First Reading: Isaiah 55:1-9
Psalm: Psalm 63:1-8
Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 10:1-13
Gospel: Luke 13:1-9
In this week's Gospel, we get the parable of the fig tree, that poor fig tree who still hasn't produced fruit even though it's been 3 years. This Gospel gives us a space to consider our view of God and our view of ourselves.
Which vision of God is the one in your head? We could see God as the man who says, "Lo, these three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and I find none. Cut it down; why should it use up the ground?" If we see God that way, and if we see ourselves as the fig tree, that's a scary proposition; we've got a few years to produce before God gives up on us.
A traditional approach to this parable might see God as the impatient one, and Jesus as the vinedresser who pleads the case for the poor little fig tree. I know that Trinitarian theology might lead us this direction, but I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of a God who gives up on humanity. Everything in Scripture--and the experiences of those who walked this path before us--shows us a God that pursues us, going so far as to take on human flesh and walk amongst us. This doesn't sound like a God who gives up after 3 years.
In an eye-opening conversation at a women's retreat in 2016, a pastor proposed this approach to the parable: what if God is the withered tree and humans are the manure?
It seems an essential question: how are we manure, for God, ourselves, and the world? And what manure do we need to nourish ourselves?
Maybe you've felt yourself in a fallow place spiritually. Or worse, maybe you've felt yourself sliding backwards, a withering on the vine. Maybe you started Lent with a fire in your heart, and you've burned out early. Maybe you've spent years thinking about church development, wondering what the Pentecostals have that you don't. Maybe you haven't been good at transforming yourself into a peace-loving person. Maybe you're more judgmental now than you were when you were your younger know-it-all self.
Look at that parable again. The fig tree doesn't just sit there while everyone gathers around, waiting for something to happen. The gardener gives it extra attention. The gardener digs around it to give the roots room to grow and gives it extra manure--ah, the magic of fertilizer! We, too, can be the vinedresser to our spiritual lives. And we don't have to resort to heroic measures. We don't have to start off by running away to a religious commune. Just a little spiritual manure is all it takes.
Maybe you've felt yourself in a fallow place spiritually. Or worse, maybe you've felt yourself sliding backwards, a withering on the vine. Maybe you started Lent with a fire in your heart, and you've burned out early. Maybe you've spent years thinking about church development, wondering what the Pentecostals have that you don't. Maybe you haven't been good at transforming yourself into a peace-loving person. Maybe you're more judgmental now than you were when you were your younger know-it-all self.
Look at that parable again. The fig tree doesn't just sit there while everyone gathers around, waiting for something to happen. The gardener gives it extra attention. The gardener digs around it to give the roots room to grow and gives it extra manure--ah, the magic of fertilizer! We, too, can be the vinedresser to our spiritual lives. And we don't have to resort to heroic measures. We don't have to start off by running away to a religious commune. Just a little spiritual manure is all it takes.
That spiritual manure can take many forms: maybe we need to add a different activity, or maybe we need to do less. The parable reminds us that it doesn't take much in times of time or money--we just need to rearrange the dirt around our roots and add some enrichment.
No comments:
Post a Comment