Next morning, we were up at first light. Gathering our things, we once again left the home of Lazarus before any of the family were up; hence, breakfast was not served. It was not long before hunger gnawed at our bellies, but we were heartened when we saw in the distance a solitary fig tree growing in the soil. It was in full leaf. Surely, there would be enough fruit to blunt the edge of our hunger. Fig trees, with their broad, fuzzy leaves, often grow alone almost as if they shunned the company of others of their ilk. This one was of medium size, about eight feet high and as many wide. When we examined it, however, for its succulent fruit, there was none. "Well of course," muttered Peter, "it isn't the season for figs. See, it is just beginning to bud. It will be several weeks before . . ."

"May no one ever eat fruit from you again!" It was Jesus. When we heard him say this we were all amused that he would talk to a tree. But in a moment's passing, as we watched, the tree withered and died. The leaves just shriveled as if held to intense heat. Our chuckling stopped. We were left with open mouths--and still hungry stomachs.

"Why did you do this, Lord?" Peter asked.

Jesus seemed annoyed, "I am famished, Simon, and my expectations of this tree were disappointed. You are right, of course. Figs are out of season. It was childish of me." He looked away, exasperated.

A brief moment while we all waited. He looked back at the tree, evaluating his work. "Yes," he said testily, "Well, if you have faith and do not doubt, you can do this, too. Want to try it?" He looked away at the blue mountains. "While you're at it, say to those mountains, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea!' Do not doubt and it will happen. Go ahead!" he chided, "You can do it!"

Something was the matter. This was not like him. Obviously, he did not mean for us to be take him literally. One does not play with or trivialize the power of God. No one knows this better than he.

This was the first time we had seen him pulled, as it were, in two directions. On the one hand, he was human--still simmering, no doubt, from the blowup in the Temple. Add to this, his shouting, demanding stomach. On the other hand, he was, well, something else; something else that could cause a tree to shrivel and die in seconds. The same power that brought a man back four days' dead, had--in anger--killed this tree. In retrospect, it isn't difficult to surmise why Jesus did this. He knew, of course, that he was about to die an unimaginable, painful death. It would not be human to be emotionally oblivious to one's own impending, tortured death. This apparently irrational act was nothing more than the result of grim anticipation working in painful concert with the demands of hunger and residual rage. This was a human thing, erupting in holy power, something that could have only happened with Jesus. And he seemed almost embarrassed by his own deed.

This was not the first time or the only time Jesus had acted intemperately. But it is the only time, in my recollection, that he did something without an apparent reason--at least insofar as I was able to understand.

"But why did you destroy the tree?" Peter asked. "Could you not as easily have caused it to bear fruit?"

"As I said, I was hungry, and when the tree did not have any figs, I became annoyed," replied Jesus.

"You became annoyed with a tree?" Peter responded incredulously.

Jesus smiled, "I suppose you must forgive me, Simon; I am perhaps more like you than you would like me to be."

Peter did not respond.

We stood in silence for a long moment. Jesus, possibly for the first time since childhood, felt the very human desire for forgiveness, once again identifying himself with mankind.

"And while you are forgiving me," he continued, "forgive anyone--everyone--you hold anything against, just as your Father in heaven has forgiven you."

With this, he spoke again to the tree, "Sorry old fellow, I guess my belly got the best of me." Then he took a limb in each hand and gave them a shake. Suddenly, new leaves began to appear. Tiny green budding figs formed at the tips of tiny shoots. "There!" he exclaimed, "Back on schedule! In a few weeks, maybe you can quench the hunger of a child, or perhaps a widow, or," he laughed, "the birds, wasps and yellow-jackets." And then he paused in his soliloquy still holding the limbs in his hands and said distantly, "I wish I could see you truly perform, but that is not to be."

We made our way back to the Temple where Jesus entered the courts and began to teach. Rarely did Jesus simply lecture. He raised questions and asked people to respond. And then he took questions and elaborated in his answer. Today as he taught, the chief priests and the elders of the people asked, "What right, what possible credentials give you the audacity to usurp authority over the commerce of the Temple, as you did yesterday? And how is it that you even remotely believe you have this authority?" Different questioners, same questions.

Jesus replied, "Let me ask you a question. If you answer me, I will answer yours and tell you why I have the authority to do these things." They nodded agreement. They could hardly refuse. They were priests and elders, wise ones who, supposedly, knew all there was to know. "John's baptism--you remember the Baptist, do you not? Where did John's baptism come from? Was it from heaven or from men?"

They huddled and discussed it among themselves. "If we say, 'From heaven,' he will ask, 'Then why didn't you believe him?' Can you imagine taking that strutting, self-absorbed prophet seriously?" There was chuckling at the thought. "But if we say, 'From men'--then everyone here will get into an angry uproar. They all hold that John was a prophet of God." It was a choice between brutal honesty and upsetting the crowd. So they chose a middle ground. They said to Jesus, "We don't know."

"You don't know?" Jesus taunted, "Well then, until you do, I will not tell you by what authority I do these things."

Jesus never allowed himself to be bullied by religious "authority" -- or by any authority. As I think back on it, I am amazed at his composure. In a few days, he would be dead, yet he handled himself as if he were in absolute control and going nowhere. Nor did he think it necessary to respond to every demand or every question put to him. More often than not, he kept his own counsel.

Since they didn't go away, Jesus continued, "There was a man," he said, "who had two sons. He went to the first and said, 'Son, go and work today in the vineyard.' 'I will not!' the boy answered, but later he changed his mind and went.

"Then the man went to his other son and said the same thing. He very piously answered, 'I will go, sir,' but like many children, he dallied and ultimately forgot to go. Which of the two did what his father wanted?"

"Well, let's see," they responded sarcastically, "that would probably be the first." There was snickering.

Jesus laughed as well and then said to them, "Let me tell you the truth. You have answered correctly, but you are not like that child. You are as the second boy whose words are like the mist that burns off at dawn and has no substance. Tax collectors and prostitutes will enter the kingdom of God ahead of you!" The amusement halted immediately. "John the Baptist came to you to show you the way of righteousness. Don't play with me. You did not believe him. You know that and so do I. The tax collectors and prostitutes did believe him. And you thought, 'If we accept his teaching, we will be just like the tax collectors and prostitutes.' So you turned a cold and callous heart toward John."

This kind of exchange with the Temple leaders continued. It had the predictable outcome of exacerbating their anger and further solidified their resolve to have him put to death.