A Gardener and a Hen
“Holy crap!” is what I might have might have said if I was Jesus in the beginning of this story.
If I was him, I might have responded that way because he’s just heard some horrific news:
‘Pilate massacred a group of Galileans while they were worshiping in the temple. It was so brutal that their own blood was mingled with the blood of the animals that they were sacrificing!’
It is unclear, by the way, whether this was an actual historical event. But based on Pilate’s practices of policing and oversight that are recorded it seems very plausible. For example a massacre of a group of Samaritans while on pilgrimage up Mt. Gerizim, their most holy site.
Jesus didn’t say, “Holy crap!” Instead, he told a parable:
“A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’
He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'” (Luke 13:6-9)
And I’m like, What?? We know that Jesus can get angry. Outraged and injustice. One might expect outrage from Jesus. Or at least astonishment. A rant, maybe, against the occupying government. Pilate has just killed many of his neighbors. He’s sent in a raid at a time when they are the most vulnerable. When they have the greatest expectation of sanctuary!
Jesus does make a connection to another horrific incident, though. He says,
“What about those eighteen people who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them? Do you think that they were more guilty of wrongdoing than everyone else who lives in Jerusalem? No, I tell you, but unless you change your hearts and lives, you will die just as they did.”
Have you ever gotten into a conversation with someone about a political issue that you know they’ll agree with you on? Shared some inflammatory thing that a political leader has done (I don’t need to name any names) or an outrageous piece of news because you just know that you can both do some fist shaking and venting. It feels good to rage. It feels good to lay blame.
I don’t know for sure if that’s what the people coming to Jesus are doing when they talk about Pilate’s murderous behavior. But if it is, he’s not taking the bait. He turns the story back around.
Whether they’re blaming Pilate or the worshipers or the sinful ancestors, God is not in the business of using political leaders to enact retribution, or of dropping towers on people as punishment. But any of us could die any day, could be called before our Creator. And he goes on to tell the parable of the gardener.
From ‘holy crap!’ to Holy Crap. In almost the same breath as Jesus demands repentance from his bewildered audience, he offers a reprieve. He extends grace and nurture and support. This is an invitation – the way to fruitfulness is not a lonely one. The faithful gardener will be there digging around the roots, looking for what is rotten, packing in the stinky but vitamin-rich manure.
This isn’t the only loving and nurturing image that Jesus offers in response to people coming to him with news of death and warning. Only shortly later some Pharisees bring threats of threat’s of death. Herod has it out for him!
Again, Jesus doesn’t take the bait. He is going to take the time he needs and he is longing to offer healing and care and comfort in that time. A hen gathering her chicks.
I don’t have a ton of experience with chickens – other than poking fresh greens through the pen of my neighbors laying hens, who will never have chicks to warm. But I can talk about a duck. Years ago when we lived in Lake City, we would walk through the Meadowbrook pond. And spring was the best season to spend time there because of all the baby ducklings.
Around evening one night I watched a mama duck with a string of ducklings get rest to settle down for the night. She jumped up on shore and shook the water off of her feathers. The little ones kept splashing and playing for a time until they noticed that she had gotten out of the water and one by one they too struggled onto the bank.
One by one they disappeared under her body and wings. I’m talking maybe up to a dozen ducklings. And all this time she’s gently quacking. Gently and instantly calling out to those babies to tell them it’s time to come home. Time to gather. Time to get warm, shake off the day.
There was one little duck that really took their time and didn’t much want to join the others. But mama kept at it. Gentle quacks that didn’t stop until finally that last one was also snuggled up underneath with the others.
Jesus has that same insistent call to gather us to himself and at the same time he is firm in setting the boundary with Herod, with the Pharisees, with any who would cast blame or be unloving. Herod and Pilate are the foxes and Jesus sets himself over against the destructive and deceitful forces of the world with an image of care and love. He invites you to let yourself receive care so that with Jesus you can turn toward the dangers together.
Jesus knows what he will have to face in Jerusalem and yet he is resolute in offering care and tenderness. He knows that as a prophet both and his disciples will face difficulty – he may even know that he will face death – but he’s showing the goodness and grace of living a countercultural life now: togetherness in the care of the hen and the gardener.
I don’t like the idea of the gardener allowing the tree to be cut down at all. I’d be open to some pruning maybe. But Jesus (as the gardener) makes a pronouncement: “If the tree bears fruit, well and good, but if not, you can cut it down.”
When I was teaching middle schoolers in Sunday school and we read this together, my class pointed out to me that the gardener doesn’t say, “I’ll cut it down for you.” but “you can cut it down.” In other words, if you think this tree isn’t worth it, you’re going to have to do the work of removing it.
It may be my own wishful thinking, but I like to think that not only will the gardener bravely intervene on behalf of the tree, spreading that crap around, he will not have anything to do with the tree’s destruction. The tree may still perish, but the gardener will have done everything in his power to protect and nurture it into health and fruitfulness.
So here’s my take-away. Snuggle on down under that hen’s butt and get some of that holy crap. These are hard days. And we will need to face danger and difficulty. Jesus knows it and we know it. Turn toward the gardener. Turn toward the hen.
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Photo by Doretha Rost on Unsplash
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