Lessons of the Trees #6: Under the Fig Tree

Nathanael said to him, "How do you know me?"  Jesus answered him, "I saw you under the fig tree"      (Jn. 1:48).

Have you ever been noticed across a crowded room?  Has anyone ever paid attention to you unexpectedly?  Has someone noticed something special about you – something small or something you didn’t think anyone knew, or something you didn’t even know yourself?  Has anyone ever looked at you in such a way that pages of words and thoughts were communicated in a moment?

And how did that make you feel?  How did being connected with that person make you feel?  Alive?  Like the best version of yourself?  Not alone?

We live in a constant state of tension between two extreme opinions of ourselves.  On the one hand we are utterly enamored with ourselves – this is the side of us that subconsciously thanks God that we are not like the rest of humanity (cf. Lk. 18:11).  On the other hand, we doubt and even despise ourselves to the point of believing ourselves unlovable (“If they really knew me, they would not love me”).

But what if there was someone whose gaze alone could penetrate us with such clarity that we moved away from this exaggerated tension into the peaceful middle, where we could see ourselves as we truly are – genuinely flawed but entirely lovable?  What if there was someone whose gaze expressed such love to us that we believed once and for all that we are the beloved?  What if there was someone who could simply say “I saw you” – and in those words communicate to us that he knows all the little things about us, all the special things, all the things no one else ever noticed before?  How would we respond to that remarkable person?

Nathanael responded:  “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel” (Jn. 1:49).  And then he followed him.

I suppose one who noticed us across a crowded room and loved us so would be irresistible. I suppose that is what Nathanael felt.  Jesus saw Nathanael – saw him, knew him, and loved him.  And as one of his disciples, he taught him, nurtured him, challenged him, called him friend, encouraged him, died for him.  He made promises to him and kept them.  Then he went and prepared a place for him.

Under the fig tree, you too have been seen.  Loved, taught, nurtured, befriended.  Everything about you.  Seen, known, and loved beneath the fig tree.

Nathanael Under the Fig Tree by James Tissot

“Standing before him with open hearts, letting him look at us, we see that gaze of love which Nathanael glimpsed on the day when Jesus said to him:  ‘I saw you under the fig tree’ (Jn. 1:48)” (Pope Francis, Evangelii Gaudium 264).

Guilt vs. Repentance

“Godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation and brings no regret, but worldly grief produces death” (2 Cor. 7:10).

This verse from the rich book of 2 Corinthians tells us all we need to know about the difference between guilt and repentance.  This is an important distinction to make – it has extreme consequences for our spiritual lives, for the way we relate to God and the way we believe he relates to us.  It is an especially important distinction to make during the penitential season of Lent, when we spend time pondering the mystery and the harmfulness of our sin, and recognizing our corresponding need for a Savior.

Paul coins the term “Godly grief,” and he contrasts it with what we would call good old-fashioned guilt.  There are several things to know about Godly grief:  1) It produces “repentance,” a term that in the Scriptures is associated with a change of mind and heart, a conversion or turning; 2) This repentance, or change of heart, leads to salvation.  Why?  Because when we recognize and turn away from sin, we turn back to God; and 3) It “brings no regret.”  This is my favorite part.  Godly grief leads to repentance, which turns us to our Savior, who frees us mind and body.  When we turn to him with contrite hearts, the slate is wiped clean.  Life with no regret?  That sounds awesome!

“Worldly grief” is less complicated.  It just produces death.  Worldly grief (guilt) is the kind of sorrow and fretting that focuses on ourselves – what I did wrong, how bad I am, why I can’t stop.  The reason this kind of grief gets us nowhere is because it has no point of reference beyond ourselves.  It turns inward and stagnates.

Feeling bad for doing something wrong is a natural human emotion.  It brings us to a fork in the road.  In one direction, we can choose an open and honest sorrow for sin that unites us with a merciful God and reconciles us with our brothers and sisters (who are also sinners!).  In this direction we move rather freely toward salvation, unfettered by regret and shame.  In the other direction lies the dead end of guilt.  If we follow this path, we get tripped up by our own road blocks until we finally just stumble into a pit.  In the pit we feel restricted.  Trapped within ourselves, it is dark, and we lose all sense of direction.  We experience the slow, numbing death of negativity and self-loathing.  From the bottom of the pit, how could we think of a Savior when we can’t stop thinking about ourselves?  How can we hear his voice when we are so focused on the voices in our own heads?

This Lent, let’s cultivate Godly grief – not to be sad, but to be honest, to articulate within ourselves a need for something beyond ourselves, our need for the one who saves us.  This is how we live a life without regret.  This is how we live in salvation instead of death.  This is how we move seamlessly from penitence to joy and from Cross to Resurrection.

If you’re in my area, here are a few things going on in the next few weeks:

Sat., 3/7:  Share your Lenten journey with me at a Day of Reflection at the Caritas Christi Center in Hamden, CT.  We will reflect on the Cross of Jesus and how it is a source of strength for us.  The day will include quiet time for personal prayer.  Registration is required.  For more information, please click here and see “Lenten Retreat:  Finding Strength in the Weakness of my Cross."

