Sunday, March 23rd, 2025: "Full to the Brim: You Are Worthy"

Watch the Sermon here

The First United Presbyterian Church

“Full to the Brim: You Are Worthy”

Rev. Amy Morgan

March 23, 2025

Luke 13:1-9 

At that very time there were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you, but unless you repent you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the other people living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you, but unless you repent you will all perish just as they did.”

Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the man working the vineyard, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good, but if not, you can cut it down.’ ”  

“Every U.S. news agency repeatedly told residents within reach of the storm that Katrina would likely cause catastrophic damage. Yet it appears that through sheer ignorance or foolish bravado, many residents of affected areas decided that mandatory evacuation notices didn't apply to them. Now they're sitting on rooftops, surrounded by flood waters, expecting emergency personnel to risk their lives to save them.”

This is how one editorial described the situation in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina caused hundreds of deaths and billions of dollars in property damage. This was not an isolated voice in the victim-blaming that took place after this tragedy. In ways both subtle and explicit, the media, national leaders, and many Americans not impacted by the disaster suggested that the people of New Orleans were to blame for their own suffering. More than one editorial said they were too ignorant or foolish to evacuate. Others questioned why they chose to live below sea level in the first place. People argued that the residents knew about the dangers of the failing levees and should have gotten their leaders to do something about it. There were insinuations that the victims were poor, black, criminals who didn’t deserve public assistance. Some religious leaders declared the people of New Orleans deserved God’s punishment for allowing wickedness to take place in their city. 

The people of New Orleans were not to blame for what they suffered during Hurricane Katrina. Their suffering was not caused by ignorance or foolishness, poor choices or irresponsibility, their economic status or the color of their skin. It wasn’t punishment for their sins. They were all human beings worthy of flourishing. And sadly, instead of advocating for them and caring for them, many of us blamed them and felt they didn’t deserve rescue and resources. 

This is what happens in the face of inexplicable tragedy. We need something or someone to blame so that we can be assured we’ll be spared from this kind of suffering. It’s not necessarily intentional or meant to be cruel. It provides a bulwark between us and the possibility of sudden destruction. It gives us something to do, a sense of control, a way out. 

If we believe people are unhoused because they made poor life choices, or got themselves addicted, or didn’t seek needed treatment, or mismanaged their resources – we can just resolve not to do those things and be certain to avoid that fate. If we can believe gun deaths are caused by gangs and criminals and people who are insane – we can resolve to be responsible gun owners and we’ll be fine. If we can believe black men killed by police shouldn’t have been walking in that neighborhood or wearing that sweatshirt or resisting arrest or reaching for his phone, we can ignore the possibility that this would happen to us or to someone we know and love. If we can believe people wouldn’t be poor if they could just get a better education, work harder, or be more frugal, we can feel like we’ve earned our position in society and can hold onto it. If we believe those who are unemployed are lazy, unskilled, or difficult to work with, we can work harder, faster, better and make sure we never end up in that situation. 

In other words, if we see those who suffer as unfruitful fig trees, wasting space and taking up resources and not contributing to society, we can cut them down, get them out of our sight, and carry on with our productive lives. We’re not responsible for caring for them or about them. We don’t have to see them as worthy of existence. We don’t have to nurture them or help them thrive. And we can believe that as long as we do what is good and right and productive and profitable, we will remain fruitful, flourishing, and free from harm. 

For the folks in the crowd around Jesus, if they could just believe the Galileans murdered by Pilate and those crushed by the collapse of the tower of Siloam were worse sinners than anyone else, if they could believe they deserved their fate, they could believe nothing so terrible would ever happen to them. Jesus has been teaching massive crowds of people, warning them against hypocrisy and greed, urging faithfulness and fearless witness. Maybe these folks listening have been thinking, “I’m glad I’m not one of those greedy hypocrites he’s criticizing. I’m glad I am righteous and obedient to God.” Perhaps they were waiting for Jesus to tell them about their eternal reward. 

But instead he calls on these folks to repent, to turn away from these attitudes and beliefs that devalue others to assuage their fear, and to recognize the inherent worth of every human being. 

