Sanctified Art | Everything [in] Between | by Rev. Jeff Chu

Two years ago, I planted asparagus crowns. The farmer who sold them to me said, “You know you’ll have to wait a couple of years to harvest, right?”

Of course I did. I had Googled: “how to grow asparagus.”

Still, the next spring, when a slender spear rose from the midst of the previous autumn’s fallen leaves, I could barely restrain myself from harvesting it. I immediately imagined charring asparagus, and squeezing some lemon and grating some parmesan over the top. Ooh—and how about a slightly runny fried egg?

Then I remembered the farmer’s counsel: “You know you’ll have to wait a couple of years to harvest, right?”

After briefly congratulating myself for my self-control, I tucked my dream back into the vault of future possibility. It wasn’t yet time for our homegrown asparagus. It needed that year, then another, to concentrate on its largely invisible labor: finding purchase in the soil, extending its roots, gathering strength to flourish.

Like my asparagus, the fig tree can’t be rushed. Jesus’ original, agriculturally sophisticated audience would have known that a fig seedling needs several years to bear fruit. They might even have found the vineyard owner’s question laughable. They would have understood that absence of fruit on a young tree wasn’t a sign of failure. Maturity requires time and care, attention and patience.

It has always struck me as odd that a common reading of this parable imagines the vineyard owner to be God. (Such is our
temptation toward hierarchical thinking that the most seemingly powerful figure in a parable must always be God.) That
interpretation runs up against our belief that God is “slow to anger and abounding with steadfast love.”9 And surely a call to
faithful waiting seems more apt and necessary for God’s ever-impatient people. As God reminds Habakkuk, “There is still a
vision for the appointed time. . . . If it seems to tarry, wait for it. It will surely come.”10

Faithful waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing: The gardener waters, weeds, and fertilizes. And modern science is teaching us
what happens in the meantime. Contrary to the peevish vineyard owner’s assertion, nothing is wasted. Down below, the fig tree isn’t just gathering strength; it’s also building relationships. Soil-borne fungi are finding home in its roots, boosting the tree’s capacity to resist disease and take in nutrients. In return, the tree feeds the fungi.

Perhaps this parable is better read as a gentle rebuke against those of us who are all too comfortable with our on-demand,
instant-gratification culture—and who believe the lie that we can control more than we actually do. Perhaps, too, this parable was a word that Jesus needed to preach to his very human self. After all, he’s the one who, in Matthew and Mark, curses a fig tree for failing to give him fruit when he wants it.11

Perhaps this is our invitation: Slow down. Do your part. Remember the promise. Whether asparagus or fig, the harvest will come.

Reflect
In your own life, what do you need more of: rest or growth, or a little of both?

9 Exodus 34:6
10 Habakkuk 2:3
11 Matthew 21:19; Mark 11:13-14