Taste and See

by Margaret Feinberg

  Sometimes we have the same problem: we miss the breva crop because we are looking for flamboyant blossoms. Or we focus too much on the disappearance of the first crop and forget a larger sweeter crop is coming. If we aren’t on the lookout, we could easily miss our harvest. We become so laser-focused on one desired outcome, we become blind to the many ways God is working all around us.

  In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus’s final miracle is the withering of a fig tree. Jesus leaves Bethany, a place that means “house of the fig,” and heads toward the temple in Jerusalem. On the way he eyes a fig tree without fruit, only leaves, out of season, and says, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.”

  Those words can be misconstrued as tree cruelty at first glance. Why would Jesus say this?

  Turns out that on multiple occasions in the Old Testament, when the prophets paint an image of a satisfying life with God, a close relationship with him, they describe people living under their own fig tree. The contentment and delight symbolized by such a scene are multilayered. The fig tree alludes to God’s ongoing provision by way of its slow ripening and multiple crops. The fig leaves speak of God’s tender care as some of the coolest shade to be found in Israel. The fruit speaks of God’s sweetness through its delicious, nourishing sustenance.

  Yet the fig tree Jesus sees is fruitless, so he proclaims this is now the permanent status of the tree. Notice that Jesus does this on the way to the temple where, upon arrival, he flips the merchandise tables and skedaddles the salespeople. The next day, Peter observes that the fig tree has withered.

  In the proclamation over the fruitless fig tree and cleansing the temple, Jesus performs back-to-back symbolic acts. Like a fig tree with barren branches, the religious people have buildings but no spiritual vitality. When Jesus says, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again!” he speaks of the hypocrisy, legalism, and robbery teeming within their hearts.

  Just as the fig tree is out of season, so too the season of the temple has passed. This will no longer be the place where the ritual system of forgiveness takes place. A new season has arrived with Christ the ultimate sacrifice, the ultimate authority, the ultimate temple. Jesus destroys the fig tree, much like he “tears down” the temple, so followers can see him more clearly and reorient their expectations toward true satisfaction in him.

  Sometimes we’re tempted to find that satisfaction somewhere, anywhere, other than in Christ. When we do, we find ourselves disillusioned, disappointed, and, worse, the fruit of the Spirit doesn’t mature in us. Our accomplishment-driven society would have us assess our worth, the yield of our lives, with what wins the most accolades—landing the promotion, earning the higher degree, launching a successful venture, completing the marathon, retiring early. Yet personal or professional feats lead only to fleeting satisfaction. Like the image of people living contentedly under their own fig trees, our deepest hungers find their ultimate satisfaction when abiding in Christ.

  HOW TO LIVE A LIFE WORTH SAVORING

  Before I traveled to the farm, I read that one fig tree can produce 10,000 figs a year. That seemed like an enormous, unrealistic quantity. Ten thousand figs a year from one tree didn’t seem possible, but who was I to say?

  So, as you can imagine, it was an important question for Kevin.

  “Maybe a wild fig—” Kevin said, “—but my trees produce 50,000 to 75,000.”

  My mouth fell agape. What if that is the image of fruitfulness God has for us?

  Spiritual fruit is the result of being rooted in relationship with Christ. Any fruit—including love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control—provides evidence of the work of the Holy Spirit. As we ground ourselves in God, he plants and weeds, nourishes and fertilizes, prunes and harvests. The yield of our fruitfulness are the qualities that make us look more like him.

  Not only do figs uncover a need for close observation and reliance on God in surprising ways, I was also learning more than ever before about fruitfulness.

  When I decided to be intentional about observing God’s bounty, I started to notice fruitfulness everywhere, not just on the fig farm. One particular day I passed by a tree so bursting with nectarines, the fruit swept the ground. I realized that it’s easy to trust God when the fruit of our lives abounds and appears easy to recognize, as on that nectarine tree.

  In our most abundant moments, we live our lives like “the stars in heaven and the lilies in the field, perfectly, simply, and unaffectedly.” These are the times when our branches are bowing low and our baskets are bountiful, and we feel satisfied.

