In her book Chasing Vines, author Beth Moore and her daughter take a trip to Italy to study vines, vineyards, grapes, and all things viticultural. [1]

Unbeknownst to most of us an unpruned vine will grow and grow, expanding out over building, structure and soil without ever producing a grape. It will become large, impressive and leafy, with not a single piece of fruit.

As the book describes, delicious grapes can only be produced under certain conditions. Rocky, difficult soil and beating sunlight are only a start. Grape vines have to be pruned, cutting back their lengthy vines. Only in adverse soil and with severe pruning will a grapevine become convinced it is about to die. Then, in desperation, it will produce seed filled fruit in an effort to reproduce itself.

As Moore notes, there is a powerful and universal metaphor in the grapevine. How often is life all vine and no fruit? Our sprawling and impressive careers, accomplishments, and possessions look enormous from the outside. Our importance is overstated in the size of our vines, yet there is little substantial fruit – that is, elements that are life giving, sustaining to others and will live on after we’ve withered on the vine.

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The image of leaves and fruit has been used elsewhere. In the final week of his life, Jesus took time out of his busy schedule to curse a fig tree by the side of the road. What an odd story.

“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.” [2]

With his sense of poetic timing, Jesus knew the power of the fig leaf metaphor. In fact, the first time fig leaves are mentioned in the Bible was at the Garden of Eden.[3] After eating the “forbidden fruit” women and men realized they were naked and so they sewed fig leaves together to make coverings for themselves.

There of course are different levels of nakedness. On the surface, there is the nudity of the physical body. But deeper down is a nakedness that comes with loss of identity. The Bible says Adam and Eve were “naked and ashamed” after eating the fruit. They saw that they had nothing and therefore assumed they were nothing. So, they covered themselves with fig leaves – a metaphor for all the false and illusory coverings we place on our exterior to hide the shame and anxiety we deeply feel.

“May no one ever eat of your fruit again.”

Jesus is saying, don’t believe the lie. Just because you have nothing, does not mean you are nothing. And when all the exterior identities are stripped away – your profession, education, grievances, money, race, gender, politics, even religion – you will discover there’s an even deeper part of you.

But the leaves of our lives crowd out the potential for fruit. Life becomes busy, cluttered and distracted, as we chase creating our own significance for life – making our own meaning.

All the nutrients (time, money, energy) go towards feeding the long vine, and there’s nothing to feed others from.

In this, Jesus is demonstrating a common scenario in our daily lives. Someone comes to us with a need – they’re lonely or scared or hurting or have some material need – in other words, they’re hungry.

What will they find when they come to us? In being present and compassionate do we have fruit that is able to feed them?

Or will they find nothing but leaves – the outward activity and impressive achievements that make us too busy to really be with people?

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As it is in our personal lives, so is it in our churches. The people come with a hunger and find only the leafy green vastness of unnourishing and empty religion.

It is telling that this odd story of the fig tree is directly followed by Jesus’ clearing of the temple.

“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, and would not allow anyone to carry merchandise through the temple courts. 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.’” [4]

It was overgrown, all leaf and no fruit.

I’ve been in several hoarder houses, where the person hangs on to anything and absolutely everything. Old magazines from the 70s, dusty junk from unfinished passion projects, leftover remains from items that can “still be used”. In a hoarder house you have to clear off a spot just to sit and eat. The TV is on to transport the person to cleaner, opener spaces.

But I’ve never seen a literal hoarder church, if anything, churches are too spatially empty. There’s space among the pews, sparse crowds of people, and clean, neutral looking religious pictures hanging on the walls. The emptiness is suffocating. Like being in a stuffy museum, where you fear touching or breaking something.

“Mi casa es su casa”, Jesus said, “and it shall be called a house of prayer for all nations.” But almost always, this physically empty house of prayer has the spiritual feel of a hoarder house. There’s no room to move around. You can’t sit down because the space has all been taken up by our dusty religious traditions and unwritten, unspoken rules about supposed goodness.

What if he were around now to clear our churches? How many dumpsters full of our sanctimonious trash would he fill? In horror, we’d watch our stacks of spirituality and life achievements get bagged up and carried out the door. Don’t throw out that piece of our religion Christ, it can still be used!

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Many have read this account of the temple clearing and loudly applauded the anti-establishment, anti-religion message that his actions seem to convey. But lest we become too comfortable in our smugness, there is a universal lesson in the story that applies to all people regardless of background or level of religiosity.

People are hungry and come to us for space and sustenance. Often, they’ll turn over the leaves of our busy, cluttered lives and institutions only to find nothing to eat. We’re too busy, too stressed, too hung over, too distracted. There’s no space for them.

God is described as a gardener who cuts away at the long lengthy fruitless vines. God wants to develop in us something life giving and sustaining to others. [5]

Good gardener prune away. Keep cutting back until it feels like we’re losing everything. And when it feels like the end is near, let’s see if there’s room to move around and fruit to feed the people.

REFERENCES:

1. Moore, Beth Chasing Vines Chasing Vines on Amazon

2. Book of Mark, chapter 11

3. Book of Genesis chapter 3

4. Book of Mark, chapter 11

5. Book of John, chapter 15

Overcrowded and Overgrown