Why won’t God just tell us when the world will
end? As a culture of planners, we would like to know a
[precise date and time so that we can set our affairs in
order. That said, in our Gospel today, Christ offers
something much more enigmatic. After promising that
heaven and earth will pass away and yet he and yet he and his
words will remain, as will his elect, he then says that no one
but the Father know the day or the hour, and that we should
look for the coming of that day like one looks to the fig tree
for signs of summer.
Our Google calendar, which does not import fig tree-analogies,
is unamused. Why is the Lord leaving something as
certain and important as the end of the world shrouded in
mystery? There are a few good reasons.
First, it’s worth noting that if the Lord gave us a hard date
and timer, we’d immediately break into at least two camps: the
procrastinators and the worry warts.
The first camp would undoubtedly have every intention of
preparing for the end times, but in the final analysis echo
Douglas Adams: “I love deadlines. I love the whooshing;
noise they make as they go by.” The day and the hour
would find them unprepared, or cramming. The second camp
would panic over the immensity of it all and either shut down
entirely or work like busy beavers, well-intentioned but
preparing in all the wrong ways and missing the point.
“Jesus says the sun, moon, and stars will go away, so we’re
going to need some backup generators and lamps.”
Notice, though, that behind it all is a third temptation to
which both camps mentioned above also fall victim: Reducing
our preparation for Christ to a checklist (to be done,
abandoned or procrastinated). The Google-calendar
approach to life tends to view everything in this way; If I’m
to prepare for Christ, I should pray more. Thus, I’ve
scheduled five hours of prayer daily. I also need to
forgive. I will forgive 10 people per week, and so on.
None of these things is bad in itself, but it tends to reduce
people to a means to an end rather than an end in themselves,
and pictures Christ not as a God to be longed for and loved,
but rather as a taskmaster waiting for us to make quota.
In contrast, God desires a different sort of preparation – one
of friendship and love. He wants us to love him above
all things and be swept up in that relationship, to love our
neighbor in themselves and not just as part of a
mandate. The goal is the conversion of our hearts and
minds, not the completion of a shopping list before
Christmas. Cultivation, not Itemized completion.
This is likely why Christ makes the point about the fig
tree. A fig tree farmer knows summer is coming by the
signs but knows not the day or hour and cannot make it come
any faster or slower by his actions. He trusts and makes
the preparations that are in his power, but those preparations
are largely responsive to what’s going on around him.
Attentive but unhurried, he might fertilize and weed and
water, and knows that it will eventually rain or shine, but
the large part of his life is spent conforming himself to that
which is certain yet unpredictable and beyond his
control. Care for his trees is individual, not in
aggregate as part of a checklist.
So, are we called to grow in love and discipleship each day –
making the small actions of love in our power. Storing
up the rain of blessings when it falls so that we can water
when it does not. Even if the sun and moon should fail,
we still bask in the radiance of the Son’s light in every
tabernacle. All the while trusting that, in God’s time,
the harvest will yield plenty – in part by our work, but also
entirely by God’s providence. That deep, earthly
relationship of trust mirrors our trust in the heavens and
God’s slow work in the clay of our hearts.
Moreover, we may not know the date of the end of the world,
but we’ll likely be called home long before then. We
don’t know the day or the hour for that, either. Yet,
when it comes, Christ will undoubtedly be more pleased by our
hearts cultivated in love of God and neighbor than of a
completed list of action items. After all, the fruit of
love well-cultivated is more profound love and joy, more
delectable than the choicest of figs and worthy to be savored
for all eternity.