First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Matthew 7:15-20, 21:18-22
August 22, 1999
In the home where I was raised, a very small yard was dominated by a very large tree. Every other year the tree produced apples. But we seldom, if ever, ate any. That’s because they were never any good. Some were bruised. Most were malformed. And virtually all of them housed worms. If you had patience (and a good paring knife), you could turn a bushel of them into a quart and a half of applesauce. But that, and a week’s worth of blossoms, were about all the tree was good for. Fruit farmers we were not. Had we wanted good fruit from the tree, we would have taken better care of the tree. But, as I remember it, we never thinned it, never trimmed it, and never sprayed it. And the effort we didn’t expend was reflected in the reward we didn’t receive.
Moments ago, I read words from Jesus about trees and their yield. The implication of the second reading is that there is supposed to be a yield. In other words, if a tree doesn’t produce (after a reasonable period of patient expectation), what good is it? And the implication of the first reading is that, in the event it produces bad stuff, look to the source. So, in the spirit of the morning lessons, let me say to you: “Be fruitful. And let your fruit be sweet.”
But I remember the advice of an early preaching professor who said: “One way to make a text come alive is to allow it far enough inside you so as to provoke an argument.” Which is what I did. And the argument provoked by this morning’s texts is reflected in this morning’s title: “Can Good Fruit Ever Come From a Bad Tree?” And, if it can, how does one account for it?
Clearly, Jesus’ word in Matthew 7:15-20 (about the quality of the fruit being related to the quality of the tree) makes good sense horticulturally. It also makes good sense biblically, given that it follows the warning about “false prophets” that goes right before it. “Beware of the false prophets,” he says. They’re not only out there, they’re in here. What Jesus means is that they are right among you….looking right at you….dressing just like you. You look like sheep. They look like sheep. But watch out. They are not sheep. They are wolves. And they will turn and bite the hand that feeds them. So pay careful attention to all they say and do. Because sooner or later, they’ll say something….or do something….to give themselves away. And that’s when Jesus adds the word that fruit will, over time, be a dead giveaway as to the kind of tree it comes from. Good trees give good fruit. Bad trees give bad fruit. Simple enough.
But just to make sure it was really all that simple, I looked up several commentaries on these passages. Each writer, as you might have expected, applied these texts to the church as we know it today. Today’s church has its share of wolves who look like sheep….sinners who look like saints….and bad apples who go around masquerading as “Golden Delicious.” In fact, one commentator (George Buttrick) wrote thusly:
False prophets are outwardly true, in that their manner (sheep’s clothing) appears to certify them as leaders of the flock of Christ. But they are ravenous in their influence. They leave the church stripped of funds, chaotic in emotion, drained of homespun virtue and sucked dry of staying power.
Buttrick then grudgingly adds: “They may even win a measure of success, to the point of driving out demons, working cures, and gathering great crowds to hear their message.” Which, when I read it, only reinforced my question. If bad trees produce only bad fruit, how come so many charlatans and shysters (“wolves,” if you will) not only do so well for themselves, but also (in the process) appear to do so much good for the unsuspecting multitudes? I will never forget the words of a preacher friend who said:
I have come to accept the fact that the wolves in our profession earn much more money than I do. What I have never been able to accept is that those same wolves appear to do more good than I do. I have come to terms with the fact that I may be pure and poor. But I hate the thought that I may also be pure and ineffective.
Have you ever noticed that when preachers are featured in the movies, they are portrayed as being either wimps or wolves. Mostly wolves. From Elmer Gantry to Robert Duval’s stunning portrayal of The Apostle, Hollywood has given us preachers whose behavior has been more predatory than pious. Not that there aren’t predatory preachers out there….servants of God who “color outside the lines,” as they say….doing less than honorable things with the people who come through the office, or the money that comes through the plate. Some fall and stay fallen. Others fall and bounce back.
Let me tell you something that will surprise you. Many Sunday evenings, I tune in to one of the bouncers. I’m talking about Jimmy Swaggert, down Baton Rouge way. I don’t know why I give him the benefit of my time. Theologically, I suspect we are miles apart. Musically, a little bit of his stuff goes a long way. Stylistically, he roams and prowls as he preaches, while I stay put in this little box of a pulpit (which someone once described as a tipped-on-its-end casket, with the top cut out). No, brother Jimmy and I have nothing in common….save for the Lord, who I think we both know. And then there’s his face (and the pain and pathos I sometimes see there) that tells me that he has ridden to hell and back a sufficient number of times, so that his horse knows the way. Yet God, who should have discarded him long ago, seems to be using him. You figure.
