Tag Archives: Fig Tree

Jesus of Nazareth Meets Nathanael of the Fig Tree – A Sermon on John 1:43-51, Epiphany 2B

Posted on January 16, 2012 | 3 Comments

The collect and readings for the Second Sunday after Epiphany may be found here. The following sermon is based on John 1:43-51.

Jesus Calling Philip and Nathanael

“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael has some opinions, some assumptions, about Nazareth. You ever make any assumptions?

“I’ve seen his type before; he’ll never change.” “She’s always so negative; I know what she will say.” “He won’t understand; he never does.” “It’s always been like that; it will never get any better.” “Nothing good can come of that situation.”

People of faith, people like Nathanael, people like you and me, make these and all sorts of other assumptions everyday. Sometimes our assumptions are about other people; how they will behave, what they will say, what we can expect, what they think or believe. Other times we look at particular situations, our marriage, the state of the middle east or the church, a teenager trying to grow up and we declare it hopeless. We are sure nothing good can come out of that situation. Then there are those times we look at our selves or a part of our life; maybe it is a secret we have carried for years, the illness we face each day, the addiction we hide, the hurts we have caused other, the loneliness and lostness of grief, and we say it will never get any better. How can anything good come out of this? We may or may not speak our assumptions out loud but they rattle through our heads and influence what we do.

You know what happens we when we assume, right? The old saying has some truth to it but I am thinking of something else. The assumptions we make destroy relationships, love, and life. We think we know more than really do. Assumptions act as limitations. They narrow our vision. They close off the possibility of change and growth. Our assumptions deny the possibility of reconciliation, healing, a different way of being, or a new life. Ultimately, they impoverish our faith and proclaim there is no room for God to show up and act.

It is no coincidence that Nathanael is sitting under the fig tree when he makes his comment. It is the fig tree that gave Adam and Eve the leaves behind which they hid from God and themselves. It is the fig tree that Jesus will later curse for producing no fruit, no signs of life. Assumptions become our hiding places. They are not fruitful. They keep us from engaging life, ourselves, each other, and God at a deeper level.

Nathanael doesn’t doubt that God will fulfill the Old Testament promises. He isn’t surprised by and doesn’t even question that Philip could have found the one about “whom Moses in the law and the prophets spoke.” His shock and disbelief are that this could come out of Nazareth. Nathanael has as much faith as the next guy, but Nazareth? No way. Not there. Can anything good come out of Nazareth?

We all have our Nazareths. We think they are about other people, particular circumstances, or even pieces of our lives. Mostly, though, our assumptions are about us; our fears, our prejudices, our guilt, our losses, our wounds. We take our past experiences, real or imagined, and project them onto another person or situation. Assumptions keep life shallow and superficial. If we assume, then we do not have to risk a deeper knowing and being known.

At the deepest level our Nazareths are about our understanding of God. We just can’t see how anything good can come out of Nazareth. We cannot believe that God could be present, active, and revealed in Nazareth whether it be another person, a relationship or situation, or our own life. It’s so hard to see life in the midst of death, hope in places of despair, and the good and beautiful in what looks like the bad and ugly. It’s sometimes easier to assume. For us Nazareth is a blind spot. For God, however, Nazareth is the place of God’s manifestation and self-revelation.

It just seems so unGod-like to show up in Nazareth. Whether it is the town, a person, or a situation, Nazareth is too common and ordinary, even mundane. Shouldn’t the person or place of God’s coming be more deserving, special, acceptable, holy, better behaved, likable, more regular at church, someone who prays more, better dressed? The Nathanael in us has a particular set of conditions or prerequisites that must be met before God will appear and act. That says more about us than it does about God.

God does not allow himself to be limited by our assumptions. For every Nazareth there is an invitation to “come and see.” For every assumption we make there is a deeper truth to be discovered, a new relationship to be experienced, and a new life to be lived. Our Nazareths become the place of God’s epiphany.

Over and over Jesus shows up from the Nazareths of our life and calls us out from under the fig tree. Whenever we leave the fig tree we open ourselves to see God present and at work in the most unexpected places and people. As the assumptions fall a new life and a new world arise.  The fulfillment of God’s promises and earthly life happen in Nazareth. The last place we would have thought that possible is the first place God chooses. Come and see. Our salvation and healing happen where we thought nothing good could happen. Reconciliation and love are revealed in relationships we were certain nothing good could come from. The seemingly hopeless situations of life begin to bear fruit. Words of forgiveness and compassion are spoken by people we were sure could never say such things. God puts lives back together in Nazareth.