  But not all seasons or harvests burst with abundance. Sometimes, like the fig, we enter a difficult season. A spouse becomes emotionally unavailable, the adult child never calls, the boss refuses to say thank you. We lose a house or a business or our health or our identity and feel like we have nothing left to offer. We become change-blind to God’s nourishing presence. If we’re only looking for the bright blossoms, the big harvest, the banner season, then we’ll miss so much of the work God is doing each and every day, in each and every season—even the difficult ones.

  God isn’t waiting for one particular season in the distant future to yield fruitfulness in our lives. He’s working throughout every season and every harvesting cycle.

  Sometimes we may grow frustrated when the fruit in our lives doesn’t appear as spectacular or sweet as last season’s. Perhaps that’s because we are growing a breva crop in this new area of life. Maybe the spark I saw in Kevin’s eyes when he talked about the first crop provided a glimmer of celebration that God has for us in our breva fruitfulness, whenever we find ourselves in a new age, stage, or location.

  Sooner or later we’ll all be tempted to believe that our best days are behind us. We’ll measure ourselves more by what we can no longer do than by what we still can. We’ll feel washed up and washed out. But the fig tree challenges this expectation, too. One of the beauties of the fig is that, once planted, the tree will continue to produce fruit for eighty to a hundred years. That’s Christ’s vision for us: that we will continue to yield the fruit of Christlikeness and find our satisfaction in him long after gray hairs sprout and crow’s feet nestle near our eyes.

  And when we see Jesus face-to-face, we will continue to bear an abundant crop with each harvest better than the last. God is infinite, and so we will never stop discovering new aspects of his marvelous character and we will never stop growing in our praise and adoration and joy in him.

  Until then, we must start to think differently about the fruitfulness of our daily lives. God invites us to find our satisfaction in him, in the fruit he’s yielding in us week after week, season after season, in quantities we never thought possible and in layers of jammy flavors we’ve never known before.

  AROUND THE TABLE

  What if we learned to celebrate the fruit in each other’s lives? Living expectant that God is budding new life for one another? Noticing the fruit that’s ever maturing in each other? Seeing the good work that God is growing in us?

  Gather your family or a group of friends around the table. Take turns highlighting the fruit each person recognizes in each other’s life. Consider each fruit of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control—and how that fruit is perhaps becoming evident as the person deepens their friendships, leads others well, embraces neighbors and strangers, or demonstrates a healthy work-life balance. Parents can think about the ways God is at work in their kids now and pray a blessing for a lifetime of fruitfulness over each child.

  CHRISTY’S ROASTED FIGS AND BRUSSELS SPROUTS

  This delicious roasted vegetable dish will be great as a side or an entire meal.

  PREP: 15 minutes COOK: 35 minutes COOL: 5 minutes

  2 cups of Brussels sprouts, trimmed and halved

  1 small sweet onion, sliced

  8 figs, halved

  1½ tablespoons olive oil

  leaves from 6 sprigs of thyme


  salt and pepper to taste

  1 tablespoon aged balsamic vinegar

  DIRECTIONS

  1.Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

  2.Toss the Brussels sprouts, onion, and figs with the olive oil and place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Sprinkle with thyme leaves, salt, and pepper.

  3.Roast for about 30 – 35 minutes, turning the Brussels sprouts at least once to evenly roast.

  4.Once the Brussels sprouts and onions caramelize and the figs appear slightly shriveled, remove from the oven and coat with the aged balsamic vinegar.

  Serves 2 – 3.

  CAROLYN’S SALTED CARAMEL WITH FIG SAUCE

  This salted caramel sauce will become a family favorite and makes a great gift.

  PREP: 20 minutes, plus 24 – 36 hours of refrigeration COOK: 20 minutes COOL: 10 minutes

  2 cups sugar

  4 tablespoons unsalted butter

  1 cup cream

  1 teaspoon vanilla (or 1 vanilla bean)

  1 tablespoon sea salt (or more, to taste)

  2 tablespoons fig compote or jam

  1 carton of vanilla ice cream

  DIRECTIONS

  1.Pour sugar into large pot with a heavy bottom and tall sides. Spread evenly across the bottom.

