Bethany is even closer to Jerusalem than Jericho, about two miles: a good walk.  Each step brought Jesus closer to Jerusalem and all that would happen there, happen to him, and happen through him.  I’m convinced that, if what happened to Jesus in Jerusalem hadn’t happened, we would not be here, today, doing this.  Oh, people might know that there had been a man named Jesus, one of the great teachers of ethics, along with Buddha, Confucius, and Socrates.

I have this image of Jesus walking tall through Galilee, Tyre, the Decapolis and the regions around the Jordan, even through Jericho.  Then, if you looked closely, he seems to start to stoop, just a little, barely noticeable.  Passing along the road to Bethany, though, and then through Bethany and on to Jerusalem, the stooping gets more noticeable, as though he were loaded down, shouldering something hard, rough, and heavy.  Maybe all the walking was just making him tired, thirsty, and hungry.  I’m afraid Jesus was often tired, hungry, and thirsty.

“Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to find out if it had any fruit.  When he reached it, he found nothing but leaves, because it was not the season for figs” (11:13).  In Israel, as you can find out, first figs, the early crop, appear in March or April, but these aren’t ready to pick until June or so.  Like several things Jesus does, not the least of which is going to the cross, this moment with the fig tree perplexes people.  It wasn’t the season for figs!  Everyone knew that.  Why look for ripe figs when there were none to be found, when there wouldn’t be any?

We’re told that the tree was in leaf.  All that might mean to us is that it was already spring.  Fig trees, though, will put out early fruit even before the tree comes into leaf.  The main crop comes after the leaves.  Jesus, seeing that the tree was already in full leaf, hoped he might just find some early, possibly even ripe, fruit, first fruits.  It was not an entirely unreasonable hope.

But why would Jesus, the Son of God, hope for anything?  If he knew everything about everyone, if he knew what was in every person’s heart (Jn 21:17, 2:24-25), would he not also already know whether there were figs on that tree?  We can often make Jesus out to be more God than man—we tend to err on the side of divinity.  All of those who encountered and knew Jesus in the Gospel accounts knew him as a man—more man than God.  Scripture gives us one of the deep mysteries from the depths of God’s heart: Jesus is God and Jesus is man, and whoever gets that all figured out will doubtless be canonized.  For the rest of us, there’s the struggle to make sense of it, to understand how both natures are at work together in all that Jesus says and does.  There are times when I think Jesus might also have experienced this, first-hand.

If Jesus were always to be more God than man, he would indeed be majestic, glorious, and remote, from us and from our day-to-day experiences and struggles in this life.  If Jesus were always to be more man than God, he wouldn’t give us much cause to think he knew any more about what he was talking about or doing than you or I.  It’s as he lives, moves, and breathes in both natures at the same time that we most and best understand he knows us through and through because he has been there too, and he also will take us to himself—so there is always hope, also.  Jesus is where God meets us; Jesus is God-With-Us Immanuel.  Jesus is our sure hope.

God doesn’t need to hope, and He gives us hope.  It seems there are moments in the life of Jesus on this earth where he, too, experienced hope, just as we experience it.  There were those glorious, holy moments when his hope was fulfilled, realized.  We also know the joy of a hope fulfilled.  There were also moments, I’m sorry to say, when his hope was not realized: not only not realized, but disappointed, badly, sadly.  We know about that, too.  In all things, Scripture wants us to know that Jesus knows what it is like to be one of us in this fractured world.  Let this help to build trust and reliance upon the one who finds us and meets us where we are to take us to where he is.

He came seeking fruit and found only leaves.  The signs for hope were there, even abundantly, but they were empty signs, or, more kindly, signs that had not yet been fulfilled.  Well, it wasn’t the season for figs, wasn’t the season for fruit.  No, it wasn’t.  And who appoints the seasons, beloved?  And not only the seasons of the year.  Jesus came seeking fruit, the fruit of righteousness—it wasn’t as if he found nothing, or only rottenness.  Oh, he found willingness, he found repentance, he found devotion—and this fruit delighted him.  How wonderful, to envision Jesus rejoicing, and he did.  And we also know he found unwillingness, hardness of heart—stubborn, stiff-necked people, just as God had found His people for centuries of generations.  Impenitence—not guilty of anything, at least not anything that really matters, nothing that should really count.  Oh, Jesus found devotion among these ones, too, maybe especially among the hard-hearted: devotion to self, what Paul goes on to call the flesh—life the world’s way.  There’s always more than enough of such devotion, such worship.

The fruit of such world-devotion is never sweet.  Oh, it has the alure, the look of sweetness, but that’s all: the look of what ought to be sweet, like the peaches that never amount to anything all summer long, or the grapes that look great but taste like nothing or, worse, sour.  Bitter oranges, mealy apples, berries that rapidly start to mold once you get them home—but I just bought them . . . and they weren’t cheap!

Many of us, including me, aren’t used to figs and wouldn’t know what to do with one if we had it, wouldn’t know how to know if it was even ripe.  According to those who do know, though, “There is nothing like a ripe fig.  Sweet, honey-like, floral . . . the flavor is not to be missed.”[1]  I’m guessing fig newtons don’t really get us there.  Jesus was hoping.  “You know [a] fig is ripe because it’s soft, the surface is cracking a bit, and it’s drooping.  Pick it and enjoy—they don’t keep long.”[2]  Figs were common in that part of the world.  From such a description, it sounds like a fruit eagerly awaited, eagerly expected.  But Jesus found none.  He was tired, hungry, heavy, looking for something to make him glad, and the time had not yet arrived.  It wasn’t the season for figs.  Silly Jesus.

“Then he said to the tree, ‘May no one ever eat fruit from you again.’  And his disciples heard him say it” (11:14).  They heard him and I don’t doubt they wondered; Jesus didn’t often speak that way.  With what tone does he say those words: anger, sorrow, or does he say it in a firm, clear, calm, measured way, like sentencing?

We can’t hurry the fruit, but we can cultivate our garden.  We can’t hasten the time; we can make the most of the time we are given.  St. Augustine notes how that tree to which Jesus came gave every indication of having fruit, but nothing to show for all the outward appearance.  All the tree had—poor tree!—was the outward appearance of being fruitful.  Thank God Jesus cursed the tree and not me!

And the compassion, mercy, and grace of God in Jesus Christ for us is this: finding no fruit despite all the promising, hopeful signs, God then offers us fruit from His tree.  We saw it, there on that hill far away, and barely understood, didn’t know what to make of it or how to take it, but the cursedness of the one dying there for me is blessedness for me, and for us all, for as many as will receive Christ, receive the fruit of his tree, which for us is truly a tree of life.  In God’s disappointment, He decides to fulfill the hope of those who hope in Him.  Beloved, to bear fruit, a tree needs a few basic things: light, air, water, good soil, and every now and again some fertilizer—life provides more than enough of that!  God amply supplies the rest, as He graciously reminds us today from this table: take, eat, drink, and know the goodness of the Lord; share the goodness of the Lord; be the goodness of the Lord.  Christ is with us, and in us, for this very purpose.

[1] “David the Good.”  https://thesurvivalgardener.com/how-to-tell-if-fig-is-ripe-pictora/

[2] As above.