Former Blackout Artist

Some thoughts on fruit, faith, and what God is really looking for.

If trees could preach sermons, the fig tree would be one of Israel’s best pastors.

It grows where life seems unlikely – rocky ground and thin soil. Not exactly prime real estate! And yet the fig tree thrives there. That alone should catch our attention. The Promised Land wasn’t rolling farmland everywhere; much of it was stubborn terrain. But the fig tree didn’t complain. It just dug in and did what fig trees do. No wonder it became one of the signature trees of Israel and a symbol of the land’s goodness (Num. 13:23; Deut. 8:8). It’s interesting how God seems fond of bringing abundance out of places that look unpromising, isn’t it?!

In winter, the fig tree is not impressive. Its bare branches look like old gray bones… hardly something you’d put on a postcard. But then something subtle happens. Tiny leaves appear. Early figs show up. Spring has arrived (Hos. 9:10; Luke 21:29–30). No trumpet blast or fireworks, just quiet signs that life is waking up again. Jesus later leaned into that image, teaching his followers to read the seasons of God’s work the same way: pay attention, notice what’s emerging, and don’t miss what’s right in front of you.

By late spring, those once-humble and tiny leaves are enormous, stretching more than a foot wide. In a land where shade is pure gold, the fig tree becomes quite a gift!Sitting under one on a hot day wasn’t just pleasant – it was symbolic. To sit under your own vine and fig tree meant peace, safety, and enough: enough food, enough rest, and enough security (1 Kings 4:25). In other words, life was the way God intended it to be.

And the fruit? Sweet, packed with energy, and versatile. Fresh figs, dried figs, and fig cakes for the road (Judg. 9:11; 2 Sam. 16:1–2). This wasn’t fancy food, but it was faithful food. The kind that sustained everyday life. The fig tree didn’t exist to impress, it existed to nourish.

That practicality made it perfect sermon material for the prophets. When Isaiah and Nahum talked about cities ripe for judgment, they used fig imagery. A ripe fig doesn’t put up a fight. You pick it up, and it’s gone (Isa. 28:4; Nah. 3:12). Judgment, in those moments, wasn’t dramatic… it was inevitable. And when figs shriveled and fell, they became images of cosmic collapse, even the stars falling from the sky (Isa. 34:4; Rev. 6:13). The fig tree knew how to speak both comfort and warning.

But perhaps the most comforting image connected to fig trees is invitation. Under Solomon, everyone had a place. Later, the prophets spoke of a future day when neighbors would once again invite one another to sit beneath their vines and fig trees (Mic. 4:4; Zech. 3:10). Faith was never meant to be hoarded. It was meant to be shared and enjoyed together.

That’s why the moment between Jesus and Nathanael is so quietly powerful. Jesus points out that Nathanael had been sitting under a fig tree (John 1:48–50). He says it twice, as if it matters. And it does. Nathanael wasn’t just sitting anywhere. He was in a place of reflection, rest, and maybe even prayer. Jesus meets him there. God often does.

Still, the fig tree has a harder word to say.

Because fig trees are predictable. If you tend one, it produces fruit. Everyone knew this (Prov. 27:18). Which is why Jesus’ parable of the fruitless fig tree lands with such weight. Three years of care. Three years of waiting. But no fruit (Luke 13:6–9). The owner is ready to cut losses. The caretaker asks for more time. More care. More grace. It’s a story about Israel, yes. But it’s also a story about God’s patience and the serious expectation that grace eventually produces something real.

That tension comes to a head when Jesus curses the fig tree He comes upon outside Jerusalem. It’s leafy, impressive, and full of promise. And it’s also completely barren (Matt. 21:18–21). This wasn’t Jesus having a bad morning. It was a living parable. A warning about a faith that looks alive but isn’t. Leaves without fruit, appearance without substance. What good is religion without transformation? Jesus’ lesson is an uncomfortable one that challenges us. Then again, it’s supposed to.

The fig tree seems to be posing some honest questions to us.

Am I rooted, or just decorated?

Am I producing fruit, or merely providing shade for myself?

Am I responding to God’s patience with growth, or assuming I’ll always get “one more year”?

And yet, the fig tree is not a symbol of doom alone. It is still a place of rest. A sign of peace. A reminder that God delights in sweetness, nourishment, and shared life. Judgment only enters the picture when fruitlessness becomes refusal. If the fig tree could talk…

Let yourself be tended.

Pay attention to the seasons of God’s work.

Don’t despise small beginnings.

And when the time comes, bear fruit that actually feeds others.

God, in his love and kindness, is very good at growing something real… even in the rockiest soil.