To illustrate his point, Jesus tells this parable about an unfruitful fig tree. First of all, we might note that this fig tree is planted in the middle of a vineyard. This was common practice, and still is. But the main purpose of the fig tree in a vineyard was not the production of figs. The trees were used to test the soil, to shade the grape vines, and to deter birds from eating the grapes. So when the owner of the vineyard wants to cut it down for not producing figs, this is kind of a ridiculous idea. 

The vineyard owner, unlike the gardener, doesn’t understand the inherent worth of the fig tree, what it contributes to his vineyard just by existing. 

And friends, this is what we don’t understand. We don’t understand the inherent worth of other humans, what they contribute just by existing. Wealth and virtue don’t determine a person’s value any more than figs on a fig tree in a vineyard. People have worth, just because they exist, not because of what they produce. 

Right after this teaching, Jesus walks into a synagogue on the sabbath and heals a woman who has been suffering for 18 years. And he gets in big trouble for it. The religious leaders declare piety to be of greater value than this woman’s wholeness. Jesus calls them hypocrites, and then tells these parables about the kingdom of God, describing the flourishing of the mustard tree and expansion of yeast. In God’s reign, everyone is worthy of thriving. 

And Jesus shows us what that looks like in this parable. The gardener advocates for the unproductive tree. He promises to nurture it in ways that are labor-intensive. He expresses his hope for this tree’s future. He recognizes the vulnerability of the tree. The translation we read this morning renders the final line of the parable, “If it bears fruit next year, well and good, but if not, you can cut it down.” In Greek, the verb is not permissive, it’s indicative. He knows that if the tree doesn’t do what the owner wants, it “will” be cut down. The tree’s future depends on its productivity, on conforming to standards that are beyond its control. And the gardener is the tree’s only advocate, its only hope. 

Folks, our world is filled with fig trees planted in vineyards, people of immeasurable inherent value who are in danger of extermination because their plight frightens us. Veterans who have been traumatized, stigmatized, disabled and dishonored to the point of feeling like there is no reason left for them to exist. People who don’t meet our standards and definitions for what is successful, attractive, or virtuous and are excluded from access to opportunity and influence. People who have been driven from their homelands by violence, persecution, or extreme poverty only to be labeled as a wasteful drag on our society. People who have suffered trauma and abuse who are seen as weak or damaged. Victims of disaster who are supposed to rebuild their lives by pulling themselves up and figuring things out. 

If we can somehow imagine that those who appear unfruitful are inherently worthless, we don’t have to imagine that we could ever find ourselves in the same situation. In other words, cutting down fruitless fig trees is a great antidote to empathy. 

But when we cut off empathy for others, we sacrifice empathy for ourselves. We sacrifice our own sense of inherent worthiness. We feed the fear and shame that keep us enslaved to perfection, productivity, profits, and progress. So when, inevitably, we experience seasons of barrenness, seasons when our bodies fail us, when our minds can’t keep up, when technology advances beyond our capacities, when we are ill, disabled, disenfranchised, or dislodged, when inexplicable and unavoidable tragedy strikes, we cannot see our deep-rooted goodness. We can’t see that others around us can flourish, even when we’re unproductive. We can’t see what we contribute, just by existing. 

Friends, our God knows that life is scary and uncertain. Jesus lived in that fear and uncertainty with us. Our God knows that we all experience seasons when we can’t keep up, when we have nothing to give, when the best we can do is keep breathing. And that is enough for our God. 

So maybe that can be enough for us, too. If we can let go of shaming and blaming others, maybe we can stop shaming and blaming ourselves. If we can know that just being is a gift to the world, maybe we can see how that is true for everyone. And maybe then we can stand up to those in power who would rather get rid of anything that doesn’t meet their standards of production, perfection, or performance. Maybe we can nurture and care for those who are doing their best by just existing, even if it is difficult and costly. Maybe we can share hope, even as we recognize one another’s vulnerability. Maybe we can see the worthiness of all the fruitless fig trees, and help others see it, too. 

God knows that we are all worthy of thriving. May we know that, too, all the way down to our roots. 

To God be all glory forever and ever. Amen.