Apology

An Ignatian meditation on the Cursed Fig Tree, 02.14.22

As they left Bethany the next day, he was hungry. Off in the distance he saw a fig tree in full leaf. He came up to it expecting to find something for breakfast, but found nothing but fig leaves. (It wasn’t yet the season for figs.) He addressed the tree: “No one is going to eat fruit from you again — ever!” And his disciples overheard him. (Mark 11: 12–14, MSG)

People forget: sometimes I was just bone-tired and grumble-hungry.
My belly got empty, too, nerves frayed,
too many nights against cold ground.
Prayer is a hard pillow when you know what’s coming.

That morning, I yelled at a tree —
it was aviv, no figs for weeks yet,
and I knew that — but in that moment,
my body wanted rest and breakfast
and just to be free to grow old.
Who punishes a living thing for not bearing fruit
when it is not the time for fruit? A fool, maybe.
Who sends a living thing to die
when it has only begun to ripen?
A tyrant, maybe.

They all heard me yell, saw me kick the trunk
and tear at the leaves,
shuffled…