Third Sunday in Lent
Service Date:
7 March, 2010
Luke 13:1-9
Good morning. I am a fig tree. As you'll see, I'm speaking figuratively, so you're going to have to use your imaginations, but I'm sure you're all well capable of doing that. Ready? Good.
Good morning. I am a fig tree. You may still be having some difficulty imagining this, and if so, I'll tell you why. I don't actually have any figs on me. This is a bit of a problem.
I'm growing on a country estate in Israel. Quite a nice position, plenty of sunshine, a bit rocky but that doesn't bother me too much. I like it here. Every year I can stretch out my roots a bit more and grow a few more leaves and enjoy myself. I'm not doing any harm to anyone, just being beautiful.
But that's not good enough for the landowner. Oh no. He wants me to grow figs. How unreasonable is that? Aren't my leaves enough?
I've heard you can use them for clothing if you're out in the garden in the cool of the evening. But that's not good enough for this chap. He wants figs. He wants something to eat.
For the last three years he's been turning up at about this time of year, walking round me, dropping hints about how nice it would be to eat a ripe, juicy fig. He doesn't realise that growing figs is hard work. He doesn't know what it's like being a tree.
But my gardener, I reckon he almost does know what it's like being a tree. OK, he's got his bad points. He moves. He isn't green. But he understands trees, if you see what I mean. He's quite protective of us. He cares about us. And that's a good thing too. Because guess what happened to me this morning?
Yes, that's right. The landowner turned up again, and this time he was cross. Bad manners, I call it. He marched round and round my beautiful trunk, but he didn't listen to the rustling of my lovely large leaves. Figs! he yelled. I want figs! You're a fig tree, aren't you? Then why do you never produce any fruit? Three years this has been going on! I'm fed up with you - you're a waste of earth!
Just then, the gardener turned up. He could see at a glance what the problem was, especially as the landowner was in such a temper about it. So thank goodness he set about calming down his boss.
Yes, he said, I can see you're upset. Yes, it is disappointing. Yes, you had expected to be able to eat some figs this time. Yes, it's three years since you bought this lazy tree.
Lazy tree? I thought. Whose side are you on?
Give me one more year with it! he begged. Let me dig around its roots. Let me put manure on it.
Not on your life! I thought. Drafts round my roots? Nasty smells round my leaves?
But the landowner seemed to think it was a good idea. All right, he said. I'll give you one more year to make it do what a good fig tree should do. Otherwise it's for the chop.
Well, I'm still not keen. But I suppose having figs is what I was grown to do. And maybe a bit of air round my roots won't hurt too much.
Do you think the fig tree was right to complain? Should the landowner have left it alone? Or should it be producing figs?
Of course Jesus wasn't just talking about fig trees. He was talking about people too - his friends, like us. It looks as if Jesus expects us to be fruitful, to love people the way he loves them. Sometimes we can't be bothered. We're too busy looking after ourselves. Then Jesus stirs us up, makes us think again - makes us uncomfortable, like the poor old fig tree. But oddly enough, Jesus troubling us is the same as God's protecting us - because in the end, a fig tree that doesn't grow fruit isn't doing its job as a fig tree. And a Christian who doesn't love other people and show it by what they say and do isn't being a proper Christian.
Good morning. I am a fig tree. As you'll see, I'm speaking figuratively, so you're going to have to use your imaginations, but I'm sure you're all well capable of doing that. Ready? Good.
Good morning. I am a fig tree. You may still be having some difficulty imagining this, and if so, I'll tell you why. I don't actually have any figs on me. This is a bit of a problem.
I'm growing on a country estate in Israel. Quite a nice position, plenty of sunshine, a bit rocky but that doesn't bother me too much. I like it here. Every year I can stretch out my roots a bit more and grow a few more leaves and enjoy myself. I'm not doing any harm to anyone, just being beautiful.
But that's not good enough for the landowner. Oh no. He wants me to grow figs. How unreasonable is that? Aren't my leaves enough?
I've heard you can use them for clothing if you're out in the garden in the cool of the evening. But that's not good enough for this chap. He wants figs. He wants something to eat.
For the last three years he's been turning up at about this time of year, walking round me, dropping hints about how nice it would be to eat a ripe, juicy fig. He doesn't realise that growing figs is hard work. He doesn't know what it's like being a tree.
