Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 1444
“Jesus answering said unto them, Have faith in God.” Mark 11:22.
THIS exhortation stands in connection with the miracle of the withering of the fig tree that was clad with leaves but bore no fruit. The peculiarity of the parable calls for a few words of explanation, before we proceed, to enforce the moral appended to it. To many readers it seems strange and inconsistent that as it was not the time for figs, our Lord should have expected to find figs upon the tree at all. They wonder how it was that He should blame the fig tree for not having figs when the time of figs was not yet come. But it is because we do not live in the land of fig trees that we do not understand this, for, according to the natural order of production, the fig fruit precedes the foliage. The fig tree, first of all, puts forth its figs at the end of the shoots—the little knobs beginning to form in the early spring and the figs becoming very fairly developed before any leaves appear—so that if a fig tree has leaves upon it, it ought to have figs in a considerable state of ripeness.
This fig tree, at a time when no figs were expected and far less any leaves, seemed to have outstripped all its fellow fig trees. It seemed to have gone far ahead of them—to have been in advance of its own responsibilities as a fig tree. It seemed to have exceeded all the demands of the season and to have reached a state of supernatural fruit-bearing which no other fig tree had dreamed of reaching. There were leaves. The Savior went up and, finding the leaves which ought to have denoted figs in a considerable state of ripeness, He glanced around, but finding no single fig to justify the large pretense, He said, “Henceforth let no fruit grow on you forever.”
You know that occasionally trees do leaf at abnormal times. There is a famous oak in the New Forest which usually has well-developed leaves upon it about Christmas when winter reigns on every side and, “dead the vegetable kingdom lies.” There is a pretty superstition about it, as though the tree thrust forth its sudden honors at the birth of the great Lord. I have seen the tree and it seems very strange that it should take to leaf-bearing when there is not a leaf throughout the forest anywhere else. This fig tree, in like manner, for some reason or other, had got into leaf at a time when it ought not. If it did get into leaf, it ought to have figs, but it had leaves and no figs.
As such it becomes a fit and proper emblem of such a man as we sometimes meet with who vaunts a righteousness he cannot verify—he seems more conspicuously pious in his character than he could reasonably have been expected to be. He makes a show of piety that is altogether premature—he gives signs of maturity before the season. He professes much though he yields nothing to corroborate it—a prodigy of self-conceit. He does not say he is absolutely perfect, but it needs very fine optics to distinguish the line. He outstrips all his fellows. His talk is something marvelous. His creed is more sound, his conscience more sensitive, his conduct more sanctimonious and his standard in estimating others more censorious than the rest of the community.
You are amazed at it till you come near to him and then you find it is all talk, tinsel and trumpery. “Nothing but leaves”—no real virtue, but a verdant show. Yes, I have known decent morality outraged by such monstrous duplicity! All the leaves and foliage of a godly life—and all the death and corruption of a graceless libertinism! Those round about him were ashamed to find themselves so inferior in their attainments, till presently the suddenness with which he withered astounded them more than the rapidity of his growth! There was nothing in it. The old proverb has it, “Great cry and little wool.” Great cry, indeed, for holier voices are silenced by it and no wool at all to repay the shearer! “Nothing but leaves.” If any man is withered, it is such a man as that!
One thing I have noticed in watching over a large Church is that some who have seemed too good to live, have turned out much too bad for us to want them to live very long. Such have been so pure, so white, so spotless, so stainless, so precise, so exact, so velvet-mouthed, so oily, so full of sugar, so hyper-holy in their hypocrisy that it seemed cruel to feel inward qualms when you were near them. Yet under a thin layer of this hollow pretension they have been so deficient in
all spiritual life and reality and sincerity, that when we found them out, we could not help feeling a burning indignation in our own soul that men could go so far in lying unto the Holy Spirit! One does not wonder that Ananias and Sapphira fell dead, or that the fig tree was blasted that had so many leaves and no fruit!
We have seen the same thing happen to men and we have not been amazed. We have only thought how righteously God has unmasked them and exposed their hideous vices to the denunciation, even, of the world, which, though it lies in the Wicked One, has yet some sense of scorn at a religious lie! Now, our Savior performed this miracle by way of parable, not that He cared for figs, or was angry because there were none, but that it furnished Him with an opportunity of instructing His disciples. This was an object lesson. We never learn so well as from something we can actually see with our eyes. Jesus did this that they might see and that their minds might be impressed with what they saw. The main impression upon the mind of Peter and the others seems to have been the extraordinary power of Christ.