Tend the Soil

The Way Back to Abiding …. Part 3

When doing for God begins to replace being with God

Day three.

Still no answer.

Still no objective.

Still no direction.

Another Scripture.

This time:

Luke 13.

The chapter begins uncomfortably.

Repentance.

Jesus twice tells His listeners, “Unless you repent…”

Apparently, we weren't quite finished with that subject.

Then Jesus tells a story.

A man has a fig tree planted in his vineyard. For three years he comes looking for fruit, but he was always disappointed.  He found none.

Finally, he tells the gardener, “I’ve waited three years and there hasn’t been a single fig!  Cut it down. It’s just taking up space in the garden.”

But the gardener responds:

“Sir, give it one more chance.  Leave it another year, and I’ll give it special attention and plenty of fertilizer. If we get figs next year, fine. If not, then you can cut it down.”

I stopped again.

The Difference Between Conviction and Condemnation

My first reaction to the fruitless tree wasn't healthy.  Was I the fig tree that God wanted to cut down?

The accusations were already familiar.

You're not smart enough.

Eventually people are going to discover that the real you is a fraud.

You're not a godly woman.

Who are you to teach anyone about spiritual disciplines when you can't even maintain them yourself?

Those weren't new thoughts.

Some had roots going back many years. Others had been reinforced through painful experiences in ministry. Somewhere along the way, words spoken by other people had become words I was perfectly capable of speaking over myself.

And now I had evidence.

My prayer life had slipped. My Bible reading had become sporadic. I had allowed doing to replace abiding.

See? Maybe they're right.

That's the danger of accusation. It can take something that is genuinely true—something that may actually require repentance—and use it to convince us of something that isn't true about who we are.

Yes, I had drifted.

No, that did not make me a fraud.

This parable is a warning about repentance and fruitfulness, and I don't want to remove that edge from it. Jesus isn't telling His listeners that fruit doesn't matter.

It does.

But as I sat with the picture, I noticed something else.

The gardner didn’t merely demand figs from the unfruitful tree.  He asked for time to dig around it, fertilize it and give it special attention.  

The soil needed tending.

The answer to the unfruitful tree wasn't merely yelling at it to produce figs.  And that began to speak to where I was.  

Silence the Accuser

There is a difference between conviction and condemnation, and I needed to recognize which voice I was agreeing with.

Conviction calls me to repentance. Condemnation tells me my failure is who I am.

Conviction said:

You have neglected our time together. Return.

Condemnation said:

You're a fraud.

Conviction said:

You have allowed doing to replace abiding.

Condemnation said:

Who are you to teach anyone about spiritual disciplines?

Conviction gave me something to repent of.

Condemnation gave me a name to wear.

One drew me toward God.

The other made me want to hide from Him.

That distinction matters because conviction is not our enemy. Jesus begins Luke 13 by calling people to repentance. I don't want to silence the voice that tells me the truth about my sin or my choices. I need that voice.

What I needed to silence was the voice that took my failure and turned it into my identity.

Romans 8:1 says:

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

Later in that same chapter Paul asks, “Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen?” God is the One who justifies, and Christ is the One who intercedes for us.

Revelation 12 calls Satan “the accuser.” But I was realizing that he didn't have to stand beside me whispering constantly. Some accusations had been repeated so often that I had learned to repeat them myself.

So I wrote:

Silence the accuser.

That didn't mean denying what was true.

It meant repenting of what was true without agreeing with the lies attached to it.

Yes, Lord, my prayer life has slipped.

Yes, I have neglected time with You.

Yes, I have allowed good things to crowd out the best thing.

I repent.

But:

I am not a fraud.

I am not disqualified from being loved.

My failure is not my identity.

And accusation does not get the final word.

And that's when the fig tree began to look different to me.

The tree wasn't producing fruit.

Jesus didn't pretend otherwise.

There really was a problem.

But the response was cultivation.

The warning in the parable is real. Fruit matters. Repentance matters. But condemnation wasn't going to produce the fruit I lacked.

Maybe I Don't Need to Try Harder

I am a doer.

Give me the problem and I'll work on it.

Give me an assignment and I'll go.

Give me a project and I'll make a list.

So even repentance can become another project.

Fine. I'll fix this.

Except abiding doesn't work that way.

A branch doesn't produce fruit by gritting its teeth.

A tree doesn't fertilize its own soil.

There are things only God can do in me.

Perhaps that was part of what I had forgotten.

I needed water.

Attention.

Cultivation.

Truth.

Time.

Grace.

I needed to stop condemning the tree long enough to consider what the tending might be teaching me.  As I sat with the picture, I began thinking about the tending God was doing in me.

The Answer I Wasn’t Looking For

And still—

no answer.

I came into these days wanting God to tell me where to go.

Instead, He was digging around roots.

Whatever God was doing in me, He wasn’t giving me the schedule I has come looking for.

Maybe there would be fruit again.

Maybe there would be more fruit.

But on Day Three, I was beginning to understand:

Fruit wasn't going to come from demanding more from myself.

It would come from returning, remaining, receiving—and allowing God to tend the soil.