But my gardener, I reckon he almost does know what it's like being a tree. OK, he's got his bad points. He moves. He isn't green. But he understands trees, if you see what I mean. He's quite protective of us. He cares about us. And that's a good thing too. Because guess what happened to me this morning?
Yes, that's right. The landowner turned up again, and this time he was cross. Bad manners, I call it. He marched round and round my beautiful trunk, but he didn't listen to the rustling of my lovely large leaves. Figs! he yelled. I want figs! You're a fig tree, aren't you? Then why do you never produce any fruit? Three years this has been going on! I'm fed up with you - you're a waste of earth!
Just then, the gardener turned up. He could see at a glance what the problem was, especially as the landowner was in such a temper about it. So thank goodness he set about calming down his boss.
Yes, he said, I can see you're upset. Yes, it is disappointing. Yes, you had expected to be able to eat some figs this time. Yes, it's three years since you bought this lazy tree.
Lazy tree? I thought. Whose side are you on?
Give me one more year with it! he begged. Let me dig around its roots. Let me put manure on it.
Not on your life! I thought. Drafts round my roots? Nasty smells round my leaves?
But the landowner seemed to think it was a good idea. All right, he said. I'll give you one more year to make it do what a good fig tree should do. Otherwise it's for the chop.
Well, I'm still not keen. But I suppose having figs is what I was grown to do. And maybe a bit of air round my roots won't hurt too much.
Do you think the fig tree was right to complain? Should the landowner have left it alone? Or should it be producing figs?
Of course Jesus wasn't just talking about fig trees. He was talking about people too - his friends, like us. It looks as if Jesus expects us to be fruitful, to love people the way he loves them. Sometimes we can't be bothered. We're too busy looking after ourselves. Then Jesus stirs us up, makes us think again - makes us uncomfortable, like the poor old fig tree. But oddly enough, Jesus troubling us is the same as God's protecting us - because in the end, a fig tree that doesn't grow fruit isn't doing its job as a fig tree. And a Christian who doesn't love other people and show it by what they say and do isn't being a proper Christian.
Hymns:
R&S 484 was written by T.H. Gill, according to him: ‘inspired by a lively delight in my Puritan and Presbyterian forefathers of East Worcestershire. Descended from a Moravian martyr and an ejected minister, I rejoice not a little in the godly Protestant stock from which I spring.' The tune Luther's hymn was a 14th century secular song, set to a hymn of Luther's: ‘Nun freut euch, lieben Christen, g'mein' (Now rejoice together, dear Christians).CG 22 comes from Tom Colvin, a Church of Scotland missionary in Central Africa. He organised famine relief and initiated building, agriculture and health projects in Malawi, Ghana and Zimbabwe. Colvin encouraged the African church to use their own musical heritage in worship and to write hymns arising from their context; this hymn has a Malawi tune. He died in Edinburgh in 2000.
R&S 685 is an edited version of an 18th-century paraphrase by Tate and Brady of Psalm 34 - the original ran to another nine verses - in a development from metrical psalmody to hymns in England. The tune Wiltshire seems to be named arbitrarily but its connection with this hymn is almost universal.
R&S 589 comes from the pen of K__ - the soubriquet of its 18th-century writer. It originally ended with the emphatic couplet: ‘That Soul, though all Hell should endeavour to shake, I'll never, no never, no never forsake'; the Rejoice and Sing version seems pale in comparison. The tune Montgomery, also called Magdalen, is usually sung with this hymn.
Sermon:
Isaiah 55:1-9; Psalm 63:1-8; Luke 13:1-9; 1 Corinthians 10:1-13We're three weeks into Lent now, three weeks into Jesus' wanderings in the wilderness and our own attempts to follow him on that hard road he treads from the desert to the cross. The choir has reminded us of our Lenten journey just now, when they sang our anthem: 40 days and 40 nights, thou wast fasting in the wild. And while Jesus was in that wilderness, the words of Psalm 63 may well have gone through his mind. Listen: O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
That's the song of a people who knew what thirst could be, who would never waste water because it was so precious to them. And it goes on to compare our relationship with God to the best of haute cuisine: My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast, and my mouth praises you with joyful lips, for you have been my help.
