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Exploring the word

18 Nov 2018 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

I hate to admit that I grew up amid the “dawning of the age of Aquarius,” or so the contemporary musical Hair assured me at the time. It was reported to be an age of “Harmony and understanding, sympathy and trust abounding/No more falsehoods or divisions, golden living dreams of vision/Mystic crystal revelations and the mind’s true liberation,” etc. Sounded pretty good at the time, even if you were pursuing a route that was not pharmaceutically enhanced. A lot of folks in that generation, and indeed in every generation, hold ideals of progress or freedom or emerging truth that seem justified while we are young, but become increasingly dubious as we grow older. The glowing sense that life is getting better with the advance of technology—or the increase in knowledge, the end of the Cold War, the decoding of DNA, you name it—tends to dim as we live long enough to realize that the world really can’t get better until human nature gets better. That advance seems long in coming. At the end of the last millennium, magazine writers waxed eloquent on the subject of what this millennium would bring. Some feared the collapse of civilization as we know it—or at least the collapse of our computers—but most visionaries preferred to idealize the advancements in medicine, world peace, global prosperity, and personal convenience that seemed right around the corner. It sure did start to sound like Aquarius was dawning again, for a moment. But by then, old world horrors caught up with us, and history felt like a looped videotape once more. A time of unsurpassed distress You can’t really organize a list of catastrophes in terms of their relative significance, because we all live in different proximity to the events we are prioritizing. Some people report that the most shocking thing to happen in their lifetime was the assassination of John F. Kennedy. For others, the death of Bobby Kennedy or Martin Luther King was more chilling. The present generation of children may well point to the morning of 9/11 in 2001; though certainly for some, what happened in Oklahoma City or Columbine High had a more immediately devastating impact. And for those in other countries, acts of war, terrorism, famine, or disease may take center stage in the compiling of catastrophes. For any of us, the personal loss of a parent, spouse, or child could make world events fade into irrelevancy by comparison. Is the world indeed getting better, or worse, or is it the same place it’s always been? When we read apocalyptic passages in the Bible, we may suspect that shocking and show-stopping terror has long been a part of the human story. Some of it was easily attributable to your neighbor or your enemy, but a portion of it was understood to bear the divine signature in what we refer to now as “acts of God.” These storms, plagues, earthquakes, and famines were God’s way of telling us to wise up or pay attention. Once, God even tried wiping the slate of humanity clean with a flood, but that experiment was so ruthlessly destructive, God repented it and promised not to do it again. Apocalypse didn’t lose its appeal, however. In fact, as biblical history rolled on, the writings became increasingly apocalyptic. Many of the prophets appealed to such images to underscore their messages. Jesus and Paul were no strangers to the impact of this kind of language. The last book of the Bible, Revelation, is nothing but crashing, nonstop destruction of the sort you generally expect to find in Hollywood action films or horror movies. This stuff is scary What are we supposed to make of end-time visions and nightmarish prophecies of devastation today? Believe it or not, these writings were originally considered to be comfort food for the faithful. No matter that the sun gets darkened and the stars fall from the sky (and don’t try to do the science here): The point Jesus makes is that glory is riding in on the wings of the eschaton. The lesson to be learned is not that God is peeved and heads are going to roll, but rather that, at the worst moment of history imaginable, Jesus “is near, at the gates.” The lesson as Jesus offers it could not be gentler: Look at the branches of the fig tree and note how the tender greenness means that summer is coming. Summer, not winter! The “day of the Lord,” often described as a “great and terrible day,” is also the day of hope for all who put their trust in God. Apocalyptic literature may seem scary and does contain its share of monsters. But the last word on the subject of the world is always that God will save us from death, from destruction, from the devil, from ourselves. If we do the Book of Revelation by the numbers, which its emphasis on numerology recommends we do, we see that only a remnant of the people is destroyed in the apocalypse-to-end-all-apocalypses. This is a departure from the rest of salvation history, in which a remnant is usually all that’s saved. Meanwhile, throughout the book, while the world is being systematically besieged, the heavenly liturgy continues in song and triumph. There is never any doubt that a new day is about to dawn, and things are looking up. The wise shall shine brightly The writers of fairy tales and children’s stories know that going through perils and hardship doesn’t mean the story will end unhappily. We might keep this in mind as we move through our present swatch of history, wondering if we will ever have reason to feel secure again. The faithful are always safe, resting in the hand of God like a weaned child on its mother’s breast. The dangers are real, and the suffering does hurt. But God writes the final chapter, and our faith guarantees that it’s good. Related scripture links Examples of apocalypse in the OT: Isa. 6:1-8; 13:1-11; Chs. 24-27; Dan. 7; most of Ezek. and Zech. Jesus and end-times: Matt. 10:16-33; 24:3-44; Luke 17:20-37; 21:7-36 Paul and eschatology: 1 Thess. 4:13-17; Rom. 13:11-14; 1 Cor. 15:20-28, 50-56 Like a weaned child: Ps. 131

