Gardener of the Soul- Rev. Wallace W. Bubar- March 23,2025
The Rev. Wallace W. Bubar
First Presbyterian Church
The Third Sunday in Lent, Year C
March 23, 2025
Gardener of the Soul
I’ve never been good at firing people. It’s just not one of my spiritual gifts. I find it very difficult.
In one church I served, we hired a new janitor. His application looked great. We interviewed him. He said, “I take a lot of pride in my work. This is what God put me on this earth to do, is clean churches.” We said, “Alright! When can you start?”
And at first, things went pretty well. But then after he’d been there a few months, I started hearing complaints. The women’s restroom wasn’t being cleaned thoroughly enough. The refrigerator in the church kitchen was a mess.
So I pulled him aside one day, and said, “Tony, you’re doing a great job. You really are. The floors have never looked better. But it seems like maybe some things are falling through the cracks here and there. I just want to make sure these things are on your checklist.”
I said, “The tables after coffee hour really need to be wiped down.” He said, “Those have crumbs on them.” I said, “Right. They do. That’s what we need to get rid of—the crumbs.” He said, “Well, the people who ate there—they should clean up after themselves.” And I said, “I don’t disagree. But it is kind of your job to wipe down the tables.” He said, “I didn’t see anything about ‘crumbs’ in the job description.”
So that’s kind of what we were dealing with.
Or the nursery staff complained that the trash was piling up. We had a bunch of babies in the nursery. Wanted that to look nice. I said, “Tony, please be sure to take out the trash in the nursery.” He said, “There’s dirty diapers in there.” And I was like, “Right. There are. Because there’s babies. And babies, you know, poop.” He said, “I’m not coming near any dirty diapers.”
So ultimately, I guess we just had a difference of opinion. I thought the church cleaning person should be cleaning the church. And Tony had a different opinion.
But I remember going to the Personnel Committee and saying, “We’re having all these problems with Tony. But he’s such a nice guy. And maybe he’s going through something at home? And you know, I could actually wipe down the tables for him. And maybe we could give him another chance.”
And they said, “Wallace. Wallace. He’s not doing the job. He’s not ever going to be doing the job. You need to let Tony go.”
So eventually, Tony and I had that conversation. I explained that maybe God had bigger and better things in store for him, than cleaning churches.
* * *
Anyway, it’s hard to be the one to deliver that news. But I guess that’s the way the world works, isn’t it? If you’re an employee, and you’re not doing the job, you’re gonna get fired.
Or if you’re a student, and you don’t do your homework, a teacher may give you a couple of breaks. But if you don’t hand that paper in at the end of the semester, you’re gonna fail. There’s no two ways about it.
Or if you’re an athlete—Ezekiel Elliott, say—to use a former Buckeye and Dallas Cowboys star—and you’re not performing the way you used to, you’re gonna get benched. It doesn’t matter if you led the league in rushing ten years ago—if you keep averaging two yards a carry, if you keep fumbling, if you keep missing out on team meetings—you’re gonna lose your starting job. You’re gonna get cut. You’re gonna wind up on the LA Chargers practice squad. That’s just the way things are in this world.
But then Jesus comes along— Jesus comes along, talking about mercy, and grace, and forgiveness, and turns this whole thing upside down for us. As usual, exploding our conventional ideas of the way things usually work. He talks about a kingdom that operates according to a very different set of rules. Where there’s always room for one more chance. And this little parable today is a wonderful example of that.
* * *
The way the story goes, there’s this landowner who has a fig tree planted in his vineyard. Now figs were staples of the first-century Mediterranean diet. People ate them fresh. They ate them dried. They put them into fruitcakes. Some of which are probably still around in somebody’s pantry someplace, being exchanged back and forth each Christmas.
But in any event, your average fig tree grew to be about fifteen feet tall, and produced fruit twice a year. Once in the spring, and again in the late summer. And everybody back then ate figs. So a fig tree could be a pretty profitable investment.
So the landowner comes out to his orchard to inspect his trees. All the others are big and tall, with plump, ripe figs there for the taking. But then there’s this one teeny-tiny little tree over in the corner. I always picture it like the Charlie Brown Christmas tree, you know. Where it kind of droops over to one side as soon as he puts an ornament on it. Well, that’s what this tree is like. Its bark is flaking off. Its leaves don’t look quite right. There’s not a fig to be found on the branches.
The owner is indignant about this. He crosses his arms, and scowls at this little runt of a fig tree.
Over in another corner of the vineyard, the owner spots the gardener. Covered in dirt, reeking of sweat and soil. The owner calls the gardener over to the tree. “Look at this!” he barks. “Just look at this! For three long years I’ve come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still there’s none to be found. Not a single one.”
“Cut it down!” the owner orders. “Why should it be wasting the soil? Get rid of it!”
