Seek out the Fig Tree
This morning, I thought we’d focus on the parable of the fig tree.
Remember that parables are supposed to give you pause.
They are not supposed to be obvious—or at least to have meaning beyond the obvious.
Because the meaning of parables is meant to be wrestled with and discerned, they are supposed to withstand the test of time.
A parable is meant to be twisted and turned and looked at from different angles.
So, for the sake of twisting and turning this parable, I’d like to propose a play in three acts.
In all three acts, the part of the vineyard owner will be played by The Accuser.
You can decide for yourself who The Accuser is.
For some, it will be Satan—or at least an agent of Satan.
For others, it will be the voice of insecurity we hear in our own heads.
For still others, it will be some other villain of the story.
The part of the vine dresser will be played by Jesus—or the Jesus that resides in each of us as members of the Body of Christ.
Act One: the fig tree is an African American female pastor.
The vineyard that our fig tree finds herself in is overwhelmingly white and dominated by men.
She hears comments like, “St. Paul says that women shouldn’t speak in church.”
“Are you going to get pregnant and leave us without a pastor again?”
“You only got into seminary because they had a DEI quota”.
And “we only called you because we didn’t have any other options”.
Our fig tree is understandably angry, and her anger comes out in her preaching.
Because she isn’t accepted, she fails to develop relationships with her congregants.
She is talented, has a great love of God, and a strong sense of call but, because she is a fig tree in a vineyard, she fails to flourish.
The Accuser tells her she is an imposter and doesn’t belong there..
But the vine dresser knows better.
The vine dresser knows of her talent and her love of God.
Jesus rebukes the Accuser and tells our fig tree, “Child of God, I love you.
I have called you by name.
You are mine.”
The fig tree hears these words and the healing begins.
So, that pastor and her congregation flourish.
Act Two: the fig tree is an undocumented immigrant.
The vineyard that our fig tree finds themself in doesn’t speak their language and is unfamiliar with their culture.
They hear comments like, “You’re in American now, speak English!”
“You’re here to steal jobs from Americans.”
“You just want the benefits of being an American without having to work for it”.
And “you’re just here to have an anchor baby so you can stay here”.
Our fig tree is understandably disillusioned.
They only came here to make a better life for themselves and their family.
Because they aren’t accepted, they withdraw into their immigrant community and fail to learn English and assimilate into the larger community.
They are hard-working, proud, and family-oriented—all characteristics that American culture prizes—but, because they are a fig tree in a vineyard, they fail to flourish.
The Accuser tells them they don’t belong—they will never belong.
But the vine dresser knows better.
The vine dresser knows their value.
Jesus rebukes the Accuser and tells our fig tree, “Child of God, I love you.
I have called you by name.
You are mine.”
The fig tree hears these words and the healing begins.
So, the undocumented immigrant flourishes and the community begins to recognize their value.
Act Three: the fig tree is a transgender boy.
The vineyard that our fig tree finds himself in is overwhelmingly cisgender and heterosexual.
He hears comments like, “You are not a boy and will never be a boy.”
“You are the sex you were at birth—it’s basic biology.”
“You have been corrupted by a woke ideology and the gay agenda”.
And “you are a freak”.
Our fig tree is understandably scared and depressed.
Because he isn’t accepted, he looks desperately for community—for family.
He is amazingly strong and passionate but, because he is a fig tree in a vineyard, he fears what the future holds and wonders if he will ever feel safe.
The Accuser tells him he will never fit in—that being transgender is an affront to God.
But the vine dresser knows better.
The vine dresser knows that he is just living into the amazing fullness of his authentic self.
Jesus rebukes the Accuser and tells our fig tree, “Child of God, I love you.
I have called you by name.
You are mine.”
The fig tree hears these words and the healing begins.
So, the transgender boy comes to know the power of God’s love and the world benefits from the awesomeness of his authentic self.
It’s important for you to realize that these stories could have had a very different outcomes if they hadn’t clearly heard God for themselves—or if there hadn’t been a vine dresser to share the love of God with them.
You see words have power—the power to fertilize and power to wither.
We must be vigilant—always—about whether we are speaking with the voice of the Accuser or the voice of Jesus.
You may have meant to say, “I don’t understand what it is like to grow up black in America”, but if it comes out as “I don’t see color—all people are equal to me”, you are denying that person‘s life experience.
And, as a result, the intergenerational trauma of prejudice continues.
You may have meant to say, “I want to communicate with you, but I don’t understand your language”, but if it comes out as “you’re an American now, please speak English”, you wind up burning bridges instead of building them.
You may have meant to say, “I don’t understand gender dysphoria”, but if it comes out as “you are the sex, you are assigned at birth”, you are no closer to understanding the nuances of gender and you’ve hurt the child of God in front of you.
My point in sharing these little vignettes—all of which are based on people or composites of people that I actually know—is that we have a choice.
We can be the vineyard owner—the Accuser—saying and doing things that prohibit people from flourishing.
Or we can be the vine dresser—Jesus to those we encounter—being kind and helping people to ensure that they live up to their fullest potential.
One way leads to the Kin-dom—the other does not.
One way emulates Jesus—the other does not.
One way shares the love of God that we so generously receive—the other does not.
The transgender boy from Act 3 once told me that the negative voices—the Accusers of the world—don’t hesitate to spew their venom.
He challenged us, as faith leaders, to love louder.
I’ve always loved that—love louder.
Whether you consider yourself a faithful follower of Jesus, an ally of the oppressed, or just wish there was a little more kindness in the world, I think that boy’s challenge is a good one—love louder.
So, as we go from this place—when we are out in the world:
Seek out the fig tree in the vineyard—the people who feel lonely and isolated.
Say to yourself, “I am a child of God—loved unconditionally.
This fig tree before me is also a child of God—and maybe they not feeling that unconditional love.
So, I will be Jesus for this fig tree—I will love them unconditionally—not only through my words but also through my actions.
I will do whatever I can to help this fig tree flourish and bear fruit.”
Amen, amen, may it be so!
May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.