Giving A Fig-- Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent, Year C

I suspect that I am not alone in having some questions after that gospel reading, yes? Here are a few that jump out at the outset: What was the incident about the Galileans and the Tower at Siloam? (Answer: No one knows for sure—see below for an hypothesis. But Pilate, for all that he gets treated gently in the gospels for political purposes, was a ruthless despot who would stop at nothing to maintain power, more of a Putin than a reluctant crucifier.)

And in the second half: Why would a landowner plant a fig tree in a vineyard? No, really. It’s like planting asparagus in a hothouse meant for orchids.

But we’ll get back to that. About those tragedies: There are very few historical accounts to support this story, but apparently a group of Galilean men had been worshipping at the altar in Jerusalem, and they had been killed by Roman soldiers, supposedly at the command of Pilate. Their blood had then splashed against the altar, profaning it by mixing human blood with the animal blood that was sprinkled against it ritually. Also around that same time, several pilgrims were killed while worshipping at the Temple when a tower near the pool of Siloam fell on them. What is the point of bringing this up? Two possibilities: those questioning Jesus may want him to explain how bad things happen to good people, or they may be testing Jesus to see if he will denounce Pilate—and thus place himself openly in opposition to Rome.

The fact is, Pilate gets a pass here in this account too—for entirely prudent but political reasons, the gospel writers went out of their way not to blame Rome for anything lest they increase persecution on Christians by the powerful Roman empire, which had just crushed the Jewish people and destroyed the Temple by the time the very first Christian scriptures were written.

But our puzzlement also brings to mind a fact about human nature: there are so many catastrophes and incidents of evil and suffering that a great many of them occur out of our line of sight—even without a twenty-four hour a day news cycle that moves at the speed of the internet. And that same news cycle makes its money by overemphasizing terrible tragedies to drive audience size and advertising dollars. “If it bleeds, it leads,” goes the saying.

As we see civilians and maternity hospitals being targeted in the Russian invasion of Ukraine right now in March 2022, we certainly can admit that this question of why some would wonder why “God” allows such evil to be at the forefront of our minds. “There’s a problem here!” people of good conscience shout. “Why doesn’t God do something?”

In modern times, the Holocaust and other mass tragedies, the question still echoes—and becomes an accusation against God even by those who claim no belief in God. Too often tragedies befall the good, either through the evil agency of other humans or through natural disasters and accidents. Ukraine is an example of this and takes its place in a long, terrible roll call of the 20th century: The Tulsa Race Massacre in the midst of four centuries of lynchings, the Turkish slaughter of Armenians, Stalinism, the genocides of Pol Pot and Idi Amin, Romania, the AIDS epidemic, the breakup of Yugoslavia, Hurricane Katrina, the Boxing Day Tsunami, September 11….. on and on and on.

We ask that question because we don’t like the more honest question. God, out of love for us and respect for the gifts given us, deliberately chooses to limit God’s power to give us free will, and God made this planet with all its natural processes. When human free will causes terrible human evil, like in almost every example I cited earlier, the question isn’t “Why doesn’t God do something?” The question is “Why don’t WE do something?” Even natural disasters like earthquakes—and pandemics—may originate in nature, but can be made worse by human refusal to do what we can to alleviate suffering—look at climate change for an example of that. “Why don’t WE do something?” And we don’t like that question, at all. Never have, never will. So we blame God.

The ancient Jews, and I include Paul in our epistle reading in that, did not believe there WAS a problem. Instead, they believed that if something bad happened to you, you were being punished for some sin either you or your ancestors had committed. A bad thing that happened to you may not be “evil”—it may be retribution or divine justice. Throughout human history, many other people have adopted similar theodicies. Yet in Romans 3:23, Paul states flatly that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.”

When faced with the question of theodicy, Jesus himself calls out that nonsense here. Those who were murdered by Rome and those who fell under the tower had not done anything to bring about their fates. One was the result of disordered human choices, and the other was either the result of shoddy engineering or just bad luck.

Jesus does not address this aspect of their question. He answers within the framework of the accepted belief of the day, but challenges it: those who died certainly did not deserve it, but all who refuse to repent WILL die still seeped in their sins. He thus neatly sidesteps the attempt to distract him from his central message of repentance. Death could come at any time—repent now!

The second half of this week’s reading is a parable about a fig tree that Jesus tells partly in response to the first five verses. It has been almost ten years since the tree was planted: three years to grow to maturity, then the first three crops were forbidden to be eaten, and now the owner of the vineyard has been disappointed three more years.

The first idea is to cut down, or dig out, the fig tree because it is “wasting the soil.” “Digging it out” represents judgment, as was discussed in the first half of our gospel. Jesus has the gardener propose another remedy: put fertilizer on it. Give the tree tender loving care.

