Two trees stand outside my window.
One is a peepul tree. The other, according to my gardener, is a junglee neem.
This summer has been brutal. The sun has been behaving as if it has been personally offended by all forms of vegetation.
The two trees suffered terribly.
The peepul looked like something from a horror movie. Bare branches stretched towards the sky like skeletal fingers. The neem looked equally miserable. Both seemed ready to surrender and quietly depart this world.
About a month ago, I decided to do something unusual.
I prayed for them.
Now before botanists start writing letters to me, I am not claiming to have discovered a new agricultural technique. I simply prayed.
Then something remarkable happened.
The peepul came back to life.
Tiny green shoots appeared, almost immediately. Soon branches that had looked dead were overflowing with fresh leaves. Today the tree hangs outside my window in glorious green abundance.
A miracle? Yes indeed.
Encouraged, I turned my attention to the neem.
Nothing. Not a leaf. Not a bud. Not even a hint of cooperation.
I called my gardener. He inspected it with the seriousness of a senior surgeon examining a patient. “Dead, sahib,” he announced. “Must cut it before the monsoon.”
I looked sadly at the tree and immediately thought of Jesus and the fig tree.
In Mark 11:12-14 we read: “The next day as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. 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. Then he said to the tree, ‘May no one ever eat fruit from you again.’ And his disciples heard him say it.”
At first this seems unfair. If it was not the season for figs, why would Jesus expect fruit?
But there is something fascinating here. A fig tree that is full of leaves is usually expected to have at least some early fruit. The tree was advertising fruitfulness. It was making promises. From a distance it looked productive and healthy. Yet when Jesus came close, there was nothing there.
The problem was not the lack of fruit. The problem was the appearance of fruitfulness without the reality. And suddenly my dead neem began preaching a sermon.
God is not interested merely in branches rising up, He is interested in what is produced.
Love. Kindness. Compassion. Integrity. Generosity. Faithfulness.
Many of us are very good at looking good, even producing leaves. We look successful. We attend the right meetings. We say the right words. We may even impress other people.
But when God comes close, does He find fruit?
As I look out at my two trees every morning, one flourishing and one awaiting the axe, I find myself asking a rather uncomfortable question:
Am I merely displaying leaves?
Or am I producing the fruit that God is looking for when I finally stand before Him?
bobsbanter@gmail.com