Our reading from Isaiah also speaks of God's presence as food and drink: water and wine, milk and bread: things we will die without, things that not only satisfy hunger and thirst but make our living worthwhile. But here Isaiah seems to need to persuade people to take up his offer, and that's strange. It's as though someone were to burst into the Manse yelling Free fairly traded chocolate! and I didn't come running - and I can tell you, that is very unlikely indeed. Why do Isaiah's hearers seem so indifferent?
Well, by this part of the book, the people of Israel have returned from exile in Babylon - but all is not well. The temple and the city of Jerusalem remain to be rebuilt. There are enemies along the borders and nay-sayers among their own people. None of their new life back home is as they had hoped and dreamed it would be, and they must have been tempted to think to themselves: why bother rebuilding? why bother looking for God's help?
It's all useless anyway. But Isaiah refuses to let them slump into defeat. Seek the Lord while he may be found! he urges them. Call upon him while he is near! Don't give up! Don't stay comfortable and useless!
Indeed, he's more blunt even than that. Let the wicked forsake their way, and the unrighteous their thoughts, he urges: let them return to the Lord!
At which point, I bet at least some of his audience would be nudging one another and muttering, Who are you calling wicked?
Telling people that someone else is wicked usually goes down a storm - that way, we can feel delightfully self-righteous. There's always some really good reason to look down on other people, whether they're not buying fairly traded produce or whether they gossip maliciously, and in any disaster there is always someone we can blame for it. Telling people that they are wicked, on the other hand, is never that popular. And Jesus ran a really serious risk of offending his hearers when he reminded them of two recent disasters: when Roman cruelty had led to Jewish deaths within the Temple, and when a tower had collapsed, killing many. Far from arguing the sinfulness of those who died, he points his finger directly at his hearers: don't blame them for what happened, he warns, look to your own spiritual health, or you may die unreconciled with God.
What sin is Jesus talking about? Well, the parable of the fig seems to indicate that God wants fruitfulness from us, behaviour to show those who observe our lives that we are Jesus' followers. And to make sure we get the point, straight after this Luke puts a story about Jesus healing a woman who has been unable to straighten her back and walk upright for eighteen painful years. He sees her plight, and immediately heals her tortured back, by touch alone. But there's a snag. He's healed her on the Sabbath, the day when, according to the Jewish law, no work should be done. So the synagogue secretary feels he just has to rush over and remind him: Aren't there six days when you can work legally? Why couldn't you have waited and healed her tomorrow?
Now you might call that officious, or tactless. Or you might decide that actually, he had a point, and look it up in Standing Orders to see if there was any way around the difficulty. But Jesus doesn't react that way at all.
He calls the synagogue secretary's bluff. You have animals? he demands. You untie them to feed and water them on the Sabbath, don't you? Unless you want to find a dead donkey on Sunday? Eighteen years this sister of yours in the faith has been waiting to have her back muscles unbound, and you really think she should wait yet another day?
We never hear what the synagogue secretary's reaction was. Did he justify himself, tell himself that the younger generation of preachers really weren't trained properly in Standing Orders? Or did he have pangs of conscience, as he reflected how someone in his own synagogue had been suffering for eighteen years, right under his nose, and it had taken a stranger to see her properly and to set her free? Whatever his conclusion, my guess is he didn't sleep too well that night. And that's what Jesus does to us: he disturbs us. But it's out of love he warns us: don't get complacent. For we never know what's around the corner. We may hope, like the Israelites in Isaiah's time, that it's all going to be plain sailing: yet suddenly we're faced with difficulties we'd never dreamed of, and we're greatly tempted to write God off. Or we may think, like the synagogue secretary in Jesus' time, that we've got the rules of our religion sorted out, and then a stranger comes along and points out our doublethink: it's all right for me, though not for her.
When I use these people as examples, I'm borrowing the idea from Paul, who in our reading from 1 Corinthians this morning looks right back to the Israelites, crossing the Reed Sea, getting to the promised land. You remember how God gave them food and drink in the desert? he asks his readers. That was Jesus. Yet in spite of God's nourishment, some of them went for their own comfort and pleasure instead; and paid dearly for it.
Don't follow that bad example! Paul begs them. Instead, remember that whatever happens to us, bad or good, God offers us just enough strength to get through it.
That's been as true in my life so far as it was for the Christians in Corinth. But everyone's experience is different. What do you think? Is Paul right?