There is more happening in Nazareth than we ever thought possible. You see, not just “anything good” comes out of Nazareth. The One who is Good comes out of Nazareth.

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Sermon for Lent 3C: Repent, Towers Are Falling And Trees Are Fruitless

Posted on March 8, 2010 | 4 Comments

The collect and readings for today, the Third Sunday in Lent, may be found here. The appointed gospel is Luke 13:1-9.

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. 2He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? 3No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. 4Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? 5No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”

6Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. 7So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ 8He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. 9If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”

Many years ago a friend of mine had the opportunity to attend a retreat led by Alan Jones, the Dean of Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco. Dean Jones told a story about a young man who died of AIDS. He was not gay, promiscuous, or a drug user. My friend commented on the tragedy of the death especially since the man was “innocent.” Dean Jones asked, “And would it be different if he was guilty?”

“Of course not,” is the correct answer. We know the right answer. Regardless of how or for whatever reason it comes death is always a tragedy. But if we are really honest I wonder if a more truthful answer might just be, “Yes, it would be different.” Yes, it would be different because it would help establish a sense of order, predictability, and ultimately control in a world in which those things are often difficult to find. Yes, it would be different because it would offer some reason, some way to understand this tragedy.

Every tragedy reminds us that we live in a world in which we are not in control. So when tragedy strikes – an AIDS death, an earthquake in Haiti, a hurricane in New Orleans, cancer, an automobile accident, a crime – we look for an explanation, an answer, some way to make sense of the event. If we can just find some reason for another’s suffering – their sins, choices, mistakes – we can feel a bit safer and more in control by knowing that we are not like that. We are different. We reassure ourselves with the knowledge, whether it is true or not, that we have not made the same mistakes. We have made better choices. We have not committed those same sins.

I do not think we necessarily do this because we are mean but because we are scared and know ourselves to be vulnerable to the changes and chances of life. We are not in control. So we blame the victims. We attribute retribution and punishment to God. This is, at least in part, why we hear things like the Haitians made a pact with the devil, Katrina was sent to cleanse New Orleans of its immorality, and AIDS is God’s punishment on homosexuality. That is exactly what those who come to Jesus in today’s gospel are doing.

They tell him about some Galileans who were murdered by Pontius Pilate while they offered their sacrifices to God. Jesus hears their implication. “Those Galileans must have been sinners, they must have done something to deserve this; something we have not done.” Jesus denies their logic. “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you…. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you.”

“No, I tell you,” he says, “but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”

These words sound like the distorted cause and effect that Jesus has just denied.  They sound like a threat from a demanding landowner, “Produce fruit or be cut down.” But that is not who God is and that is not how God deals with God’s people. God does not cut down life. God gives, sustains, and grows life. Rather, these words of Jesus are the words of a compassionate and caring gardener who seeks to nourish life, who is willing to get down on his hands and knees, to dig around in the dirt of our life, to water, even spread a little manure, and then trust that fruit will grow. This gardener sees possibilities for life that we often cannot see in our own or each other’s lives.

If the absence of fruit does not cause God’s retribution then neither does the presence of fruit cause God to reward. Even being sinless will not save us from suffering and tragedy. Jesus’ own life and death prove that. Fruit, for this gardener, is not a payment, a transaction, or a ransom for being permitted to live another day. It is instead the result of mutual love, relationship, and presence. It is the evidence of life.

We are right to hear urgency and necessity in Jesus’ call to repentance. This is not because God is vindictive but because life is short, precious, and sacred. It is not because God is retribution but because God is love. Jesus does not seem as concerned about why people die as why people do not live. Everyone dies but not all truly live. Too often and too easily we perish even before we die – through our fear, prejudices, judgments and condemnations, the need for control, the victimization of others, and our impoverishment of God.

Jesus’ call to repentance is the invitation to choose life. Live or perish. We choose which way we will turn. The reality is towers fall, hurricanes strike, disease kills, accident happens, and the Pontius Pilates of this world seek to destroy life. So we must decide where we place our trust – in the mechanics of a distorted cause and effect or in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the God who has observed our misery, heard our cry, and come to deliver us.

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