By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
As a boy, I loved Fig Newton cookies. They were a comfort food and a staple at home, especially with a glass of cold milk. I liked them so much that I often sang the famous 1970s-era Fig Newton jingle with my school friends (Fig Newton Jingle). I even got a bit upset over the way the Bible’s New Testament seemed to disrespect fig trees.
I heard what seemed like anti-fig tree rants repeatedly in church. In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus was hungry and saw a fig tree with leaves but no figs. He said to it, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” (Mark 11:12-14) Matthew tells the same basic story, but the impact is immediate and the poor tree withers away at once. (Matthew 21:18-22)
Luke treats the struggling fig tree a little better, sparing it from a direct rebuke and at least giving it a chance for redemption. In Luke’s parable, a man finds the tree barren of fruit and wants it cut down. The vinedresser intercedes, “Let it alone, sir, this year also, till I dig about it and put on manure. And if it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.” (Luke 13:6-9)
I probably missed the theological point back then and took the stories too literally, but I just felt bad for the poor fig trees. Perhaps someone just collected their fruit and fed others with it (like me via my Fig Newtons). Or maybe it was just an off year for figs. We all have bad days. Yet, the poor trees still got the death penalty, the proverbial axe. It seemed harsh.
In later years, I learned I was not the only one who saw things this way. British philosopher Bertrand Russell had the same basic reaction. He once penned a fig tree apologia, noting “it was not the right time of year for figs, and you really could not blame the tree.”
Another tree productivity controversy sprouted when I was a few years older. In Shel Silverstein’s 1964 picture book The Giving Tree, a quite selfless tree gives a boy she loves a place to play, shade, apples to sell, branches to build a house, and then the tree trunk for a boat, leaving behind only a stump. The boy eventually is a tired old man and needs a quiet place to rest, so he sits on the tree stump, making both him and the tree quite happy.
One writer called the tree a metaphor for perfect altruism and the man perfect selfishness. Yet, Wikipedia notes the book is “one of the most divisive” in children’s literature. Fans of the book say the relationship between the boy and tree is positive (the tree gives selfless love). Critics see it more negatively (the boy abuses and exploits the tree).
Afraid I might be not be seeing the fig forest for the trees, one day a more youthful me asked a friend—Paulist priest Fr. Fred Draeger—why the Bible treated the fig tree so harshly. He always patiently answered my silly questions. After thinking about it for a moment, he said, “We have to be productive in this life, we have to produce.”
I let that conversation take root for several years. It (and the Shel Silverstein book) popped into my mind recently when I remembered how another friend—a Dominican priest—had defined true love without using any tree references. “Love,” he said, “is not meeting someone halfway down the road. It means going the entire way if necessary, and sometimes you walk alone.”
Theologians and others more skilled than me at lectio divina have explained that the fig tree represents the nation of Israel and its fruitfulness at various times. This is interesting, but the fig-loving boy in me prefers a more simple interpretation.
Fig trees are simple life forms. They show us love by producing figs. If they cannot or will not produce figs, they no longer are fig trees. Their purpose and essence is gone, and sadly, they probably already are dead or dying notwithstanding our curses.
It’s an analogy of a sorts. The sweet fruit of our human life is the love we give each other. If we cannot or will not give love, we do not fulfill our human purpose. We are doomed eventually to wither away, even if no one curses us. If this failure is widespread enough, entire orchards and even forests of humanity will disappear.
Finally, I have realized the New Testament stories that vexed me as a boy are not anti-fig. They really are pro-fig. They underscore the goodness and importance of figs and their trees. And the lesson for us non-tree human life forms? Share your figs!
I’ll bring the Newtons and the cold milk.
*Mike O’Brien is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. He is writing a book about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah.
