“… the vineyard owner said to the gardener, ‘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?’ The gardener replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it.'” —Luke 13:6-7

The appointed passage for this week (Luke 13:1-9).  Impending doom. I want to believe that I can organize life to shield me and those I love from disaster. Loving living. Wise investments. Exercise. Diet. Plenty of rest. I assume that the people of Galilee thought the same—with whatever the first century equivalent of organizing life was. Then Pilate fell on them, with the same deadly consequences as the tower of Siloam’s fall. I find it hard to come to grips with life’s absurd unpredictability. Managing outcomes is not entirely illusory– but it is largely so. Jesus suggests that some benefit may come from repenting. But would repentance have prevented Pilate from slaughtering worshipers or kept a tower from collapsing?

Like the vineyard owner, I would seize the notion of control. Cut down the unproductive tree and turn the soil to wiser use. Is not three seasons enough?

At 60, I have had more than three seasons. Some more fruitful than others.  For all my umbrage at the impetuous nature of youth, my 30s were productive. I was out and outspoken. The church’s failure to rise to opportunities for equality and inclusion left me undaunted. Confrontation energized me. But, like an aging tree, my spirit now needs greater tending if the few buds it bears are to flower and make it all the way to fruit. Some seasons come and go with nothing to show for them. Reflecting on my life, I depend on divine energy moving  less like the vineyard owner and more like the gardener.

Indeed, I thank the gardener. I am grateful that the gardener’s ‘yet one more chance’ prevails. The Divine is relentless in relenting of judgement.  Give the tree one more chance. Even give it special treatment. Nourish and encourage it.

Time can run out.  I must seize the opportunity provided.  The gardener may not convince the vineyard owner next time.  But relentless grace opens possibilities.  May the season of my 60s yet again bear fruit.