The Fourth Sunday in Lent
Earlier
this week I saw a cartoon of a caterpillar sitting at a table, holding a glass
of wine in one of its many feet, sitting across from a butterfly, who was also holding
a glass of wine. The caterpillar says, “You’ve
changed.” To which the butterfly responds, “We’re supposed to.”
It was one of those messages that
stuck with me. I couldn’t get the image
of the two insects sitting at that table out of my head. The dramatic transformation from a
multi-legged ground crawler to a six-legged winged insect is, well, an amazing
bit of God’s creativity.
What we don’t see but might remember
from a science class or from observing nature, is the time in between. The time spent in the chrysalis, that time
when the most change occurs.
Last year there was a chrysalis on the cyclone fence, out
by the baseball field. The teachers at
Worthmore placed a sign near it so that no one would disturb it while the
magical transformation was taking place. The weekend of our clean up, the chrysalis burst
open when no one was watching, and I suspect a butterfly dried its wings in the
sunlight and then flew away.
If you didn’t know it was a chrysalis, or you didn’t look
at it closely, you might have thought is was just a clump of mud or a
leaf. It didn’t look like much. It would have been easy to brush it off the
fence, thinking it wasn’t anything, that it wasn’t worth anything.
And yet, inside, so much happens. We just can’t see it. I think that’s the magic or mystery of
metamorphosis. Transformation!
At our vestry meeting on Thursday
night we studied the second half of today’s Gospel reading. We read the parable three times, from three
different translations, with three different questions.
I asked the group just before the
first reading to pay attention to what word or phrase stood out to them. It was interesting to hear the responses. They talked about the idea of giving the tree
another chance; of trusting the gardener to know about fig trees; of getting
rid of unproductive people from the workplace; of questioning people who do not
seem to contribute to society. The
comments turned in a way that made me wonder just how much we judge others
based on the outward expression of productivity, or our perception of their productivity.
In our second time through, I asked them
to think about what this passage might mean for St. Alban’s. The conversation turned to how the St. Alban’s
Leadership Team is like the roots receiving the fertilizer. A sense of being fed and nurtured with the
expectation that what is learned will help the tree, or in our case, St. Alban’s,
transform.
We talked about how the tree had been planted for three
years, just like our baseball program has been, and how with a casual glance, neither
seems to have made any “real” progress, but now, in the fourth year, with a lot
of behind the scenes work, the baseball program has transformed into our own
league with systems being put in place.
It seems that St. Alban’s Baseball is about to blossom and produce fruit.
We read this parable a third time and I asked folks to share
a personal story, if they felt comfortable, about a time or season in their life
where they learned, first hand, what the gardener wanted the vineyard owner to
know.
What I learned through this last part of our study is that
so many of us have had experiences in our lives where we have taken the time necessary
to see transformation in self, in others, in nature. The stories were deeply personal and
reflected a sense of wonder and awe in the story teller as they realized how
their story was so clearly reflected through the images in this parable.
I saw transformation, right before my eyes. I saw how some people who earlier expressed agreement
with the owner of the vineyard that the tree should be cut down because it wasn’t
producing, change. They had used the metaphor of the unproductive
tree as permission to judge others, to judge their value, based on their
productivity.
I asked them to think about this: What if you had chosen to cut down that proverbial
tree of your story? How would the
results have been different?
I saw a cartoon this week with a caterpillar and a
butterfly sitting at a table, drinking glasses of wine. The caterpillar said, “You’ve changed.” The butterfly replied, “We’re supposed to.”
The fig tree in the parable was changing, but the owner of
the vineyard couldn’t see the change. Since
he couldn’t see the work happening on the inside of the tree, since he didn’t
understand the way a fig tree developed, in his mind, the tree was wasting
space. And fig trees take up a lot of
space, so this was worth mentioning. But the gardener knew that the fig tree
needed more time before any fruit could appear. He knew that with continued attention, this
tree would likely bear fruit. He knew it
needed fertilizer, special attention, and time.
My dad has been known to say, “You aren’t walking in their
shoes,” to help us understand that we can’t judge someone when we really don’t
know their circumstances. In a way, this
is the point Jesus is trying to make here.
Sometimes, we just have to be
patient to see change. Sometimes, we
need to provide a little more attention, love and encouragement to help someone
grow into their potential.
Instead of judging based on the level of productivity of
others, what if we wondered how God is working through this time of
metamorphosis, of change, of transformation?
Like the caterpillar’s time in a chrysalis, like a fruit
tree’s time before it can bear fruit, we will experience times in our lives, in
the lives of our loved ones, in the lives of strangers, programs and
organizations, something that looks like no growth is occurring, that no
changes are happening.
Remember: Transformation
takes energy, it happens inside or behind the scenes where few can participate,
and so often, for individuals, transformation is a solitary, sometimes painful,
experience.
The message in this parable is to be patient and to trust. Just because any one of us is incapable of
seeing what’s going on inside another doesn’t mean nothing is going on. Consider what’s happening inside that chrysalis—the
dramatic changes occurring inside that small space. Can you imagine, or have you personally
experienced what that feels like?
What would happen if you choose to cut down the tree, cut a
person out of your life, or give up on a program or institution in your
impatience, or, like the vineyard owner, ignorance in the process? What would happen if you didn’t wait for the butterfly
to emerge or the fruit to grow? How
would your relationships be different?
How would your life be affected?
What would you miss?
Conversely, how has your life been affected when you have
been patient, when you’ve nurtured a relationship through significant change? How did that beautiful butterfly or delicious
fruit create meaning in your life?
The gardener said, “give it a year. Let me lovingly tend it. If it is not transformed by patience, love,
tenderness and special attention, cut it down.”
We don’t know what happened a year later. But I know that many of you have experience
with all that patience, love, tenderness and special attention does and how
transformation can occur.
There was caterpillar and a butterfly sitting at a table,
each drinking a glass of wine. The caterpillar
said, “You’ve changed.” The butterfly replied,
“We’re supposed to.”
Yes, we are. In God’s
time.
Let us pray.
Dear Creator of All, in
this season of Lent, forgive us when we are like the vineyard owner, judging
others when we cannot see the metamorphosis occurring within them. Teach us to be more like the gardener: patient, nurturing and kind as we trust you and
your time as we await transformation in others.
Remind us that we are often like the fig tree, quietly and internally transforming
and changing, growing and developing. Ultimately,
use these weeks of Lent to transform our lives and grow closer to you. In your holy, life-giving, name. Amen.