Authors Alice Camille

acts of god apocalypse salvation history end-times fig tree

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18 Nov 2018 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

The special effects we see in movies have become almost perfect. The use of computer animation and graphics can create just about anything. And it all looks so real that it takes no imagination on our part. Our belief is suspended as we watch the screen with rapt attention. In Jesus’ day, the storyteller created the images in people’s minds. So Jesus’ description of the last days had to have been both frightening and awesome to those who listened to him. Inexplicably he switches directions and tactics and points to a simple fig tree. They grow wild, almost like weeds, all around those valleys Jesus visited. They were a common sight to all who listened to Jesus. He used the image to reinforce the dramatic message he had just described in simple and gentle words. In this subtle way, Jesus is telling the listeners that the end-time will come for each person when God so chooses it to happen. We are not to worry. There will always be fanciful descriptions. People will always want to frighten us. Some will insist that they alone can interpret the signs that will be forthcoming. Oh yes, the special effects will be spectacular. But the mystery of life and death and Resurrection are all around us in simple, beautiful ways for those with eyes of faith to see and experience.

Authors Father Dominic Grassi

fig tree end-times

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18 Nov 2018 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

Like a microcosm of the end-time described in today’s gospel, I have regular experiences of dark days filled with the tribulation of piled up deadlines at the office, unrelenting household chores, family responsibilities, financial worries, psychic funks, and catastrophic events, such as the illness and death of loved ones. During these times, I am pretty certain my world is coming to an end and all hell will soon break loose, but then, like the leaves on Jesus’ fig tree, I see one sign of hope in all the chaos: kind words from a coworker, help from a sibling, 10 bucks left in a pocket, joy on the face of a suffering soul. Suddenly the clouds lift and I feel both shame for not seeing the light sooner and gratitude for seeing it at all. I would like to say that I am getting better at reading the signs of God’s presence amid the turbulence, but alas, it seems to take me longer as my life gets more complicated with commitments and responsibilities. On the other hand, my joy reaches unparalleled depths when I do take a moment to breathe deep and acknowledge my many blessings.

