Lenten Calendar: Fruitless

Two parables of the fig tree. Two ways of trying too hard only to have nothing real to show for it. On which side do you err? Pouring so much of your energy into the leafy appearance of productivity with nothing left to share? Or running in so many directions that you rob yourself of the joy of seeing something through to fruition? The fig tree speaks to our tendency to prioritize looking like we have it all together over doing what we were made to do and the futility of trying to have and do it all. 

12 The next day as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. 13 Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to find out if it had any fruit. When he reached it, he found nothing but leaves, because it was not the season for figs. 14 Then he said to the tree, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” And his disciples heard him say it.

15 On reaching Jerusalem, Jesus entered the temple courts and began driving out those who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves, 16 and would not allow anyone to carry merchandise through the temple courts. 17 And as he taught them, he said, “Is it not written: ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations’? But you have made it ‘a den of robbers.’”

18 The chief priests and the teachers of the law heard this and began looking for a way to kill him, for they feared him, because the whole crowd was amazed at his teaching.

19 When evening came, Jesus and his disciples went out of the city.

20 In the morning, as they went along, they saw the fig tree withered from the roots. 21 Peter remembered and said to Jesus, “Rabbi, look! The fig tree you cursed has withered!” – Mark 11:12-21

fig tree plath

 

Lenten Calendar: Meek

Consider the mushroom, it neither boasts nor vaunts itself above its fellows, and yet it grows in every environment. It knows the power of numbers working humbly and steadily in concert. Individually, they are fragile; together, they are inexorable.

shallow focus photography of mushrooms

Photo by Chris Gonzalez on Pexels.com

Mushrooms

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot’s in the door.

— Sylvia Plath

 

Christmas Again

“the Word became flesh and lived among us” – John 1:14 (NRSV)

 

“Winter landscape, with rocks” by Sylvia Plath

 

Water in the millrace, through a sluice of stone,

plunges headlong into that black pond

where, absurd and out-of-season, a single swan

floats chaste as snow, taunting the clouded mind

which hungers to haul the white reflection down.

monetsoleilcouchantalavacourt_0

“Soleil couchant sur la Seine à Lavacourt, effet d’hiver” by Claude Monet

 

The austere sun descends above the fen,

an orange cyclops-eye, scorning to look

longer on this landscape of chagrin;

feathered dark in thought, I stalk like a rook,

brooding as the winter night comes on.

 

Last summer’s reeds are all engraved in ice

as is your image in my eye; dry frost

glazes the window of my hurt; what solace

can be struck from rock to make heart’s waste

grow green again? Who’d walk in this bleak place?