THIS is where God indeed “does something” in the face of human suffering and trauma—we are often just too disoriented and spiritually worn down to notice it. I am convinced that in this parable, we ourselves ARE that fig tree. Especially as Christians in a post-Christian world, we are often at odds with the world just like a fig tree in a vineyard. On top of that, we have been through years of pandemic, which was a shock to our systems and our flourishing and our prayer life as much as a tree that has been scarred by fire or planted in the wrong place.

As we still deal with the disorientation and continuing suffering of this pandemic, many of us—myself included-- struggle with feeling spiritual barrenness. We have been isolated, our worlds upended. We have been bathing our brains and our hearts in nonstop anxiety, and some of us have seen loved ones sicken and die. 

We long for “normalcy” even if lots about our old lives, if we were completely honest, also sucked, because at least it was familiar. Sometimes, we cling to stuff that sucks because at least we know it sucks, rather than deal with stuff we don't know, because we fear it might suck.

So Jesus answers the question of responsibility for evil by talking about repentance. Repentance means to turn. To turn away from evil—even when evil is a matter of convenience. But also to turn away from those things which, although familiar, also do not serve us well.

How can we make the turn? Perhaps we can start with reorienting our perspective. Instead of seeing the things we lack and miss, where are there opportunities? Instead of seeing ways to lash out or disappear, where can WE re-engage and re-invest. Where can we choose to TURN our focus from our pain or barrenness to embracing ways to soothe it? Feel disconnected in your faith life? Reconnect!

Some of the most traumatic experiences in our lives can become sources of strength to ourselves afterward. This is not to say that that’s the point of the events, nor to fall into that terrible theological claim that “God never gives us more than we can handle”—making God out to be the cause of all our suffering so that we can, I suppose, make something meaningful out of the ordeal that we have been through and that we may be emerging from.

One of the graces we can give ourselves after emerging through a trauma is to mine that trauma for signs of our own strength and resilience, rather than blaming ourselves or allowing that experience to cripple and stunt our growth spiritually.

But—and this is important and must be emphasized—our gospel today reminds us that our own efforts only get us so far. The fig tree can’t fertilize itself. Jesus sees our trauma and the barrenness it produces—and reminds us that God is always with us, God’s hand underneath us, even, as our psalm beautifully insists. And Jesus urges us to take a breath, assess the box full of things we CAN control, and turn away from what inside that box further separates us from the love and fellowship of God and the love and fellowship of our communities of faith. 

Let me be blunt: if you are feeling the loss of God’s presence and fellowship, don’t further turn away from God and your faith community. Turn around—and open your heart to the possibility that God has been here all along, and when we are most barren and dry, God is ready and waiting to give us  nurture, protection, a sense of shalom or abundance, even peace and joy—and the easiest source is RIGHT HERE! Right here, in the form of our beloved faith fellowships, and our shared and vital practices of prayer, study of sacred texts, and exhortations known as “weekly worship.” Right here. Take a breath. Step up. Re-engage.

Here’s the good news. Jesus as the gardener understands our dryness—and is willing to see the potential deep within us. But we have to choose to spend our time cultivating our relationship with God, deliberately, as a gift from God but also a gift to ourselves.

We dream of renewal. We hope for nourishment. We can turn toward that renewal and nourishment when we turn toward God. That’s the tiny step WE can take, and decide that we are going to bloom and be fruitful despite where we are planted. We can decide to “give a fig” and embrace the vulnerability that embracing change—especially in our spiritual lives-- demands.

But also, there’s this incredible fact: Jesus intercedes for us, and offers us tender loving care. That’s the greatest good news that there can be.

No one is beyond investment—and that includes ourselves. Jesus calls us to lean into our trust and gratitude for all God does for us, even in – especially in—difficult times. The worst thing we can do is to continue in our ruts when we already feel that they do not serve us. Jesus (the gardener), who could agree with the unfaithful being cut down, instead urges patience—and better offers help to us. 

There is comfort here: Repent, turn toward God, who is merciful, filled with loving-kindness and infinite patience and forgiveness. Just like that fig tree not producing fruit, we fail in our purpose as human beings on this earth if we too do not produce good fruit, and we have heard what that fruit is: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. All things this world DESPERATELY needs from people of faith.

If we are aware that God is always with us—even when we have been in isolation and haze during COVID—there is an automatic remedy to our barrenness. God is our nourishment. Where we have felt barren, could we try taking a breath, engaging in gratitude for the blessings we have, and finding the joy in being in God’s presence (who is ever-present), and about what it is like to feel a physical wave of satisfaction in the presence of God. God sustains us. And then rejoice at the goodness of God—for there will be figs.

Amen.

Readings:

• Exodus 3:1-15
• 1 Corinthians 10:1-13
• Luke 13:1-9
• Psalm 63:1-8

Preached at the 505 Saturday and the 10:30 Sunday Eucharists at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO on March 19-20, 2022.