One of the first things I did on
coming to the Cathedral was to ask Joe Luebke, our Director of Horticulture and
Grounds, to give Kathy and me a tour of our campus. Many people who come to visit Washington
National Cathedral understandably focus their attention on the building. But the grounds are in many ways as lovingly
and carefully crafted as the cathedral church itself, and I wanted to have Joe’s
help in understanding the vision behind the landscape design here.
As you can imagine, it was a
wonderful morning, and Kathy and I both learned a lot. There are all kinds of surprises out and
about on the Cathedral Close. But after having seen the Bishop’s Garden, the
woods, the amphitheater, and the school playing fields, what engaged me most
was the fig tree beside the Herb Cottage.
It’s not much to look at right now, but given that it was flattened in
last year’s crane collapse, you’re surprised that it’s there at all. I asked Joe to give me a rundown on the fig
tree’s history, and here is what he said:
It
is Ficus carica “Madonna”. . . The
fig survived the crane collapse despite being smashed by the boom. I was
certain that it would not live through that.
The tree has died down to the ground twice since I've been on
staff. Both were due to extreme
cold. Once was in the early 90's and
then again in the later 90's. We lost
many plants that were marginal in those two winters. We decided to cut the fig down flush to the
ground and see if it would re-sprout, and in fact it did. . . .The fig tree has been at the Herb
Cottage for more than 25 years. I
remember it being a large tree when I came as an intern in 1987.—[Joe Luebke,
PECF Director of Horticulture and Grounds]
What a story of perseverance! In spite of all the obstacles thrown in its
way--two hard winters that we know of, a crane collapse--the Cathedral's
Madonna fig will not be daunted in its mission to produce what I am told are
the best-tasting figs in the region.
This story is so impressive that it almost cries out to be a sermon
illustration. And now it is. The Madonna
fig naturally came to mind this week as I thought about the following words of
Jesus in today's Gospel:
Look
at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see
for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see
these things [" signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the
earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the
waves"] taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. [Luke 21:
29b-31]
As he addresses a people "faint
[with] fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world", Jesus points
to a fig tree. Look at it, he says, and
read the signs of the times. Just as
when the tree is in leaf, you know that summer is near, so: when you see
astounding signs, you know that God's reign is at hand.
Every generation of human beings has
read their own times and events as the signs named in this Gospel passage. The roaring of the sea and the waves? Sounds like
Superstorm Sandy to me! Signs in
the sun and moon and stars? Why that's
got to be global warming! Distress on
earth among nations? Well, when hasn't
that been taking place?
The truth is, it's easy to point to
current events, as some television preachers do, and read them as signs of the
coming end of the world. It's a bit
harder, with Jesus, to read the world as we might read a fig tree. God seems to be up to something, and we want
to know what it is.
Today is the First Sunday of Advent,
the day that inaugurates the season in which we prepare for the coming of
Christ at Christmas. The Advent season
is organized around the mystery of time. It begins at the end and ends at the
beginning. As we wait for the coming of God into our lives, we begin the season
by thinking about the end of time. You’d think that Advent would be an orderly
progression from past to future, but it’s actually the other way around. We
start with the future and, over four weeks, work our way back to the past.
The Church's calendar starts the
year by directing our focus to the last day rather than the first day. In so doing, our church year asks that we see
this Advent season as a time not only to prepare for Christmas but also as an
invitation to pose some larger questions to ourselves. What, really, are we
waiting for? What, finally, is our hope?
What, actually, would God’s authentic presence in our lives look and feel like?
One way to start exploring those
questions is simply to rest in the season's dual focus on the past and the
future. From the past, we get our image of what redeemed, transformed,
liberated life looks like by remembering the ministry of Jesus and the
community he gathered around him. It's only by looking back to the way God's
promise was revealed in Jesus that we can then look forward to expect that
promise to be made real in our lives. The Christian hope is not vague and
gaseous. It is specific and particular. We hope, when all is said and done, to
experience God’s love as those gathered around Jesus did. We look back to the
first Christmas so that we can look forward to the final one.
We remember that God was with us in
the life and ministry of Jesus. We
experience that presence in fitful, partial ways now. We hope for a time when we will bask in the
complete and final presence of God once for all.
We believe, we hope, that we and all
creation will be one in God and Christ. Christian faith orients us in the
present by asking that we regard both the future and the past. If we only
looked forward, we would do so in fear. If we only looked backward, we would do
so with grief. That we can look both ways at once allows us to see the past as
the pattern for the future and the future as the completion of a loving process
begun in the past.
That brings me back to the fig
tree. When Joe Luebke told me the story
of the Cathedral's Madonna fig and its miraculous survival, I saw it first as a
story of life's refusal to be defeated.
And it is that. But in the light
of Jesus's suggestion that we read the fig tree for signs of what God is up to,
I saw it as something more. The fig tree
refuses to die because it refuses to operate on the world's time scheme. Instead, it runs on God's clock, not
ours. The Madonna fig still has life to
give and fruit to bear. Winters and crane collapses are as nothing when they
come up against the working out of a gracious purpose. If that can be true for a fig, how much more
for you and me? As followers of Jesus, our job is to set our internal clocks by
God's time. What finally matters is the
Christian hope, and what we can confidently trust is that God will make that
hope real. We keep our eyes on Jesus, and we set our clocks by God. Living that way keeps us grounded and free
and hopeful and brave, even when
"signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth
distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves"
can distract and frighten us. When you
live your life in the hope of Advent, you have nothing to fear.
Here is the good, gospel news this
morning. Christmas will come in its own time. It already has. God has been, God
is, and God will be with us. This Advent time of waiting is the season’s proper
gift. Look to the fig tree. It lives out
its purpose oblivious to human agendas, in touch with God's gracious
purposes. That's how you and I should
live now in Advent, as Christmas approaches, and for all time.
Christmas will come, no matter what
we do to prepare for it. It will happen
in God's own time. We prepare ourselves not to bring it on but to take it in.
To make ourselves ready, let us remember that what we really hope for at
Christmas is what we have already seen in the life of Jesus and in the
expressions of human compassion and mercy we know now in the fabric of our
lives. Look to the fig tree. Jesus is coming toward us. As Christmas
approaches, let's use this graceful Advent season to make ourselves ready to
receive both Jesus and the One who sent him.
Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment