A Sermon preached by the Rev. Michael Anderson Bullock
[Exodus 3:1-15; 1 Corinthians 10:1-13; Luke 13:1-9]
For “Father’s Day” (in the pre-Covid times), Bev gave me the gift of a dwarf apple tree. I eagerly planted the six-foot sapling in the southeast-facing patch between the driveway and the wooded hill. For root growth, I carefully dug the hole, twice the size of the young tree’s root ball, added composted soil, and staked the trunk against the wind. I stood back, looking at the tree with an almost-liturgical sense of gratitude.
You see, I’m a sucker for trees, for fruit-bearing trees in particular, especially apple trees. I am not a “farm-boy” by any means. Suburban plots were my “fields”. Nonetheless, it is safe to say that trees have been a key portal for my wonder at creation. In particular, I think trees are a living icon of the great mystery that is God’s life. I say this, for instance, because a tree’s deep-seated roots are mirrored by the above-ground limbs and branches so that trees contain a telling life-balance of stability for growth and growth for stability. Additionally, a tree’s sap functions like a blood system, flowing unseen throughout the inner tree to bring life. Is there a more magnificent example of this than the maple trees in our New England area? In these cold nights and warm days, the maples’ sap is awakened and is now being tapped to create the elixir of the gods: Maple Syrup. And with the sap about to stop, the green buds will begin to appear on the branches to announce visually the arrival of a new cycle of promised-life fulfilled.
In all this, I recall the poem by the 20th century American poet, Joyce Kilmer, entitled Trees, and his own description of the poem’s point: namely, to articulate the inability of art created by humanity to replicate the beauty achieved by nature. I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree…1
Trees also speak of faithfully addressing the reality of our lives. It is said that a society becomes great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they will never sit in.2
Such is the mystery, wonder, and truth of trees.
I think that I can trace my own fond awareness of fruit trees, in particular, to the time forty-one years ago when I took a young Clare and Noah apple picking on an autumn Saturday morning. In what seemed like an unending orchard, the three of us, armed with baskets, galloped to lush apple trees and began to pick like eager migrant workers. Being young kids, Clare and Noah gave no thought to climbing harvest ladders to reach the fruit. They scampered up to the trees’ branches where the heavy-laden, beautifully ripe fruit glistened in the warm, autumn sunshine, wordlessly begging to be picked. And pick we did!
All three of us were drunk with amazement at the abundance and the beauty, to the extent that we took no notice of how many apples we were actually harvesting. Only when I realized that we had to walk back a fair distance to the checkout and to the car, did I soberly call my harvesters to my side, while hoisting on my shoulders what turned out to be over 70 pounds of apples. Ever since that occasion, it seems that trees and all things fruitful have been consciously rooted in my heart and soul.
In today’s gospel lesson (which is admittedly a demanding text to sort out and to plumb its meaning), Jesus uses one of his parables to illustrate his point about “repenting” from unfruitful thinking about life and God. As you heard, in the midst of what must have been a surveying of his orchard of fig trees, the vineyard owner came upon one of his trees that for three years consistently did not bear fruit. Clearly, the owner had been keeping track of his fig trees because at the sight of this barren tree he finally gave up on its potential. “What’s going on here?, he cried out. For three years now I’ve come to this tree expecting figs and not one piece of fruit have I found. Chop it down! he exclaimed. Why waste good ground with it any longer?3
Having listened with understanding at the owner’s decision and having experienced his own frustration at the fig tree’s unproductive ways, the owner’s orchardist spoke up with a cautionary suggestion. Let’s give it another year. I’ll dig around it and fertilize, and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn’t, then, I agree, chop it down.4
From previous experiences with Jesus and his parables, we know that all the parables illustrate what life with God is like. These stories that Jesus tells invite us to see ourselves in the parable’s characters for the purpose of discerning what it might mean for us to live on God’s terms.
So, from the first part of today’s gospel reading, we already know that the tragic headlines of the day speak, not to who is “good” and who is “bad”, but to the urgency of needing to “repent”, that is, the urgency and necessity of “turning around” the way we think and the way we act in order to be able to face God and, thereby, be fruitful.
Given this backstory, I have a question for you: Who do you see these parable characters as being? Who are they?
I personally had some immediate answers to the question of the parable’s casting; but then a more compelling insight emerged in my deliberations. What if…
What if God were cast as the vineyard owner? (No big surprise there!). But what if the Law and the Prophets are the gardener? And what if the fig tree is us? And, lastly – and perhaps most unusually, what if Jesus is the manure? Or if this image is too unsettling for you, what if Jesus is the compost, that transforming, nourishing element? How does this casting of characters shape the parable’s meaning and impact? Here’s how I answer this question.