  2.Heat the sugar over medium for 8–10 minutes. The sugar will slowly heat and melt around the edges. To prevent sugar crystals from forming, do not stir. If a spot starts to bubble, carefully pick up the pot and swirl. If sugar starts to smoke, turn down the heat.

  3.Heat the cream and vanilla in the microwave for 1 minute until hot, but not boiling.

  4.As the sugar starts to melt, keep swirling so it melts more evenly. Continue to let the sugar melt, swirling occasionally, until it darkens to a light caramel color. When sugar starts to simmer and looks like it has melted, stir lightly with a silicone spatula to ensure that all sugar is dissolved.

  5.When the caramel has reached a rich golden tone, add the butter. Keep a careful eye on the sugar and don’t let it darken too much. It can burn in a matter of seconds. You’ll know it’s ready when it starts to smell like caramel and is a dark amber color. Stir until it is melted.

  6.Heat the fig compote or jam in microwave 1 minute or until melted.

  7.Remove the sugar from heat and add the fig, cream, vanilla, and salt. If you’d like a super smooth caramel, strain through a fine metal sieve.

  8.Pour caramel into a heatproof jar. Allow it to cool a few minutes before using.

  9.Serve over ice cream, your favorite dessert, or as a dip for apples and bananas. Enjoy for your meal or share as a gift.

  Makes 1–½ cups of sauce.

  LAURI AND LEAH’S CHOCOLATE POMEGRANATE DROPS

  When Lauri first served these chocolate drop cookies, the sweet pop of juicy pomegranates and lush chocolate made me a lifelong fan. I hope you receive the same rave reviews from those you share them with—including your gluten-free friends.

  PREP: 10 minutes COOK: 3 minutes COOL: 45 minutes

  2 pomegranates

  12 oz. bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips

  DIRECTIONS

  1.Remove the juicy seeds from the pomegranates or buy them pre-removed. If you’re removing the pulpy seeds (which resemble grains of corn), use a sharp knife to score the outside skin of the pomegranate. Fill a medium-sized mixing bowl with water and break the pomegranate open under the water. This prevents the juice from spraying and the seeds will sink to the bottom, separating from the pulp, which will float to the top. Rinse and strain the pulpy seeds.

  2.Dry the outside of the juicy seeds completely.

  3.Melt chocolate chips either on the stove or in a microwave-safe dish. If you’re using the microwave, I recommend heating half of the bag at a time and stirring frequently until completely melted.

  4.Set aside a small portion of the seeds for garnishing at the end. Gently mix the remaining seeds in with the melted chocolate. Some people prefer more chocolate or more pomegranates, so you can play with the proportions.

  5.Spoon tablespoonfuls of the chocolate-pomegranate mixture onto a baking sheet that has been covered in wax paper or parchment. Garnish each clump with a few non-chocolatey pomegranate seeds for presentation. Chill in the fridge about 30 – 45 minutes until they harden.

  Makes 15 – 20 drops.

  4

  A Loaf of Bread Just Out of the Oven

  TASTE AND SEE GOD’S COMMUNITY

  I peer through the oven’s glass window, coated with splatters from past meals, to assess the bread baking inside. More than anything, I don’t want the bread to rise.

  I wish I knew more about the finicky nature of this particular range, but this isn’t my stove. This isn’t even my kitchen. I’ve traveled from Utah to Connecticut to try my hand at unleavened bread.

  When I launched my baking expedition to explore bread in the Bible, I looked for local bakers to deepen my understanding of bread and its rich imagery throughout Scripture. One chef led to another, and soon I scoured a variety of resources on how this particular food rose to prominence throughout history.

  Somewhere along the way, I stumbled on a resource by Andrew McGowan, the dean of Berkeley Divinity School at Yale University and knew he would be the very best guide. He’s both an Episcopal priest and an expert on ancient bread making. Jackpot!

