The Withered Fig-Tree

S. Mark xi. 12–14, 20–26

After our Lord had gone into the Temple at the close of His Triumphant Entry, the crowds must have dispersed, for He returned with the Twelve alone when the evening drew on. The night, we may well believe, was spent in prayer and fasting, perhaps as was His wont on the mountain-side in the open air. When the day broke His first thought was to visit the Temple, and cleanse it from the terrible iniquities which had filled Him with horror on the previous day. So it was,

1 -qvKiaQy]. He passed the night in the open air. The fact that He was hungry points to His not being in the house, where Martha would certainly have provided for His bodily needs.

cit. xr that, absorbed in the work which lay before Him, He neglected the morning meal, and set out at once for the city. As they were on the way He caught sight of a fig-tree, standing alone in some conspicuous place, covered with leaves. It was an unusual thing so early in the year, and as the fruit of the fig in Palestine appears before the foliage, it created an expectation that haply He might find something to satisfy His hunger. Perhaps “the hasty fruit before the summer” — the first ripe fig — might be sufficiently advanced; at all events it was worth while to turn aside and see what there was. But there was “nothing but leaves.” It was two months to the ordinary season for figs, and, as far as fruit was concerned, that tree was no exception to the general rule. The precocity of its foliage had certainly held out a reasonable hope that it would be so, but it was not fulfilled.

It is, however, made to serve another and a higher purpose; and Jesus, with a deep insight into the spiritual teaching of Nature, at once seized the opportunity of enforcing a momentous truth. He “answered and said unto it, No man eat fruit of thee hereafter for ever.” There was no immediate visible effect, no lightning -flash descending to strip it of its leaves, and lay bare its branches, but an unseen shuddering thrilled through every fibre and stem, as it was “struck to the heart by the malediction of its Creator.” And Jesus and His disciples turned aside and went on their way, and thought no more of what had happened, but on the morrow, as they drew near to the place, a strange sight arrested their attention; and “Peter calling to remembrance saith unto Him, Master, behold, the fig-tree which Thou cursedst is withered away.”

The incident is full of instruction. It reminds us of the inseparable union between His Humanity and His Divinity. He was hungry, and came looking for something which did not exist; it bespeaks His liability to that which was common to man.

He cursed the tree by the fiat of an irresistible Will, and Nature was arrested, and the fountain of life dried up. It marks the possession of a power which is shared by no mortal creature, but is the sole prerogative of Almighty God. Again, it may be asked why He should curse a tree, an unoffending tree. We know it has excited the scorn and ridicule both of former and later generations, alike also of Pagan and so-called Christian writers. They have seen in it nothing but an indication of childish displeasure, or of an impatient and vindictive spirit. But this is to measure His acts and words by a merely human standard, whereas He not only “spake as never man spake,” but also did everything “according to the counsel of His will.” There was danger of the people forgetting that God is just as well as merciful. He had worked countless miracles of love, healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, restoring the dead to life again. Here is one of judgment, one that foretells “the wrath to come;” but even in this, justice is tempered with mercy, for whereas His deeds of beneficence were performed on the bodies of men, when He would display the severity 1 of His future judgment, it is the tree of the field — not man — that is cursed.

Now there was something in this withering, of unusual significance. Jesus had often taught by word. It was an opportunity to make a new thing, and arrest attention by a parable in action. It was the sequel of the parable of the Barren Fig-tree, “a rehearsal, as it were, of the execution of the judgment then denounced” upon the Jewish nation if they continued to bear no fruit. The tree had been refreshed by the dews of heaven; the sunshine had warmed it with genial rays; the sheltering hill perhaps had warded off the chilling blasts, and all the seasonable influences of Providence had ministered to its growth, but only to bring forth an ostentatious show of unproductive leaves. And as with that hapless tree, so with the nation. All the care and culture of the Great Vine-dresser had been bestowed in vain; there was nothing but a deceptive and pretentious display; they were for ever giving promise of fruit, but yielding none; there was no return for unremitting attention; they cumbered the soil, their end was to be burned, they were “nigh to cursing.”

Such was the cause for which the fig-tree was destroyed. All that follows in the narrative seems at first sight difficult to connect with what has gone before. The key to its interpretation is found in that characteristic of love which prompted Jesus to soften His judgments of wrath with words of promise. “Let nothing,” He seems to say, “rob you of your faith in God. There is much about to happen by which you may be staggered. You will see the nation, whose cursing I have foreshadowed in the blasting of this tree, even yet more flourishing; but be not dismayed: all will be made clear in God’s good time. And as in this, so in all else, place implicit confidence and trust in God, and nothing will be impossible. There is no difficulty which may not be surmounted in the power of faith: the very mountain on which we are standing may be lifted up and cast into yonder sea. I do not mean, I need hardly tell you, the actual removal, but I desire to emphasise with My authority the assurance, which such a figure so well illustrates, that no act or deed, however arduous, is beyond the reach of him whose faith is stayed upon God.”

And it is precisely the same in every prayer that goes forth from an undoubting heart. You shall have your petition granted before you ask, for the wish will prevent your words, and God can hear the one as well as the other, for He has promised elsewhere, “It shall come to pass that before they call I will answer; and while they are yet speaking I will hear.”

There is however one precaution which may not be forgotten. Forgiveness of injuries is a virtue little recognised by the Jew, and yet it is the very condition upon which we must ask to be forgiven ourselves. For “if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”

Note: (tvktjv ixiav — S. Matt. xxi. 19. It was a single tree. Stanley says that “Mount Olivet, besides its abundance of olives, is still sprinkled with fig-trees.” — Sin. and Palest. 422.

Note: Thomson says that he had plucked them in May in the district of Lebanon, which would be at least a month later than the south of Palestine.

Note: Many interpretations have been given of the saying, “for the time of figs was not yet,” e.g. “for where (os) He was, it was fig season,” or “it was not a favourable season for figs.” These are only ingenious evasions of a difficulty. The fact is plain. Figs were ripe ordinarily, according to circumstances, between June and August. This event occurred about the 22d of April. The appearance of this tree invited the passer-by to seek fruit on it, but it was only to mock his expectations. It was exceptional in having leaves so early; it was not exceptional as regards fruit. So it was said it was not the time for figs, and, it might have been added, nor for leaves. R

Note: The only other case of destruction is of the lowest of the animals, the swine. Cf. p. ^07.

Note: Westcott, Gospel Miracles, 25. LI I