It's pretty much a no-brainer to say that the vineyard owner represents God. The Creator/owner has planted fig trees in his Eden-esque garden with the specific intention of producing the “fruit of the vine” – a sweet gift to be shared among the people. Biblically speaking, the image of the fig tree is often a metaphor for God’s covenanted people, Israel. And what God has planted (namely, God’s people) is meant to provide the sweet fruit of the fig for all to see and for all to enjoy.
Furthermore, in my proposition, the gardener relates to the Law and the Prophets. The Law reminds those who steward the fig trees what it takes to care and cultivate them so that the orchard’s purpose is realized. The Prophets act as holy ombudsman who keep track of how God’s horticultural instructions are being kept, injecting, if necessary, the needed corrections for fruitful production.
In my scenario, I see you and me as the actual fig tree in question. Planted in God’s orchard and given our own space and opportunity to grow and mature into the fullness of the fruitful life, our contribution to the harvest can be much less than the owner expects. As Jesus says in another part of Luke’s gospel: “Those to whom much is given, much is required.”5 Or to refer to our three-part, theological template: God has given us what we need and cannot provide for ourselves; say “thank you” for the gift; share (don’t hoard) the gift.
But in Jesus’ parable, the fig tree is not fruitful and, if its productivity is not turned around, the tree is under threat of losing its life. Relating to the first part of the gospel lesson, the fig tree is clearly in a state of urgency, needing to turn its life around (again, “turning around” is what “repentance” means) – to turn its life around to receive and bear the fruitful life of God.
In times of such urgency, in times of threat when the fact of our own barrenness and unfruitful ways fill the daily headlines, the predictable hue and cry rises to shout: “We need to do something! What shall we do? Someone needs to fix this!”
In our context (that is, in the worldly, human context), we are wont to blame and point fingers, readily asking, “Whose fault is it?” We create enemies lists of the indictable, and if possible, remove these individuals and groups to a point of “disappearance”. We garner more and more power and a sense of control for ourselves in an effort to make our position immune to any and all accountability. And in all the posturing and bluster, we hope that no one will notice that our tree bears no fruit.
Under this condition, no amount of compost or fertilizer can change all this unfruitfulness. To wait another year, doing the same things, and expecting different results may be signs of our insanity or at least our facing the wrong direction. Nonetheless, the question remains: What should we do? Moreover, what needs to be done? Who will do this redemptive work?
Enter Jesus, the parable’s manure, God’s redeeming compost.
Most of us know that the fertilizer we can buy at the store is usually made up of three major elements: nitrogen; phosphorus; and potassium. But in my interpretive scheme of this day’s parable, seeing Jesus as the fertilizer reveals three, different elements that produce a different type of growth and life: namely, the life that is God.
The fertilizer that is Jesus also has three holy elements. They are grace, mercy, and abiding presence. This is to say that when Jesus is crucified on the “tree” – is it our tree? – when he is crucified and buried in the earth, he provides the tree’s roots with God’s “grace”. “Grace” is what we cannot provide for ourselves but God gives freely as a gift. Even in our barrenness, God’s grace never gives up on us. In Jesus, we are not left on our own.
Jesus also feeds the “fig tree” (us) with “mercy”. “Mercy” is not getting what we do deserve. As such, mercy frees us from ourselves and gives us the hope and opportunity to receive new life – again as a gift.
And last but not least, Jesus -- crucified, dead, and buried --feeds us with his living presence: the presence of “Emmanuel: God with us” – no matter what. In this regard, one of the early church fathers tellingly noted, “God became what we are so that we might become what God is”.6
Grace. Mercy. Abiding presence. These three fuel our fruitfulness; and fruitfulness is one important way of expressing God’s will: that we may have life and have it abundantly.7 Like an irresistible spring season, God’s fruitful life awaits our willingness to be redeemed and made new in the Holy One’s greening.
But I close with a post-script. Sadly, my apple tree is not very productive. I’m not sure what else I can do for it. I will again try to intercede in its poor state; but now – once again –I know how God feels about us when we fail to respond to his call to be fruitful and rejoice in the Holy One’s abundant life and love. Amen.
1. Joyce Kilmer. Trees, 1913
2. Old Greek proverb
3. Luke 13: 7-8. The Message [adapted]
4. Luke 13:8-9
5. Luke 12:48
6. St. Athanasius. The Book of Incarnation
7. John 10:10
Comments