Third Sunday of Lent

Of Figs and Second Chances to Bear Fruit

I admit it! I have a love-hate relationship with figs! Outside our milking barn, just outside the window by the feed trough that I was responsible for keeping supplied, there was a bountifully fruited fig tree. I enjoyed grabbing one from the open window whenever I wanted. The figs were ripe, yet firm, and very tasty. Fast forward a few years and breakfast in the convent dining room often included fruit. And often the fruit was figs—cooked, mushy figs, quite different! And they too were plentiful because the convent grounds had lots of fig trees. I did not enjoy cooked, mushy, over-ripe figs.  Nevertheless, in our “family style” service at the table, the convent routine was that the bowl was passed around until it was empty. If it took three rotations, then so be it. I prayed that others at the table would take more so that I wouldn’t have to sacrifice too much and that the bowl would be empty after the first round.

In the Gospel, we hear about a “barren” fig tree, one that was using up resources, yet produced no fruit. A certain man searches, observes no growth, and concludes that the tree should be cut down. But the gardener begs for time—leave it for another year since you already spent three years of waiting. The gardener also has a plan to cultivate, to fertilize, to nurture the “barrenness” in the hope that it may bear in the future. The gardener spared the tree, at least for a year, and gave it yet another chance.

The lesson for me, as I hear this story this year, is that I needed a gardener then in those early years of formation, and I need many gardeners now. I am pretty sure that my distaste of cooked, mushy figs was somehow connected to the dryness of my homesickness. I missed my family, familiar chores and routines, and the working together to get things done. I yearned for raw figs, right off the branch, readily available, easy to find and to pick. I resisted what I did not like, thinking of it as sheer penance. I did not realize then that I was learning a discipline, creating new habits, and acquiring a “wait for it” patience. I do know that there were many of my peers who “saved” me when they took heaping portions, compared to my spoonful. Gradually we learned to take turns helping each other out—cultivating new habits, acquiring new tastes. But mostly we were learning to wait, to provide second chances for growth and production.

When we gather to tell stories about our early days in the convent (over 55 years ago), we often reflect on the most odious experiences of early formation. We often wonder how we survived. Upon mature reflection, we realize how God’s graces, and the mercy and patience of our companions and our mentors, were the nurturing we too needed.

What are some of the ways that you have experienced second chances, merciful patience, or collective efforts that saved you and that bore fruit that you didn’t recognize at the time? How are you offering second chances to others? What keeps you from giving up on others?

Could it be grace? And how grace-full are we in nurturing growth in others?