RELUCTANT TO GROW

The Third Sunday in Lent - Year C

Exodus 3:1-15; Psalm 63:1-8; 1 Corinthians 10:1-13; Luke 13:1-9

In this morning's Gospel reading Jesus tells a parable. It’s kind of refreshing since we haven't had one of those in a while. In this parable, there is a Fig Tree that will not grow. When I first saw the lectionary for today I was all excited and was going to point to our paperwhites as an example. But then the perma-cloud dissipated and the sun came out completely ruining my object lesson, or so I thought.

The Living Homily in Lent 1

There is a lot going on in the pericope this morning but I would like us to focus on the latter half.

In the parables, I think it is always important to identify where Jesus’ role is found in the story. I once took a course on parables, and we were taught to look for Jesus in the places of most action. At first glance that seems to be the owner of the vineyard. The important one. The one passing judgment on the tree. But if we look more closely I think we might conjecture that the owner of the vineyard doesn't really spend much time there. He comes after a time to collect on his investment, but that is all. That doesn’t seem to line up with how God is presented in scripture. That doesn’t seem to line up with how God presents himself to me in life. Yes perhaps at first glance, but certainly not in the developed relationship.

Now, as I said at the Ash Wednesday service The sermon I preach began that day and will not end until Easter, so here we move into the second section of the message. And as I’ve said before,  God’s relationship with us is compared to a great many things, a King, a Father, a Shepherd but God is first and foremost presented to mankind . . .  all the way back in the Book of Genesis . . . as a what? A Gardner. And right here we have a Gardner.

The gardener tends for the plants and trees in the vineyard. He is with them every day. Now, this is an important part of being a gardener, especially in this region of Palestine. This part of the world has a very unique eco-systems. In particular, they are known as micro-climates. Think of it this way, it’s as if I were to plant two bushes, one by our statue of Saint Francis right out front, and the other at the back corner of our field. These micro-climates would make those sister plants grow in completely different ways. This is why the Law of Moses doesn’t allow land to actually be sold. Every fifty years on the Year of Jubilee, all property must all be returned to the original family. Why? Because they are the ones who know the land. It takes generations to fully appreciate these micro-climates and to treat the land with the care and respect necessary to produce to its fullest under these circumstances.

The gardener must know the vineyard. He knows what the weather has been like. He knows the micro-climate. He knows what every plant needs to thrive. And he knows the timelines for that growth. So we have three characters. The owner of the vineyard, impatient for his gains. The fig tree, reluctant to grow any faster. And the gardener who comes to the defense of the tree. 

In this particular parable, I think we can find ourselves in both the vineyard owner and the tree.

As the Spirit of God keeps telling us, Lent is not about being miserable for forty days just so we appreciate Easter more. No, Lent is about growth. We are now entering week three of that timetable, and some of us may find ourselves frustrated at the pace of our growth. I set these goals and haven’t lived up to them. I keep struggling to forgive my neighbor, or myself. Or I keep failing to let go of the things I need to release to God. And although I’ve stretched and pushed and pulled, my growth seems to be stunted. This is why we need a gardener. Someone who knows the weather knows the ground in which we are planted and knows exactly what we need. Sometimes it is just water, light, and time. Which is wonderful. That kind of remark from a friend. That word of encouragement from a family member. That smile from a stranger. Or perhaps that profound moment in the weekly sermon. 

I think, however, it is more often the ‘not so nice’ things that help us to grow. Just a little compost. Things we let go of and let decay. Perhaps a little ash. A penitential heart which begs for forgiveness, or the simple act of remembering our own mortality. The door closed the change in circumstance, the personal or indirect moment of trauma or bout with illness. What is it that Jesus says, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. Sometimes it’s just the stuff that stinks, we later find helped us to grow the most. 

Lent is hard. Life is hard. Growth is harder still. But through all our trials and tribulations, through all our excuses and times we literally step in the “manure,” God is with us.

Moses had nearly every excuse in the book (in fact, someone wrote them down in a book just so you would know) but God says, “I will be with you,” And like the gardener in the micro-climate he has generations on his side “I am that I am [ . . . ] I am the God of your ancestors, of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” Paul gives similar encouragement in his letter to the church in Corinth, “No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing, he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” And Jesus himself, God-in-fleshed suffered all things and endured all things so that He might know intimately the nuances of the human condition. To know the weather. To know the lay of the land. To know the timeline, and to know just what needs to be done.

Last week I did two things to our paperwhites. First I noticed that the one stem had flowered all alone, it was the tallest and the brightest, yet it had no support. So it faltered under the weight of its own bloom. I went outside and grabbed two sticks. After the recent storms, there are plenty around. I latched them with twine and set it in the midst of the shoots. If you look closely you will notice its design. The support for this growth is none other than a cross.  A symbol I am sure you would agree is not full of water and light and spring air. It is rough and hard and something we are all asked to carry. A cross to bear, so they say. But perhaps that cross is less of a burden and more of a support for the journey. After all, Christ has already carried the cross. He knows its weight and pain and will help us on the way. 

The second thing I did is taken straight from this morning’s Gospel. I dug around the group of bulbs and into that space, I poured the ash. The remnant left over form Ash Wednesday.  Another symbol of pain and suffering, of sin and death, was mixed in with the earth to give life and support to the plants as they grow. This is why I thought my object lesson of reluctance to grow to be for naught because I came back in a few days later and the ashes and cross had begun their work as the plants shot up and the growth was finally clear. 

The Living Homily in Lent 3

Thomas Merton once described the mysterious and often painful process in this way: “You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges OFFERED by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith, and hope.”

It may take a little pain and a little time. When we find ourselves in the struggle, muddied by the manure of life the goal is not always clear,  but that is not for you to worry about. Leave that to the gardener. You must simply have courage, faith, and hope. All you must do is grow.

Rev. J. Nelson - 3 Lent C - March 24, 2019 St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana