.  But he follows it up with an ominous warning: 

“…but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”

Then he tells them a parable about a vineyard owner who looks for fruit on the fig tree growing in his vineyard, and after three years of finding nothing tells the gardener to cut it down so it won’t waste the soil.  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.’”

And we’re left with a cliffhanger… Does the owner listen to the gardener, or does he cut the tree down?  Does it ever produce fruit?

What is the fate of the fig tree?   

The crowd has just been reminded of two instances in which people’s lives were lost.  God’s doing or not, life is sometimes unexpectedly short.  And what Jesus seems to say in this text is:  repent, or your life too will be lost. 

Sometimes being faced with the reality of death is enough to get us to repent, and to start walking in the way of Jesus, because he gives hope of something more, something eternal.  And maybe that’s what this text is… a reminder that we often need to turn our lives around and start producing fruit. 

Now I have a confession to make:  I have a healthy relationship with Netflix. 

And by “a healthy relationship with Netflix”… I mean an unhealthy relationship with Netflix.

I watch too much Netflix.

But I discovered a new show a few weeks ago.  It’s a reality TV show where a group of five gay men (called the “Fab Five”) are invited to help makeover an individual’s life—hair, wardrobe, living space, diet, etc.  And one of the Fab Five is named Bobby, and Bobby grew up in the church.  He says he spent almost every day there as a kid, his family was very involved, and he loved it… but when he came out as gay as a teenager, his parents and his church completely disowned him.  They thought he wasn’t producing the right fruit and no longer belonged in the vineyard, so they cut him out. 

As I was reading this text after watching this show, it made me think:  Do we really have a God that’s like the vineyard owner?  Do we have a God who looks at us, and if we’re not producing fruit wants to cut us out?

On first read, Jesus seems to say, ‘Don’t worry—God doesn’t punish people for their individual sins… but if you don’t repent, you will be punished.’  The parable makes it very much sound like we need to fear a God that walks around the vineyard with an ax.  Many people, and many Christians, have read this text and have left thinking exactly that.  And it’s true that we genuinely believe that there are sins we need to repent from, and that orienting our individual lives toward God in Christ will help us produce fruit. 

But the fruit is not moralistic legalism, and the fig tree may not just be one person.

What I learned in studying this text this week is that the fig tree was often used as a metaphor for the people of Israel… as an entity, as a unit, as the holy body of God.  The prophet Hosea, for example, writes,

“Like grapes in the wilderness, I found Israel. Like the first fruit on the fig tree, in its first season, I saw your ancestors.”

I also found that fig trees were occasionally planted in vineyards to help prop up the vines.  So not only should they be producing their own fruit, they were also supposed to support the vineyard—they had a job.  And the people of Israel were given a job too.  In Genesis 12, at the very beginning when God establishes this holy, chosen people, he tells Abraham:  “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great so that you will be a blessing… in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”

God intended for this holy people to be a gift to the entire world, to produce fruit, and it was not happening.  As it turns out, it is so much easier to take what is good and try to wall it in with rules and customs and traditions, to clearly define who’s in and who’s out.

And why should God not be exasperated at that? 

Many years I’ve been waiting for you to produce fruit… I’ve given you space and soil and water and I haven’t found what I’m looking for.  My heart is for this vineyard, and I’ve planted you here to help it, and it turns out, you’re failing to produce the fruit that will bless everyone else.

What is the fate of this fig tree?

Photo Credit:  BiblePlaces.com

But the gardener… thank goodness for that gardener. 

We can still make this right, he says.  Let me tend to it, till around it, put some fertilizer on it… go to the cross for it.  Don’t cut it off just yet—it can still be a blessing to the vineyard. 

And the irony is that the owner and the gardener are the same. 

They both care about the fig tree. 

They both care about the vineyard. 

They both know that anything less than true repentance does not produce a people that embody the fruits that the Spirit of God seeks to bear:  love… joy… peace… patience… kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.

That is our gift, our mission, to the world.   

And we’ve screwed up a lot.  The church at large and the church in America have had a hand in discrimination against the LGBTQ community, people of color, women, and many others… we’ve not always embodied these fruits. 

But we can.  The fate of the fig tree is left open for us.  We can repent and know that the gardener is still with us.  He’s tilling us and feeding us and bearing the cross for us… so that we can be the tree that produces the fruit of the Spirit of God for the world:  peace, joy, kindness, patience, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control… and love. 

“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another”

– John 13:35