Sun., 3/8:  The Hartford Catholic Biblical School is hosting a Scripture Day open to the public on Sun., March 8 at St. Thomas Seminary in Bloomfield.  Dr. Thomas Groome of Boston College will present on connecting the Bible to our lives.  The event is free, but registration is required.  Please click here for the event flyer and registration.

Sat., 3/14:  The World Meeting of Families is coming to Philadelphia this fall and…you might have heard Pope Francis is coming?!?  Connecticut is getting ready!  On the afternoon of March 14th, you can attend a World Meeting of Families CT Workshop.  A keynote speaker and a panel of presenters will discuss various aspects of the Church’s understanding of family.  The event will be held at the Knights of Columbus Museum in New Haven.  A lot of hard work and planning has gone into this event, and I’m sure it will be a worthwhile day.  Click here for the event flyer.

Enough Said

“Perfect love casts out fear” (1 Jn. 4:18).

Feisty Children

As I write this post, my 4-year-old son is sitting in “time out” because he disobeyed Mom.  From his perspective, I am not being nice.  But from my perspective, this restrictive act (temporarily curtailing his freedom), is slowly setting my son free.  He is learning by cause and effect what is acceptable behavior in relationships so that once he is “full-grown,” he will make good use of all that free will.

Would you agree that Julian’s perspective right now is immature and incomplete?  Would you agree that he can trust me, that I have his best interest at heart?  Would you agree that I want nothing more than his happiness, and that I yearn for a strong, healthy and loving relationship with him when he is an adult (which is a much longer-term situation than how he feels about me tonight)?  Would you agree that what he is experiencing now is less like punishment and more like . . . molding clay (cf. Jer. 19:1-11)? 

Think of yourself as a feisty 4-year-old whose loving parent wants nothing more than your happiness, your freedom, and ultimately, your love.  Think of God patiently waiting for you to grow in maturity and wisdom – loving you, teaching you and nourishing you along the way. These words from the prophet Hosea tell it perfectly – tell of the parent whose “bands of love” are not always recognized as kindness by the sometimes rebellious, always beloved, child:

When Israel was a child, I loved him,
    and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
    the more they went from me;
they kept sacrificing to [false gods],
    and offering incense to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
    I took them up in my arms;
    but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
    with bands of love.
I was to them like those
    who lift infants to their cheeks.
    I bent down to them and fed them (Hosea 11:1-4).

A Verse Worth Memorizing

My Catholic Biblical School class is currently knee-deep in our study of the Pauline letters (that means we’ve only made it through Thessalonians and Corinthians!).  Reading St. Paul plunges us into something that is simultaneously transcendent and down-to-earth, mystical and practical, inspiring and instructive.  This tension – which Paul maintains with every stroke of the pen – deftly delivers something that modern readers find elusive in their own lives:  the integration of “real life” and “the spiritual life.”  Remember, Paul was first and foremost a missionary, secondly a pastor (a shepherd), and only thirdly a theologian.  What Paul wrote, he wrote for a purpose – for real people facing real problems, for Christian communities struggling just like our communities do today.  His theology emerged from “real life.” 

The Second Letter to the Corinthians is one of my favorite Pauline books.  In it we witness Paul’s passion for the Gospel, his love for his people, his zeal, his temper, his sense of humor and his creativity.  The book also provides rich examples of Paul’s theology presented in the context of “real life” situations.  One such example is found in 2 Cor. 1:15-24.  Here Paul is offering a bit of self-defense:  the Corinthian community was apparently miffed with him because he did not visit them as he had planned.  They accused him of vacillating, of being unreliable.  Paul heard about this and wanted to address it.  He wanted to assure them that he changed his mind for a reason, not simply on a whim or because he cared little for the community. 

In this situation, most of us would simply write, “I did not come because ____.”  But it’s almost as though Paul can’t stop thinking about, writing about, teaching about Jesus Christ!  For him, Christ is the foundation of all things, the answer to all things.  And so his explanation of why he did not visit Corinth becomes yet another opportunity to teach about the goodness of God in Christ Jesus:

“Was I vacillating when I wanted to do this?  Do I make my plans according to ordinary human standards, ready to say ‘Yes, yes’ and ‘No, no’ at the same time? As surely as God is faithful, our word to you has not been ‘Yes and No.’ For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, whom we proclaimed among you…was not ‘Yes and No’; but in him it is always ‘Yes.’ For in him every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes.’ For this reason it is through him that we say the ‘Amen’, to the glory of God” (2 Cor. 1:17-20).

We can see how Paul’s self-defense quickly flows into an account of God’s own faithfulness.  Paul does not vacillate weakly between “yes” and “no” – for he is a follower of Jesus Christ, who does not vacillate; he believes in a God who keeps every promise! 

One verse from this section really struck me as I studied it this year.  It's just like St. Paul to put all the pieces together with a statement like this: 

“In [Jesus Christ] every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes’” (2 Cor. 1:20a).

Would it be going too far to say that this verse sums up all of Scripture?  It is surely a verse worth memorizing, a verse worth imprinting on our hearts.  As we enter this New Year, may we take comfort in the faithfulness of our God, remembering that in Jesus Christ, every one of God’s promises – to his people, to his Church, to our families, to each one of us – is an emphatic “Yes!”  And following Paul’s example, let us remember how deep we can go, and how profound our knowledge of Christ can be, even in the midst of real life.