Which brings me to my favorite film about a preacher. It’s almost seven years old now. But still rentable. Steve Martin is the preacher. Leap of Faith is the title. What it is about, of course, is religion….or, more specifically, evangelism. Steve Martin is Jonas Nightengale, an itinerant tent preacher, travelling from town to town with a band of back-up singers known as the “Angels of Mercy” and enough electronic gadgetry to make a sound-and-light man drool. From the very first minute of the film, you know that Jonas Nightengale is a con man. What’s more, you know that he knows it, too. Which, under normal circumstances, would make him hard to like. I know I don’t like con men….especially in my business. They hurt the calling. They hurt the cause. And in some strange spill-over of guilt-by-association, they hurt me. Which is why (when the TV clicker finds its way into my possession) I don’t watch such as these. It’s not that they hit too close to home. It’s that they hurt too close to home.
But something altogether strange happened as this movie began to roll. Before Leap of Faith was five minutes old, I found myself liking Jonas Nightengale. He was attractive. He was compelling. And he was most entertaining. In fact, that was his self-justification for the con. Sure, he couldn’t heal anybody. Sure, he couldn’t perform miracles. Sure, he used every trick in the book to manipulate his audience. But when all the money had been thrown into the baskets and the night’s take had been counted, he reckoned he had given people a really great show for a really decent price. Which he had. The Angels of Mercy were good. He was good. The man could preach. And he could hold people’s attention.
A little while back, I attended a preaching workshop featuring Ernie Campbell. Campbell was the former preaching minister of Riverside Church in New York. In this particular presentation, Ernie was talking about how dull most sermons are. Then he said a fascinating thing: “We have as much of a duty to be interesting as we have to be truthful.” And many of us aren’t. But Jonas Nightengale was. I rather enjoyed watching him work. Besides, the film was a marvelous primer on how such preachers and healers hedge their bets, from the careful pre-selection of those to be healed, to the art of planting the audience and salting the collection plate, to the use of everything from computerized light boards and hidden microphones to old-fashioned slight-of-hand, to make faith seem magical and the preacher seem miraculous.
Yet, through it all, you know the movie is not a documentary aimed at the public exposure of evangelists, but a story that is eventually going to turn into something more. What it turns into is nothing less than the conning of the con man….by none other than God, Himself. It happens in the following manner. There is, in the town, a young man who is crippled. The young man’s older sister is a waitress who Jonas Nightengale is trying to hustle. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that, before the film is finished, that same young man is going to hobble down the aisle for a healing. And it also doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Jonas is going to know that this case is too much for magic….that this leg is too locked to straighten….and that the Angels of Mercy could sing and dance all night without enabling this kid to take so much as one unaided step.
But on the crusade’s final night, Jonas is literally forced by the congregation to take this kid seriously. Which he does….all the while sweating buckets of nervousness….knowing that (for this kid) he has no tricks in his bag or up his sleeve. So he plays it straight. And, miracle of miracles, it works. Whatever Jonas brings to the moment, it is enough. The boy walks….to the amazement of everybody. And the movie (wisely, I think) doesn’t try to speculate on why the boy walks. Perhaps it is because faith (in the mind of a sufferer) can do amazing things. Or perhaps it is because God (when those of us who preach Him, get out of His way and Let Him work) can do amazing things. Who knows? I certainly don’t. You certainly don’t. And Jonas Nightengale certainly doesn’t. All anybody knows is that….on this one occasion….on this one night….in this little backwater Kansas town….a very bad tree produced some very good fruit, as a money-grabbing wolf did something marvelously redemptive for one of the least of the sheep.
Jonas, of course, can’t believe it….and won’t accept it. The townspeople come. He brushes them off. The boy’s sister comes. He brushes her off. Finally, to the now-darkened tent, the boy comes. And Jonas can’t brush him off. The boy thanks him….profusely. Which is too much for Jonas to take. So he levels with the kid. He tells him who he is and who he isn’t. He tells him how he does what he appears to do. It’s painful to listen to. It’s like watching a magician tell the audience, at the end of a performance, how he did all of his tricks. (“See, look here kid, the rabbit was really in my sleeve….the ring was really in my ear….the scarf was really in my nose….and the ace of spades was really in my pocket, all the time.”) “I’m a con, kid. None of it’s real.” To which the kid answers: “And who’s to say that God can’t use a con?”
Strangely enough, the critics, almost to a person, didn’t like the ending. They liked the beginning. They liked the way the film was conceived. They especially liked Steve Martin as Jonas Nightengale. But they thought the conclusion was contrived. And, to concede their point, it may have been a bit syrupy. Everything worked out. All was well because it ended well. The boy walked away on a leg that was crippling him. And the evangelist walked away from a life that was crippling him. Which was probably what bothered the critics. Because, when all was said and done, the Gospel delivered on its promises. The lame walked. The sinner repented. And the rains of mercy washed down upon a drought-stricken town, even as the final credits rolled. It was a good night for the church and its Lord. But I suspect that the critics would have been happier, had the movie remained true to what it originally appeared to be….namely a shameful expose of the way some wolves, In some churches, bilk the sheep and steal their money. That’s because in this cynical age, people would rather see a film about debunking miracles, than about receiving them.
