"Another Year"

Image: Claes Brouwer and Others, Miracle of the Woman Bent Over and Parable of the Barren Fig Tree
From a History Bible; Dutch (Utrecht), c. 1430

Around twelve years ago, I swore I would never make another New Year’s resolution. It just seemed like setting myself up for failure. It didn’t help, of course, that I set vague, non-specific goals, like “lose weight” or “eat better”. But it’s not just me. Thousands of people abandon their resolutions every year, often by January 10, which has come to be known as “quitter’s day”. Thousands more have abandoned any attempt to change themselves for the better. Change can be hard, especially when we’ve acted or thought a particular way most of our lives.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with resolving to be a better human being. But I don’t want to talk about our resolutions as mere tools for self-improvement. I would rather talk about the resolution that God makes toward us.

Let me explain. Today, we find Jesus talking about unfathomable tragedy. In the first incident, Pilate murdered a group of Galileans. In the second, the tower of Siloam fell and killed eighteen people. In the ancient world (as now), there was an easy explanation for evil. They must have deserved it. They must have been terrible people. Psalm 1 lifts up this worldview in its final verse, “The LORD watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.” Proverbs echoes it. “No harm happens to the righteous, but the wicked are filled with trouble” (12:21). Now, we shouldn’t discount these scriptures entirely. After all, much of the evil we suffer is self-inflicted. But in these cases, that explanation doesn’t work. “Do you think those people were worse sinners than anyone else?” Jesus asks. “No, but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.” There’s no satisfactory explanation for why bad things happen, especially things that seem so senseless. And Jesus won’t give us one. Rather, the main takeaway is to take account of our lives. To see where we’ve fallen short of God’s intention for us. And with God’s help, to live differently. To repent—change our hearts and our minds.

Now, this just seems like another resolution at first glance—something we’d better do or else. But then Jesus goes on to tell a parable about a landowner and a gardener.

The landowner is fed up. While his vineyard presumably produces well, the fig tree is not giving anything. Sure, fig trees look nice. They can grow to a decent size, up to 30-odd feet tall, and their large leaves are uniquely beautiful. But without fruit, it is useless to the landowner. He orders his fieldhand to cut it down to make way for something that will produce.

But the fieldhand does something surprising. He defers obedience to the landowner’s order, begging him to let him work on the tree for another year. Maybe if he digs around it, the tree will retain much-needed humidity. If he puts manure on it (which was a very unusual procedure), perhaps it will have the nutrients it needs to bear fruit. To the fieldhand, the tree is more than just a tree. It’s like a beloved sick child.

And that’s how Jesus sees humanity. We are sin-sick. We hold onto things that keep us from bearing “fruit worthy of repentance”, as John the Baptist says in chapter 3. These things include rage, hatred, and contempt, especially those based on partisan political views. They include grudges and unforgiveness. They include greed, consumerism, and instant gratification. They include addictions. Holding onto this stuff prevents us from growing into the people God intends us to be. And God intends us to live the gospel values of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Yet, Jesus loves us so much that he comes down to our level, down to the dirt, to save us. That’s the resolution he makes. He digs in our soil so that we can be more productive. He tends to us, giving all of himself so that we can grow into his stature. He feeds us. He waters us. He gives us his very self in Holy Communion. Sometimes, he may even throw a load of manure on us—perhaps some of testing and trials we all face—so that we can have further opportunities to grow. I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes a load of manure is just a load of manure. It happens sometimes for no rhyme or reason that we can perceive. Sometimes we can’t handle it on our own. We need others to help us (which is why we should read 1 Corinthians 10:13 as “God is faithful and will not let you all be tested beyond y’all’s strength.”) But in time, perhaps, we can see that time of testing in a new, more positive light. Jesus works on us to give us another chance to bear fruit for the kingdom. Another year.

Of course, we can refuse these gifts that Jesus offers us. We can continue to go our own way. But Jesus doesn’t give up on us. Jesus doesn’t give up on a recalcitrant humanity. And Jesus doesn’t give up on you or on me. Rather Jesus gives all of himself, even to the point of death, in order to win us back to himself. He is the fullness of God’s faithfulness, a faithfulness shown to God’s people throughout history. Isaiah sings of God’s faithful love to King David. Paul writes of that love for the Israelites in the desert. And here, we see God’s faithfulness for us.

And I have experienced that faithfulness first-hand, as many of you have. A while back, someone asked me why I continued to bother having faith when all this bad stuff had happened to me in the past year: health struggles, Abby’s hospitalization, and Sarah’s dad’s death. The reason is that I don’t see any of those things as punishments. I don’t see the universe as moral. I don’t believe in karma, except the “don’t be a jackass to other people” kind. These awful events became bizarre opportunities for living the faith, opportunities I would never have chosen (and still would never choose).

Jesus has made a resolution to us—to make us the people God intended us to be from our baptism on. And Jesus keeps his promises. Let’s resolve to live into them in full trust that his word will accomplish what he says it will. Amen.

© 2025, David M. Fleener. Permission granted to copy and adapt original material herein for non-commercial purposes with appropriate credit given.