Sermon for Sunday, March 23, 2025

 March 23, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 13:1-9

At first glance, it seems that we have another Gospel reading with parts that don’t go together--verses 1-5 don’t seem related to 6-9.  Verses 1-5 show people whipping themselves up into a righteous, or maybe self-righteous, anger.  Or maybe the people are trying to get Jesus to tell them that the time to launch a military resistance is right now—Pilate killed people in the Temple where their blood could mingle with the blood of sacrifices—what a desecration!  Historians of the time period tell us that Jesus moved in a world where many people were yearning for change, and among them were people who were only too happy to take advantage of the unhappiness that comes with unfulfilled yearning, including militants who wanted a revolution, who thought the time was now.

Jesus takes a different direction.  He says that those people did nothing to deserve their fate, and the people who had the tower fall down on them, they, too, had done nothing to deserve it.  Here in the 21st century, we might say, “Of course it wasn’t their fault.”  Or maybe not. 

When I think of towers collapsing, I think of the condo building in Surfside Beach, Champlain Towers, that fell to the ground in 2021.  Since then, we’ve had plenty of theories about what happened and who is to blame.  Fingers have pointed to the usual suspects:  the contractors who built the tower, the building inspector who should have been more pro-active, the town that let new development happen.  Most surprising was when the blame shifted to the condo residents themselves:  they should have elected a better board or demanded action, even if it cost them every penny they had.

In our more rational moments, we see these occurrences, towers collapsing and dictators murdering, as being a result of bad luck and poor governance.  In the time of Jesus, this kind of bad luck was not seen as accidental or random.  People thought that if you had bad luck, you had done something to deserve it.  If not you, maybe your parents or grandparents.  Somewhere back in your family line, someone had done something, and the punishment would ripple across generations.

In this context, Jesus’ reply makes sense—and at first it seems compassionate.  Here we receive another promise from God, but it’s not exactly comforting: “They didn’t deserve their fate, but unless you repent, you will perish too.”  This warning is followed by the fig tree parable, and at first glance, we might come away saying, “This God is not the loving God we thought we knew, the mother hen that longs to gather us together.  What is going on?”

One traditional approach to the fig tree is to say that humans are the fig tree, just sitting there, not bearing fruit, and that God is the owner of the vineyard, the one who demands that the gardener rip it out.  In this traditional reading, the gardener is Jesus who argues for a bit more time.  It’s easy to see this as a parable about Jesus coming to lead us into a theology of Divine mercy instead of Divine wrath.  We might see the manure in the parable as the blood of Jesus fertilizing the soil of human life.

Under that reading of the parable, humans don’t do anything but sit there and wait for the gardener to save their fig tree lives.  But today’s Gospel reading makes it clear that more is required from us.  So what is the fig tree’s defense? As gardeners of many fruit trees know, it takes time. Fig trees are doing something during those three years; they are becoming grounded in a strong root system; they are taking in what nutrients they can while still requiring a great deal of care; they are building themselves up so that they can be more fruitful. Like the horseradish plants that we discussed at the fish fry, mature figs trees start bearing in about year 4; they produce fruit not once but twice a year, and produce up to 60 to 100 figs depending on the variety. 

Treated well and allowed to grow and become strong, fig trees produce a good deal of desirable fruit throughout the year. Notice though, that while the gardener understands the tree’s needs and what is possible, there is only one year left. Either the tree utilizes its resources well and starts producing good fruit or it will be removed to make room for others.  The urgency of action is the similarity that ties the two parts of the Gospel together.  The situation is urgent because we don’t know how much time we have—at any moment, the political situation could change or shoddily maintained buildings could collapse, and then where will we be?

Over and over again, Jesus reminds us that God desires more for us than to be a stick of a dying tree in a vineyard; we are made for flourishing.  We have a variety of ways of living in the world, but only some will lead to flourishing.  This parable asks us to envision what we would need to bloom and when we are going to get busy producing.  What fertilizer are you lacking?

Today’s text is not teaching us about the need to remain fallow.  If we have experience with growing things, we know that at times, the best approach to a failing plant is to leave it alone.  But at a certain point, it’s clear that the plant needs an intervention.  It’s been three years.  Time for something else.  The owner of the vineyard shows the approach (perhaps even impatience) of many of us to a failing plant or project:  chop it down!  Walk away!  Put something in the soil that will show more immediate results.

The gardener argues for a different and more informed approach:  more fertilizer, dug in, so that any soil that has become hard packed can be broken up.  More nourishment and attention, someone rooting for the tree to become more fruitful.  One more year, and then assess the situation.

Maybe it would be more accurate to see God as the gardener.  Who, then, is the owner who wants to abandon the tree?  Traditionally we might say it’s the Devil.  Maybe it’s the world.  Maybe we are the harsh vineyard owners, eager to abandon the seemingly fruitless fig tree of our lives and projects and relationships.  We think that if we just rip up what’s not working, maybe we’d get to a better place.  Fertilizing takes so much patience and resources for uncertain results.  We might do all this work and still end up with an under producing fig tree. Here too is a connection to the earlier part of the gospel. If we are continually impatient and tear things up before their time, before they are mature, we will never see any trees come to fruition.   

The parable doesn’t tell us how the tree ends up.  It’s not a tidy fable with the moral that the more work we put in, the greater the reward will be.  Episcopal bishop Michael B. Curry says this about the parable:  “We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. Being freed from managing the results of our actions enables us to do something, and do it well. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.” 

But make no mistake:  while it is Jesus who is in charge of the redemption of the world, we have our part to play by strengthening our roots and finding our nourishment.  It is not enough to always be a passive fig tree, taking up valuable real estate.  We may not control the final outcome of our lives, but we are called to act in ways that will lead us to bear good fruit.  We may fear that others will blame us when our best efforts go wrong for items outside of our control but God is not the harsh gardener who will chop us down and throw us into the fire.  God has the wisdom of the gardener, not the impatience of the owner of the vineyard. The season of Lent does remind us that we won’t be here in our current physical form forever.  This is the call of the Gospel. Once you are mature and well grounded, choose your spiritual manure and get to work bearing good fruit.