Critics aside, however, there is still an issue to be addressed by those of us in the church….namely, how to account for good fruit that occasionally falls from bad trees. And I have to tell you that I don’t really know much about that. Except that I do have a couple of ideas. First, bad trees may not necessarily be as bad as they seem. Most people….and most preachers, I suspect….are mixtures of good and bad. Which means that, when the end of the day rolls around, they will have produced a mixed bag of fruit. Kindly allow me to illustrate with a personal remembrance.
When I was a boy, one of the pastors who came to old Westlawn Church was a man somewhere in his fifties. He was a good preacher, solid administrator, and an able pastor. But he only stayed three or four years. That’s because, when I was about 13, he was broomed out of the ministry because he couldn’t always remember on what bedpost he had last hung his pants. He was initially accused as being the illicit lover of the mother of a girl I knew. This brought several other women out of the woodwork with additional indiscretions to disclose. His wife stood by him. He took his case to the Bishop. He even demanded a trial of his peers.
The trial produced information that was most damaging to his case. In his previous church, he had done the same thing and had been quietly pulled from that pulpit and passed along to ours. And prior to going to that church, there were two additional departures (equally sudden and equally hushed) from a pair of churches around Buffalo. I have never mentioned any of this, given that (until recently) this man was still alive. But it was a powerful piece of that church’s history, and a powerful early memory of mine concerning the ministry.
But there’s more. I had a friend in those years who was also a part of old Westlawn Church. We were together in Sunday school. We were together in Boy Scouts. And this boy’s family was vitally active in the church’s programming. A couple of years previous, this family had had another child fall grievously ill. I can’t remember all of the details. What I remember is that, during that crisis, this minister had been especially comforting and encouraging, to the point of almost single-handedly getting them through.
Obviously, the bombshell about his indiscretions hit them as hard, if not harder, than it hit anybody else. In fact, they couldn’t handle it. They left that church. They left all churches. To my knowledge, they never came back….anywhere. They simply couldn’t accept the fact that the same man who had done so much for them, had done so much to others. Therefore, out of some strange need to paint him with a brush of only one color, they chose to paint his entire ministry scarlet….thereby discounting anything good he had ever done for them, as if he had never done it. It was easier to dismiss him totally, than to acknowledge that there was much about him that was contradictory. But, as I said earlier, it’s not that simple. The bad are not always as bad as they appear to be.
I also told you I had a second idea which might explain why good fruit could occasionally come from an unlikely source. And my second idea is that God may be even better than He seems. Look at it this way. If there is really no limit to what God can do, is it fair to place a limit upon who God can use to do it? It would be comforting, I suppose, to believe that God only uses those with clean hands, clean noses, and clean acts. But the Bible won’t support that comfortable notion. The Old Testament pins the hope of Israel to the coattails of one sly rogue after another.
And Don Shelby looks at the emergence of New Testament Christianity, noticing that: “The history of the church centers on people who had rotten tempers, lived in lousy marriages, were unwashed, unlearned and uncouth, some of whom were eccentric loners with weird lifestyles, including a few who were arrogant dandies on occasion.”
But that shouldn’t surprise us. If (as one of our texts suggested) Jesus could wither a fig tree with a single glance, just to show where the real power rested, isn’t it possible that God could also employ any tree He chose (fruitful, rotten, or somewhere in between), just to show where the real power rested.
Not so very long ago, I had several conversations with a young man of incredible faith and talent. I mean, he has gifts for ministry he’s not even unwrapped yet. It’s as if God went bonkers one Christmas Eve and put so much stuff in his stocking that it will take him ‘til Epiphany of the year 2005 to sort it all out. Yet he’s not in ministry. At least he’s not in ordained ministry. He’s right there on the edge….close enough to test the ministerial waters on a daily basis. But he’s yet to plunge. In part, because, at a most impressionable period of his life, he saw some ministers he respected do some things he couldn’t respect. Leading him to say: “I guess it kinda turned me off.” Which was….and is….awful.
But what I would hasten to have him remember is that the message is bigger….and (on most days) better….than any messenger. For it once occurred to me that the minister who was serving my home church in that period of my life when I gave my life to Jesus Christ and decided on the ministry, was the same man….the very same man….who was sleeping with all those women. Go figure.