  With Ido-inspired chutzpah, I invited myself to visit the prestigious Ivy League campus and spend an afternoon baking in his kitchen. He graciously accepted my request, and before I knew it, I found myself at Yale.

  At first glance, Andrew looks like a fine-art auctioneer at Christie’s. Untamed salt-and-pepper hair grazes his shoulders. Mod glasses frame his wise owl-like eyes. Yet it’s the puff of flour on his tie that’s impossible to ignore. I have a suspicion that he isn’t a typical seminary professor, and my hunch is confirmed when he leads me into the kitchen of his campus home.

  Instead of cabinets, cherry-red shelves line the pale walls. They are stocked with my all-time favorite brand of spices. A whimsical white tea kettle with black polka dots rests atop the stove. Unlike my unkempt kitchen, Andrew’s appears tidy with every item assigned to its proper place.

  The centerpiece of the kitchen is an oversized wooden countertop designed for baking with a lower-set edge and a plastic barrier to prevent runaway flour. I follow Andrew to his personal treasure vault: a pantry stuffed with eclectic flours from around the world.

  “I collect flour like some collect power tools,” he says with a gusty laugh.

  Andrew scans the labyrinth of ground grains to select the ingredients for today’s culinary adventure. He gathers several flours and cradles them in his arms like infants. Then we return to the kitchen and I pull up a stool to his baking table.

  “We’re going to make authentic matzo like the Israelites ate,” Andrew announces. “From the start to out-of-the-oven, we have only eighteen minutes.”

  HOW TO AVOID THE LEAVEN OF THE PHARISEES (HINT: YOU CAN’T)

  I know unleavened bread is a Jewish staple that commemorates the night when God instructs the Israelites to flee Egypt at lightning speed. It’s said that they left in such a hurry that they could not wait for bread dough to rise. But why only eighteen minutes?

  Andrew explains that a basic mixture of water and flour rises, or leavens, on its own with enough time.

  water + flour + time = leavened bread

  Centuries ago, a pair of rabbis debated how long a Jewish baker could work with dough before it bubbles and leavens. In the famous exchange, one rabbi suggested eighteen minutes and the other, twenty-four minutes. Because they loved the law of God, the rabbis believed the best way to help people observe the law was to not exceed the regulation’s basic requirement. If you don’t want to cross a line, the reasoning goes, then stay away from it. As a result, if rabbis had a dispute between two guidelines, the stricter was always favored. To uphold their love for the law and make certain no lines were crossed, the rabbis agreed on the shorter time for unleavened bread.<
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  This explains what I experienced while in Israel. Leading up to Passover, the removal of leaven creates a physical spring-cleaning and represents a deeper spiritual one. Jewish households, and restaurateurs like Ido, don’t focus on the yeast; they focus on the flour, which contains the capacity to become leaven.

  In search of hidden hametz, the Hebrew word for leaven, people pull stoves from the walls, tear apart pantries, and scour the entire house to remove every last granule of flour. While more liberal Jews give their leavened food to Gentiles to store, the most conservative burn it.

  One day while driving along the Galilee, I detected smoke rising from a nearby beach. I whipped the car around, daydreaming that maybe I’d see Jesus and the disciples enjoying breakfast. Instead, I discovered orthodox Jewish children standing around a fire pit burning their families’ hametz.

  In light of my experiences in Israel and Andrew’s insights, I realized I’d either missed or misunderstood biblical references to leaven my entire life.

  Wherever a passage refers to leaven or yeast, I interpreted the mention with modern ears. I’d imagine the baker reaching for an outside ingredient like a packet of Fleishmann’s rapid-rise to make dough bubble. Alas, commercial yeast wasn’t even invented until 1868.

  Instead, the ancient Israelites used the same ingredients people work with today to make sourdough bread: water, flour, and time (and sometimes a starter ball of dough from a previous baking that is comprised of—you guessed it—water, flour, and time).

  This illuminates Jesus’s warning to beware the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees. This isn’t a cautionary advisement against an outside contaminant. Rather, Jesus says, the same leaven that’s in them is already in you. Our real enemy isn’t what we see in others but what rises within us.

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