Notes from the Asylum 4 - 13th March 2007
Fig-trees in the Vineyard
A Sermon for the Third Sunday of Lent
King's College, Cambridge
11th March 2007, 10.30 a.m.
Gospel: Luke 13:6-9:
He spake also this parable; A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came and sought fruit thereon, and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and find none: cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground? And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it: And if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.
+ May I speak in the name of the Divine Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.
It's been rather a long time since I could use the phrase "unaccustomed as I am to public speaking", because for most of the last decade I have preached two or three times a week. This happens to be the second preaching engagement I have had in the last year � So, I am very grateful to Ian [the Dean of King's] for inviting me, and to King's College and its members for making me welcome.
Of course, there's a great advantage to preaching two or three times a week - it means that you can get things off your chest on a regular basis. When it's only twice a year, well - if any of you were expecting to get home in time for lunch you might think again.
Another pleasurable surprise about being here was arriving at my stall and seeing the sign "Reserved Preacher" on the seat. "Reserved Preacher"? That's a red rag to a bull Mr Dean! We shall see.
And then there was the matter of readings - and what a very fine topic we have today! But, alas, I even got that wrong. Those of you who are Prayerbook Purists will have noticed that the Gospel reading we had today was not the one prescribed in 1662. Being rather out of the loop, and having served in very Book of Common Prayer places in the past, I simply assumed that a place like King's College, in the middle of this go-getting, dynamic, up-to-the-minute, cutting edge, university might be using the same modern book of readings as the rest of almost all of civilised Christendom. Imagine my surprise - this morning! - to discover that you lot are even more dinosaurish than me! But kind counsels prevailed, and the reading for which I had prepared was read without a hint of complaint or disdain.
At the risk of adding yet another caveat, I should also say that my circumstances mean that I am cut a long way off from the little library of books I accumulated in my years of parish ministry. Worse than that, I can't recall in a decade ever preaching on this story! So, for once, I have had to be truly evangelical in my exegesis - seeking only, and purely, the plain sense of Scripture. Any New Testament scholars here - what am I saying? this is King's College, Cambridge, a high proportion of you will be New Testament scholars - cover your ears!
Our Gospel story is about a tree out of place. Did you pick that up? The fig tree was in a vineyard. Vineyards are for growing grapes, not figs, and no explanation is given for the fig trees being there. Very odd. It's a misfit, an outsider, and it's unproductive - "cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground?" I wonder if you too heard an echo of the parable that used to be known in the old Authorized Version - so, surely, familiar here! - of "The Wheat and the Tares"? Do you remember it? There the details were slightly different. It was the labourers who came in from the fields and said there was a lot of weed, and could they do some weeding? And the owner said No, wait until the harvest. Now here, in our lesson this morning, we have the dresser of the vines, the labourer, saying to the owner, No, give it one more year, let me attend to this tree, "dung it" and make it good. If nothing happens after that, then cut it down.
And that's where the story raised resonances for my present work at a hostel for homeless people in Oxford. I could imagine trying to explain it to some of my colleagues, whose response would be "Us? throwing dung at the clients? That would make a refreshing reversal for all the dung they throw at us". I was tempted there to use another word for "dung", having become inured this week to BBC Radio 4 talking almost incessantly about "bastards". However, I elected not to stoop to the standards of the BBC. What intrigued me was the idea of a year's grace to make good. One of the lesson I have learnt so far is that homeless people fall broadly into two categories (of course, they fall into many more, but this is a sermon not a lecture): those who have once had homes, and through misfortune, foolishness, illness or addiction have lost them; and those who had never really had a home in the way that it would mean something to me and to most (but I will not presume all) of you. A home where you go to bed fed, warm, and safe. Let me give you a rather graphic example. The other day I was talking to a client who is not untypical. She's about 28, not much older than the average Cambridge graduate. She's tall and goodlooking. She grew up in a home without a father. Her mother was an alcoholic whose only real means of communication was violence. She was raped by one brother, and introduced to heroin by another. A third set fire to the flat in which their mother died. We are given one year to "re-discover", or do we really mean "implant", the idea of "home" in a person like this. A person who has never known home as a really positive and kind thing. One year. Then, "cut it down, why cumbereth it the earth?"
The parable this morning doesn't ring true. It's not good enough news. It's not typical of Jesus to say "pull your socks up for a year, or else it's hell for you". It's certainly not typical of Luke's Gospel, in which, books notwithstanding, I think I can claim without contradiction that most scholars acknowledge his Prodigal Son parable as the epitome of his work. There the naughty son took his inheritance, went off and enjoyed everything the world had to offer, and then finally - and only because the money ran out - decided he'd be better off coming home. But by then his father was already out on the road waiting for him - it's the Prodigal Father who's the star of the show. In the words of the Estate Agents and Advertisers who bought the English language a few years back, it's "Forgiveness-Plus". This morning's parable doesn't offer us this, and that's not good enough.
There's a lot of rubbish (I was tempted to use another word, but once again have resisted the urge to descend to the BBC's standard), talked about the inspiration of Scripture. None of this gets us anywhere. The interesting thing about Scripture is its capacity to inspire, to make us think about God, to challenge us with mystery, to urge us to be good. I read this story, and I find the rest of the Gospel, the rest of the Good News, challenging it. "I'll give you a year"? That's not "forgiveness plus". But it has made me think afresh about what we do at the hostel. Because often we really do give a year. One year, to sort out the desperate baggage that people bring to us. One year, and then you might be evicted. And yes, we do evict people. If you wonder why, bear in mind that government funding is granted on a yearly basis. Perversely, a text I am not happy with has inspired me to think about the people I work for.
But I am left cross with this morning's parable, because it seems to insist on an impossible standard for the fig-trees, the misfits and the undesirables in the cosy vineyard. And if we stand back a little, how many of us are really confident that we are truly committed and belonging members of the "vineyard"? Don't we all need as much time, and as much digging about, and as much dunging, as we can get?
May God grant us that, and while we receive that digging and dunging, may we also have the courage, the wisdom and grace to do all we can for the neighbours that God has given us. Amen.