Authors Patrice J. Tuohy

end-times fig tree Hope

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Exploring the word

14 Nov 2021 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

There are certain lessons you stand to learn when you head out into nature. “Don’t touch the ivy, the oak, or the sumac” is one. Or, depending on your neck of the woods, “Don’t back into the cactus.” You can learn such lessons by accepting the wisdom of others who know this stretch of land better than you do, or you can opt for rueful personal experience. Most of us take our lessons both ways over the years. How many people in your parish have farms? Yards? Potted plants in the window? A tree growing in front of their apartment buildings? If you have the slightest relationship to the natural world on a regular basis, you can appreciate why so many biblical lessons involve the growing, burgeoning life around us. The story of the Bible starts in a garden, as God painstakingly puts the natural world together in an orderly fashion. It shouldn’t be a surprise that humanity’s first job description is gardener. Our relationship to the natural world is primary, instinctive, and grateful. Don’t we all love to get out of the towns and cities we’ve made, to stand in the open air and breathe in the world that seems, somehow, more real and virtuous than the one that normally contains us? But getting back to the Garden of Eden, as it were, remains an impossibility. Despite each generation’s utopian schemes and the sculpted landscapes of every new suburb, the natural world remains for most of us a place we visit or vacation in on our way back to the concrete, metal, and macadam that encloses us. Still, our inner primordial gardener is alive and well, and seeks contact with the soil and all its possibilities. Learning a lesson from the fig tree Jesus appreciates the exciting potential of the soil as well as our vital connection to the living world around us. He tells stories about the natural world every time he teaches: about what happens when you sow seed in different kinds of ground; about the providence that sustains the birds and the wildflowers; about knowing a good tree by its fruits; about the attention God pays to every common sparrow. Jesus compares his coming Kingdom to a mustard seed, beneath our notice until it comes to fulfillment. He warns us about the onset of evil in terms of weeds growing up in the wheat. He compares his followers sometimes to lost lambs in need of a good shepherd, and at other times favorably to serpents and doves, or to branches of the true vine. Jesus describes the final sorting of the human race into categories of sheep and goats. He points to a barren fig tree as an example of the gift of life being squandered. When Peter boasts that he will follow Jesus to the death, Jesus tells him to listen for the sound of a cock crowing. If only Peter could have learned from the vanity of the cock’s crow in advance, before the lesson would become so personal and painful! Jesus does not only invite his disciples to observe nature’s ways and to learn from them. He also demonstrates the subordination of nature to the God who created and sustains it. Jesus curses a fig tree and it withers. Jesus calms a storm with a simple command and walks on water as if it were a smooth road. Jesus could take a little bit of food and make it sufficient, even superabundant. The laws of nature, as wise and worthy as they are, are still no match for the God who wrote those laws into being. Jesus assures his disciples that they too will be able to uproot trees by a command, or take up poisonous serpents and not be harmed by them. This assurance is a reminder of that original story of the serpent who caused great harm to Adam and Eve and to their children by extension. Those who walk in the way of Jesus have nothing to fear from that snake any longer. Interpreting the signs The ancients believed that the heavens, too, were full of portents that could be read by the wise and the observant. Jesus does not flinch from using the heavens in a similar sense, as he employs the familiar apocalyptic symbols of a darkened sun and moon and falling heavenly bodies. The biblical tradition is fearless in telling stories about the sun “standing still” or even moving backwards—neither action being conceivable in our contemporary understanding of the solar system. Of course, the Bible doesn’t aim to teach us science lessons—creationists to the contrary—but moral and theological ones. When Jesus directs our attention to the heavens, he isn’t advocating that we take up the daily reading of our horoscope, or even that we consider purchasing a telescope. He is urging us to pay attention, to live wakefully, to look up habitually rather than keeping our noses to the grindstone of routine as if the tangible dimension of our days is all there is. The fig tree offers its uncluttered testimony: When new leaves sprout, summer is near. Jesus is insisting that natural relationships are readily revealed to those with eyes to see. If we want to know what time it is, we can look at the clock and get one answer—but we should recognize that it is not the only answer. Right now, we could say it is a weekend in November, the end of another church year, late autumn, almost Thanksgiving—and all of those would be correct replies to the question: What time is it? We could also reflect on the age and condition of our individual bodies and come up with another response: “near the beginning” or “almost home.” The human race also appears somewhere on the cosmic dial, and so does creation itself. That time may be easier or harder to read, depending on how you interpret the signs. But the cosmic clock is ticking, personally and universally, and Jesus wants us to make no mistake about that. Applying the word Words that will not pass away Reflecting on the end-times is not a morbid preoccupation. The church encourages us to do so every year at this time, so we don’t forget the lesson of the fig tree, among others. We should also recall the story of the treasure that moths can’t eat and rust can’t ruin. We should remain wide awake, as Jesus says, to the truth that this temporal reality is passing away, and our fragile bodies along with it. Everything we attach ourselves to so dearly in this world is moving in the natural direction of its mortal limits. If we believe there’s more to life than this, then we need to give attention to that world beyond the world. The fig tree’s lesson is so simple, perhaps it takes a child to understand it. Related scripture links Nature lessons in Mark: 4:1-20, 26-41; 11:12-14, 20-25; 16:17-18 In Matthew: 6:25-34; 8:23-27; 9:36-38; 10:16, 29-31; 12:33-37; 13:1-9, 18-32, 36-43;18:10-14; 21:18-22; 24:32-35 In Luke: 6:43-45; 8:4-15, 22-25; 12:6-7, 22-34; 13:6-9, 18-19; 15:1-7; 17:5-6; 21:29-33;22:31-32, 23:30-31 In John: 10:1-16; 15:1-10; 21:15-17 Solar activity: Josh. 10:12-13; 2 Kings 20:8-11; Isa. 38:5-8 Catechism links Creation and us: CCC 198; 279-314; 337-349; 668; 2115-2117; 2415-2418

Authors Alice Camille

natural world garden of eden laws of nature the fig tree's lesson

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23 Mar 2025 - Third Sunday of Lent, Cycle C

Friends of mine generously let me use their home with a pool in Florida when they traveled to Australia to visit their family. Grateful for the grand time I had, I bought them a small fig tree as a thank you gift, figuring it would prosper in their Florida sun. I was wrong. It was sensitive to the occasional winter cold snaps. To help it surviv, they replanted it into a very large pot they set on a wheeled card. A cold forecast and they would wheel it indoors for the duration. With great care it flourished. They told me the few figs it produced were delicious. When I visited my dad’s birthplace in southern Italy, the climate was perfect, and fig trees grew wild everywhere without any special care. In fact, with the weather so perfect the trees gave two separate crops. The early crop produced large figs they would harvest and then transport to restaurants in northern Italy. The figs in the second harvest were noticeably smaller but incredibly sweet. They would be gathered for the personal use of the townsfolk in their homemade desserts and jams and just to be enjoyed with a piece of bread and a cup of expresso for breakfast. The older the tree, the sweeter the figs. Hopefully, the fruit our lives create over the years can ripen with a lot of work because of what surrounds us. But in the right environment it can all be plentiful and sweet.

Authors Father Dominic Grassi

fig tree fig harvest Environment

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