The Fig Tree's Lesson

In winter the fig trees sleep,

replete with dreams of spring,

and within each bare, fragile branch and twig

an unfurled leaf lies waiting in possibility,

here and there, invisible

to our eyes.

Keep watch, the Teacher said,

eyes open. But not 

a dread-draught, like awaiting biopsy results,

the footsteps of the doctor down sanitized halls.

Observe.

Even as the branches tick together 

beneath leaden skies, the last

leaves discarded just weeks ago,

Edenic attire now scattered carelessly underfoot

as if walking into a Black Friday dressing room.

Observe.

Sit in silent, appreciative anticipation,

breathing, in union with the slumbering Earth,

who bears both your body and this fig tree

with gentle, cupped hands.

Keep watch in wonder.

Even before winter’s commencement

the certainty of spring

lies somnolent, expectant,

blossoming forth, even now

just beneath the chilled bark of the fig tree.

Come and sit tomorrow

and you may see some small sign.

You do not know the hour.

But already the burgeoning has begun,

first the buds, then the leaves,

then the inside-out flowers

envy-green to aubergine 

that fill the hand with pregnant, succulent heft,

to bloom on the tongue come Eastertide, 

gritty as honeycomb,

an Advent promise fulfilled.

--Leslie Barnes Scoopmire, November 17, 2023

Scripture reference: Mark 13:24-37, Advent 1B

Whatever is Foreseen in Joy

Whatever is foreseen in joy
Must be lived out from day to day,

Vision held open in the dark
By our ten thousand days of work.
Harvest will fill the barn; for that
The hand must ache, the face must sweat.

And yet no leaf or grain is filled
By work of ours; the field is tilled
And left to grace. That we may reap,
Great work is done while we're asleep.

When we work well, a Sabbath mood
Rests on our day, and finds it good.


--Wendell Berry (1935- ), American poet, essayist, agrarian, philosopher, novelist, and farmer, from This Day: New and Collected Sabbath Poems


Scriptural association: Mark 4: 26-34 (Proper 6B)

Blind Bartimaeus

As Jesus went into Jericho town,
Twas darkness all, from toe to crown,
About blind Bartimeus.
He said, “My eyes are more than dim,
They are no use for seeing him:
No matter-he can see us!”

“Cry out, cry out, blind brother-cry;
Let not salvation dear go by.-
Have mercy, Son of David.”
Though they were blind, they both could hear-
They heard, and cried, and he drew near;
And so the blind were saved.

O Jesus Christ, I am very blind;
Nothing comes through into my mind;
‘Tis well I am not dumb:
Although I see thee not, nor hear,
I cry because thou may’st be near:
O son of Mary, come!

I hear it through the all things blind:
Is it thy voice, so gentle and kind-
“Poor eyes, no more be dim”?
A hand is laid upon mine eyes;
I hear, and hearken, see, and rise;-
‘Tis He! I follow him!

-- George MacDonald (1825-1905), Scots minister, poet, fairy tale writer.

Scripture Reference: Mark 10:46-52, Proper 25 B

Spit and dirt, said the blind man

when he left Christ’s side
himself no more a blind man
since Christ gave him sight.

Men who looked like trees
the first sight he saw.
Only a former blind man
could see us as we are

recognize how rare
specify how far
apart our being
and our seeming are.

What could he do but stare,
blink away the spit and dirt,
watch Christ wipe his hands
on his blinding white shirt?

-- Angela Alaimo O'Donnell, in The Christian Century, 2015

Scripture reference: Mark 10:46-52, Proper 25B

Blessing When the World is Ending: For Advent 1B

Look, the world
is always ending
somewhere.

Somewhere
the sun has come
crashing down.

Somewhere
it has gone
completely dark.

Somewhere
it has ended
with the gun,
the knife,
the fist.

Somewhere
it has ended
with the slammed door,
the shattered hope.

Somewhere
it has ended
with the utter quiet
that follows the news
from the phone,
the television,
the hospital room.

Somewhere
it has ended
with a tenderness
that will break
your heart.

But, listen,
this blessing means
to be anything
but morose.
It has not come
to cause despair.

It is simply here
because there is nothing
a blessing
is better suited for
than an ending,
nothing that cries out more
for a blessing
than when a world
is falling apart.

This blessing
will not fix you,
will not mend you,
will not give you
false comfort;
it will not talk to you
about one door opening
when another one closes.

It will simply
sit itself beside you
among the shards
and gently turn your face
toward the direction
from which the light
will come,
gathering itself
about you
as the world begins
again.

—Jan Richardson, Methodist pastor, poet, teacher, and artist, from her AdventDoor series at janrichardson.com

Advent 1 B, Scripture reference Mark 13:24-37

End and Beginning, © Jan Richardson janrichardson.com

Sabbath Poem: Amish Economy

We live by mercy if we live.
To that we have no fit reply
But working well and giving thanks
Loving God, loving one another,
To keep Creation's neighborhood.

And my friend David Kline told me,
"It falls strangely on Amish ears,
This talk of how you find yourself.
We Amish, after all, don't try
To find ourselves. We try to lose
Ourselves"-- and thus are lost within
The found world of sunlight and rain
Where fields are green and then are ripe,
And the people eat together by
The charity of God, who is kind
Even to those who give no thanks.

In morning light, men in dark clothes
Go out among the beasts and fields.
Lest the community be lost,
Each day they must work out the bond
Between goods and their price: the garden
Weeded by sweat is flowerbright;
The wheat shocked in shorn field, clover
Is growing where wheat grew; the crib
Is golden with gathered corn,

While in the world of the found selves,
Lost to the sunlit, rainy world,
The motor-driven cannot stop.
This is the world where value is
Abstract, and preys on things, and things
Are changed to thoughts that have a price.

Cost + greed - fear = price:
Maury Tulleen thus laid it out.
The need to balance greed and fear
Affords no stopping place, no rest,
And need increases as we fail.

But now, in summer dusk, a man
Whose hair and beard curl like spring ferns
Sits under the yard trees, at rest,
His smallest daughter on his lap.
This is because he rose at dawn,
Cared for his own, helped his neighbors,
Worked much, spent little, kept his peace.

-- Wendell Berry (1934- ), American farmer, poet, essayist, agrarian, 1995, from This Day: New and Collected Sabbath Poems 1979-2013, 2013


Photo: "Amish Father and Child," by Julie Horn, from flickr.

Relevant scripture: Proper 4B, Mark 2:23-3:6