The Fig Tree
During these long and lean Lenten days
I feel forlorn, forgotten, almost frozen,
With my long limbs exposed to the elements
As I stand my ground
In the Courtyard of public opinion.
Pilgrims pass by my naked torso
Without turning to gaze as I extend my bare branches
In prayer and patient expectation
That some kind gardener with vision
Will see me and fertilize my hungry roots
Thus preparing me once again
To yield a harvest of the sweetest figs.
I know how difficult it must be for you
To recognize me in my leafless state
But I’m the same fig tree
That has provided generations of gardens
From Eden to the Vatican
With all those fig-leaf cover-ups
I know that feeling of exposure.
Fr. Paul
Pastor at Carmel Mission