“What Grace Smells Like”
A Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent (RCL Year C)
March 11, 2007
Isaiah 55:1–9, Psalm 63, 1 Corinthians 10:1–13,
Rev. Larry Lange
Grace Evangelical Lutheran Congregation
Whew. For a minute there, I thought I was one dead fig tree. Gosh, that owner’s a jerk. He measures everything and everyone by whether their productivity justifies the space they take up. A regular works righteousness kind of guy: you don’t produce, the owner cuts you loose. Or he cuts you down. He says he’s setting an example: if non-producers get axed, everybody else shapes up. That’s his idea of motivational theory anyway.
Me: I been working forever. I figure I deserve a break. My first job was in fashion. Remember the Garden of Eden? The fig leaf story? That was me. I was just standing around minding my own business and Adam and Eve come streaking at me like they just saw a brontosaurus, and they start ripping off my leaves! They tied the stems together, and they made clothes for themselves. I thought they looked fine before.
Well, you can just imagine how long fig leaf clothes lasted—even with the cold water delicate cycle. They were back just about every day until I didn’t have single a leaf on me. You human beings have always been into deforestation. You forget that without me, you people are toast: no oxygen, man.
Anyway, it took a couple thousand years before Adam and Eve figured out what cotton was for and finally left me and the rest of the trees alone.
In the meantime, I told them about poison oak.
It was a while before they showed up again. I was hoping it wasn’t the Iron Age, because I knew they had an axe to grind.
When they finally did come back, all they wanted was fruit, figs. Twice a year Adam and Eve’s not-so-great grandkids were climbing all over me ripping my figs off. First my leaves, then my fruit. Did you know figs were the first deliberately cultivated agricultural crop? Yup. Way before wheat. 11,400 years ago I was an agricultural juggernaut. People made fortunes in fig futures.
So, again, I think I’ve done my share here on the planet; I’ve made my contribution, I think it’s enough that I am beautiful and I produce oxygen. I am an arboreal god! I am, therefore I am wonderful!
And yet I think I’m putting De Cartes before the horse here; because I forgot: we’re under new management here. It’s been three years and I haven’t produced any figs and the new owner’s just about had it with me.
Oh, here comes that gardener again. . .with a wheelbarrow. . .full of manure. You gotta be kidding. Where’s Miracle Grow when you need it? Manure? Excuse me, oh gardener, don’t put that stuff on me. Oh. Yuck.
So this is what grace smells like: empowered to serve some more. Man, that stinks. But I guess it beats the alternative, doesn’t it? I mean, I could’ve been one of those eighteen people the tower of Siloam fell on. Just minding their own business and one day some stupid tower falls on them. Not their fault. It wasn’t because they were worse sinners than anybody else. One day they’re alive, and the next day they’re not. Could happen to any of us any day.
Or I could’ve gotten in Pontius Pilate’s way. Or the nematodes could get me. Oh gardener! I know organic farming is all the rage, but did you check that. . .stuff your putting on me for nematodes. . .especially the species meloidogyne. . .You know how I hate meloidogynes. . .you know what they do to fig trees. No, it’s not a figment of my imagination! Meloidogyne nematodes are the fig tree’s worst enemy!
Oh, the gardener says he checked. How could he check? Did he stick his face in it with a magnifying glass? Would the gardener do that for me, the fruitless fig tree? Ha! Fat chance. Nobody loves fruitless fig trees.
Hey gardener: what about those nasty bugs batocera rufomaculata and azochis gripusalis? Did you check for those?
Yes, I know they’re not from around here, but it’s a small world after all. . .it takes a global village to kill a fig tree, you know. What about cachudo de la higuera? Have you heard about them? Three and a half inch caterpillar that can destroy a fig tree in two days!
He’s leaving! Hey gardener! You just can’t dump you know what on me and leave me! He says he’ll be back to water me. Right. I’ll believe it when I see it. He says it’s good that I want him around. He says it’s good that I seek him, that my soul thirsts for him. He says he has an everlasting covenant with me; he says he’ll be faithful to me forever. He says he won’t let me be tested beyond my strength, but that he’ll provide the way out so I’ll be able to endure it. That’s what the gardener says.
And here he comes again: with water! I’ve never been watered in my whole life. Just kinda took what I could get. Oh, that feels good! Knocks the smell down, too. And. . .well, I can just feel a little bit of energy flowing through me: up from my roots out into my shoots! maybe I’ll even produce some fruits! That’ll show that nasty owner!
Hey, gardener: I owe ya one!
What am I talking about? I owe the gardener my life!
But what if I don’t bear fruit next year? What if the bugs eat it? What if I need two years? What if I’m too old to produce any fruit? Will you intercede for me again, gardener? When the owner shows up with the axe, will you let him chop me down?
The gardener says, “Over my dead body.”
A lot of good that’ll do me, the gardener dead and gone. . . and there he goes: he’s leaving again! Gardener! Don’t leave me!
He says he’s not leaving. He says he’ll always be with me. He says he’ll be back.
That’s a little confusing. Sounds like a Zen riddle: he’s here and he’ll be back? Guess I’m not going to figure that one out. I guess that’s what faith is: whatever tests the future holds, the gardener will be faithful: that’s what faith is. Whatever tests the future holds, the gardener will feed me with wine and milk and rich food without price; whatever test the future holds, the gardener will provide the way out.
Amen.