The Cursed Fig Tree
The following is excerpted from “The Jesus Who Was and Who Is” by Frederich Buechner
We all have the Gospel moments that mean most to us, and if we happen to be preachers, those are of course the ones we tend to preach about. As for me, I have always particularly treasured that moment when Pilate asks him, “What is the truth?” and he stands there in silence presumably because nothing he might answer could be as eloquent as just the silence, just his standing there. I treasure the moment on the cross when the good thief turns to him and, speaking for all of us, says, “Jesus, remember me,” and we know as surely as we know anything that Jesus remembers him and will always remember him. And the moment, after the resurrection, when just at dawn, on the beach, he is waiting by a charcoal fire and calls out to his fishermen friends, “Come and have breakfast.” And in that first, fresh light, they come and have it. And have it from his hands. Have it from him.
The danger is that we hold on only to the moments that one way or another heal us and bless us and neglect the others. I think of his cursing the fig tree for not bearing fruit out of season and telling the Canaanite woman who came to him for help that it was not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs. I think of his saying, “I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me” and of his terrible question, “Are you able to drink of the cup that I am to drink?” and of his terrible warning, ” Woe to you when all men speak well of you, for that is how their fathers treated the false prophets.” Woe to the preachers and to all of us who stay only in the bright uplands of the Gospels and avoid like death, avoid like life, the dark ravines, the cave under the hill.
What are the “Gospel moments” that mean the most to you?
I love the healing stories in Mark, mostly because of the way Jesus elects to accomplish the healing. He doesn’t put any distance between himself and them. Jesus reaches out and touches the man with leprosy or Jairus’ daughter or the blind man or is touched by the woman with the flow of blood. Each of these is excluded from the community because of his condition, but Jesus elects to touch them and in so doing takes on their status and becomes with them and like them. That is as much a part of the healing for me as the actual curing of the particular condition.
The physical touch means so much….
What is translated as “compassion” or “having pity” is a Greek word that combines a physical sense of yearning. When Jesus is “moved with pity,” as for the leper in Mark 1:41, there is a physical response within him that causes Jesus reach out and touch.
I guess you could say that Jesus “went with his gut” most of the time…
I find it interesting that both comments refer to the physical nature of the interactions. Serving in a physical way connects us to those served in a profound way. It’s easy to stay distant with monetary service or academic discussions of need. Not so when one is face-to-face in service.
I agree Deborah. When Jesus washes the disciples feet in John’s gospel, it is the physical nature of it, the dirty smelly feet, the water, the touch that gives a different portrait of ministry than the words.
Along the lines of healing, I have always struggled with the raising of Lazarus. I understand the foreshadowing of Christ’s death and resurrection, but whenever I hear the story my first thought is how awful for Mary and Martha. They spend 4 days grieving for their brother because Jesus doesn’t come right away. I try and focus on the end result, but I still feel badly for them in the interim.
I don’t know if they are “Gospel moments” but there are several things in the Lazarus story I love.
I’ve always loved Jesus literally calling Lazarus from death to life, as he does us, “with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out’”
And this story also has one of those scripture passages that I’m not sure one ever gets to the end of or ever understands fully: “Jesus wept.” If Pen recovers at some point from his Revelation venture into doing a sermon series, I’d like for him to do a sermon series on that scripture. Who is Jesus weeping for? Himself? Mary and Martha? Lazarus? the others? the world? us?
Why does Jesus weep? Why does John, who has the highest Christology of all of the gospels, whose Jesus goes magisterially, in total control, to his own death, have Jesus weep. Is there another place in the gospels where Jesus displays this most human emotion? What does it mean to say “God weeps?”
I guess if we understood it all, we would tire of it.