“Then 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…’” — Luke 13
Once upon a time… a time not so long ago, in a small
valley in Nevada not too far from here, there was a beautiful vineyard. And it did well in Nevada’s sandy soil. It was not just a vineyard that produced wine,
but one that produced champagne. You
have to grow three kinds of grapes to make champagne. Two of them are black with white juice, the
Pinot Noir and the Pinot Meunier. The
other one is a white grape with white juice, the Chardonnay. But this is not a story about the grapes.
There was a fig tree planted in one corner, and his
name was Fred. He wasn’t beautiful and
delicate like the vines. He had flat,
broad leaves, and stalks going everywhere.
Sometimes he was jealous of the grapes that people gathered with such
care and praised. You see, Fred had no
fruit. He also knew he wasn’t as
important because he was stuck in the corner.
Secretly, he wished he could be a grapevine.
Fred had two friends: God and the Gardener. God sent the sunshine, and water, and gentle
breezes. And the Gardener? Well, Fred loved him. He would come out some days and sit in Fred’s
shade and have lunch. Sometimes they
would talk . . . well, mostly the Gardner would talk, or he would read to Fred
after lunch. You may already know that
fig trees are very good listeners because they rarely interrupt you. Just every now and then, Fred would say, “Is
that so,” or “How interesting,” or “Tell me more.” All those nice things friends say when
they’re really listening to you and want to help you tell your stories. The Gardener never seemed to tire of Fred’s
company, and never said a mean thing to him about not growing any fruit. Still, Fred never confided his sense of
failure or secret wish to his friend, the Gardener.
No, Fred tried to go it alone . . . grow it alone. He had curious roots. His
soil in the corner was not as carefully tilled as the floor of the vineyard,
but there was some chalky subsoil added, and he tried to break up the tough
Nevada soil beneath, but it was hard. Any
of you who’ve tried to dig in your own back yard here know that mostly of what
we grow in Nevada are rocks. He knew he
had to spread his roots if he was ever going to produce fruit, so he didn’t
give up… but it wasn’t much good. He
actually grew quite large, although fig trees tend to spread out sideways, not
get tall. But still, there was no fruit.
Unfortunately, the kindhearted gardener wasn’t the
only visitor. There was a road on the
other side of the vineyard. Sometimes
people would pass by after champagne tasting trips and stop for a rest. Sometimes they would talk with each other of
strange things: terrible accidents that had happened in the town, and even acts
of violence in the news. Sometimes they
would attribute these terrible things to God.
Fred couldn’t understand that kind of thinking: God was his friend who
sent the sun and the rain and the warm breezes.
The Good Gardener would shake his head sadly when Fred told him about
these conversations. He explained that good
happens to the good and the bad; bad happens to the good and the bad. God didn’t cause the accidents or violence,
people did. What God did was send help: bystanders who stepped in; police and Firefighters
to protect; doctors and nurses to heal; Friends and neighbors to pray and
listen. That made a lot more sense to
Fred.
Some of these strangers were looking for maybe a ripe
fig or two for lunch. When they found no
fruit, they would get angry and say rude things to him, and that would
discourage him more than ever. A few
people had gotten so upset with Fred they snapped a couple branches, and just
to be even meaner, they didn’t break them cleanly off, and the broken branches dangled
there, and it hurt.
One man in particular had stopped by only once a year
during the three years of Fred’s young life.
Fred always trembled when he came close.
He knew he was important. He had heard
he was the owner of the vineyard. The
owner would look at him disapprovingly for a few moments, and then walk away to
look at his prize-winning champagne grapes.
This year, however, after looking at him disapprovingly for a while, he muttered
three words: “What a waste!” Those three
words were the final blow to Fred’s gentle figgy soul, and he wept. It’s one thing to have others disapprove of
you, but when someone who’s really important to you is disappointed it’s almost
too painful to bear.
The kind Gardener, passing by, heard Fred weeping, and
asked, “Why are you weeping?” Fred told
him about what the owner had said. The
Gardener quietly said, “Yes, there are impatient people like that in the
world. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” The Gardener went and talked to the
owner. Fred couldn’t quite hear what was
said. Finally, the owner walked away,
and the Gardener returned to Fred and reassured him it was all handled.
While the Gardener sat down in Fred’s shade, took out
his lunch and began to eat, Fred, for once, began to talk. He told him of all the sadness in his heart
because he had not grown any fruit. He told
him about people who had hurt him and broken off branches. He even told him his darkest secret: that he
was sometimes jealous of the grapes and wished he too could be a grapevine.
The only time the Gardener interrupted was when Fred
mentioned he also knew he wasn’t important because he was planted in a corner. The Gardener looked surprised, “Don’t you
remember? I planted you here.” Fred didn’t… you must remember he was only a
little twig at the time.
“Why?” Fred
asked
The Gardner said, “For a vine, the corner is wasted. Only you could grow and produce fruit
here. Vines wouldn’t have even made it a
season. You’ve been here three years. You’re right where I want you.”
They were quiet for a while, and then the Gardener asked,
“Do you really want to produce fruit?”
Fred whispered, “Yes!”
The Gardner continued, “I can help, but you have to
let me do the work.”
“Oh, thank you!” Fred exclaimed.
The Gardner added, “Your fruit won’t be like the grapes.”
“That’s OK,” Fred said.
The Gardener warned, “Sometimes it’ll hurt. I’ll have to do some deep digging, and some
pruning.”
Fred was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I’m
ready.”
So, the next day, the kind Gardener got to work. It took a long time. Sometimes it was
I don’t know about you, but I’m not a champagne grape. I’m more of a fig tree… I suspect most of us
are. Although I work to grow and bear
fruit, it’s a great comfort to know that the Good Gardener is willing to take
on most of the hard labor in my life: breaking up the hard, rocky soil of my
heart to let the fresh air of the Spirit and the Water of Life get to my very
roots. He will give me everything I need
to grow and bear fruit. My fruits may
not be champagne grapes, but figs are good too … yes, they’re good.
This is the Gospel of the Kind Gardener,
and the Gospel of Fred the Fig Tree,
and… the Gospel of the loving God who always gives you
and me another chance. Amen.