* * *
Now the owner has a certain point here, doesn’t he? I mean, the tree is unproductive. In all this time, it hasn’t given the slightest hint that it will ever produce anything but leaves. The owner has waited long enough, right?
Besides, land is scarce in Israel. It’s a tiny place, and every square foot of soil needs to be utilized in a productive way. This barren fig tree shouldn’t be allowed to use up the space and nutrients that could nourish a fruitful one. I say: Sure, go ahead and cut it down. Turn it into firewood. And go get yourself another tree.
But the gardener has a different idea. “Sir,” he says, very respectfully. “Sir, leave it alone for one more year. Give it just one more chance. One more cycle of seasons.”
“Tell you what I’ll do,” says the gardener, crouching down to get a closer look at the tree. “I’ll dig around it here. Loosen up the soil a bit. Try to stimulate the roots. I’ll apply some manure to fertilize it. Don’t give up on the tree quite yet. I’ll do what I can,” he says, “and we’ll see what happens.”
* * *
Now this parable is found only in the Gospel of Luke. It’s put there for you gardener types, who like to get your hands dirty. (Which is not me, by the way.) It’s a short parable, but I think it gives deep insight into the ways of God.
I read it as a little allegory of the soul, almost. The owner is kind of representative of the world’s ways of doing things. Impatient. Quick to rush to judgment. Quick to dismiss or discard somebody he doesn’t feel is doing their job.
But the gardener shows us, in contrast, something of who God is. Something of God’s mercy, and forgiveness, and forbearance.
And the fig tree? Well, that would be us, I figure. Which is, I think, a pretty apt metaphor for human life—a tree. With roots reaching down, branches reaching up. Planted, and nourished, and cared for. Intended to grow, and blossom, and flourish, and bear fruit. But sometimes, we don’t do quite as well as we should, or could. Sometimes we don’t quite manage to fulfill our potential to the fullest extent.
* * *
This season of Lent is a time for reflection and self-examination. A time to look in the mirror, and take an assessment of our lives.
What we discover, when we take the time to do that, is that, despite our own best efforts, we’re not all that we were created to be. Maybe we’ve made some mistakes along the way. Made some poor choices here and there. Maybe there are parts of our lives that we need to give more attention to. Or parts that are unhealthy that need to be pruned away. Maybe our branches aren’t as full as they’re supposed to be. Maybe we don’t stand as straight as we might. Maybe our color isn’t as vibrant as it could be. Maybe, sometimes, there’s no fruit on the tree at all.
* * *
It’s interesting to compare this parable with a similar story in the Old Testament. In the book of Isaiah, there’s a parable of a vineyard. God plants a vineyard on a fertile hill. Digs it. Clears it of stones. Plants the choicest vines there. Builds a little fence around it. Does everything possible to care for it.
But in the end, the grapes it yields are wild grapes unfit for consumption. So what does God do? God gets really angry. Removes the hedge. Breaks down the wall. Tramples down all the vines. Makes a waste of the vineyard. Just completely destroys it.
But in the New Testament, in the Gospel, there’s something new introduced into the equation: grace. Jesus buries the hatchet, and takes out the gardener’s spade instead. The promise in this parable is of a second chance. A forgiving, forbearing God who gives this poor tree a little TLC, and another opportunity to grow and flourish.
* * *
What good news it is, then! The picture of God that this parable gives us. A God less concerned with past performance, than with future possibilities. A gracious God who isn’t willing to give up on anyone. No one is dispensable or disposable in God’s vineyard.
God knows what all good gardeners know. (And gardening was God’s first occupation, after all, back in the Book of Genesis.) God knows that we are all of us works in progress. So it doesn’t really matter how gnarled our trunks are at the moment, or how underdeveloped our roots, or how barren our branches. God never gives up hope in us. God is always willing to go to extraordinary lengths to care for us, and nurture us along toward health and fullness of life.
* * *
You know: the thing I absolutely love about this parable, is its open-endedness. It just ends abruptly. We don’t know what happens next. Jesus doesn’t tell us. Maybe the owner returns next year, still finds no figs on the tree, and does have the lousy thing cut down after all.
But then again, maybe he returns, and finds that—in the meantime—the tree has blossomed into the most beautiful tree in the whole orchard, with the juiciest figs he’s ever tasted.
If I got to write the story, I think I’d have the owner return year after year. The tree never quite what it should be. The owner always threatening to cut it down. And the gardener always pleading for more time, and coming up with one more crazy scheme for how to coax the tree back to fullness of life.
We don’t know how the story goes from here. Just like our lives, that way. The future is wide open. Every day, a new opportunity for growth. For growing into the person God intends us to be.
Sometimes we grow toward that; sometimes we don’t. But the good news is: never, ever are we left to ourselves. God is always present with us, always patient with us, always working with us. Like a good gardener, with spade in hand, and a bucket of fertilizer. Helping to cultivate the soil of your soul.
Amen.
