A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener: "See here! For three years I have come looking for, fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?" He replied: "Sir, let it alone for one more year; until I dig around it and put some manure on it. If it bear fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down." (Luke 13:6-9)

In this parable, the household tells the gardener to cut the tree down and the gardener responds by pleading for a year's reprieve. What could this mean? It seems to me that this parable offers a powerful representation of how we experience daily life when we are committed to the spiritual journey--whether we are trying to take on the mind of Christ, to put into effect the values of the Gospel, or to manifest the fruits of the Spirit--charity, joy, peace, patience, meekness, goodness, gentleness, self control, and fidelity.

Manure means dung, of course--a very down to-earth term. The term "dung," and particularly the product, has a certain pungency. Yet, because of the rich nutrients found there, trees like dung. Dung is the symbol of our experience of daily life and of our constantly recurring faults. The dung represents our experience of daily prayer as one of going nowhere, or even the inability to pray at all, and of the endless flow of unwanted thoughts. Dung also represents the psychological experience of how disagreeable daily life often is, and that nothing we do really helps to improve the situation. Turning on the television or making a phone call may give us a brief respite, but then we are back in the same old emotional hole we were in before. Indeed, we may be further in the hole than we were before. The means we normally use to assuage the pain of daily life are not the best way to proceed.

The right way is to shovel the dung around the tree--that is, to keep putting up with one's faults and still go on trusting in God. Of course, all the manure in the world is not going to change that tree. But if you keep shoveling, at some point God is going to give life to that tree--not because of the dung, but because you kept trying, and God was so touched that he gave life to the tree anyway. Thérèse comments on this subject, "I experience a lively joy not only in being judged imperfect, but above all, when I feel that I am. That joy is sweeter to me than all compliments, which really only weary me." 

Thérèse expressed her insight into this parable in her example of an elevator:

We live in the age of inventions now, and the wealthy no longer have to take the trouble to climb the stairs; they take an elevator. That is what I must find, an elevator to take me straight up to Jesus, because I am too little to climb the steep stairway of perfection. So, I searched the Scriptures for some hint of my desired elevator, until I came upon these words from the lips of Eternal Wisdom: "Whosoever is a little one, let him come to Me." (Prov. 9:4). I went closer to God, feeling sure that I was on the right path, but as I wanted to know what He would do to a "little one," I continued my search. This is what I found: "You shall be carried at the breasts and upon the knees, as one whom the mother caresseth, so will I comfort you." (Is. 66:12,13). My heart had never been moved by such tender and consoling words before! 
[italics in the original]

Somebody once asked Thérèse how to reach holiness, and her answer was as follows. Think of a tiny child at the bottom of a long staircase with her beloved father at the top. This little child is only eighteen months old and the stairs are steep and long. The child is reaching out her hands to her father to come and pick her up. The father is at the top of the stairs saying: "Come on! Come on!" All though the Gospel, we get the same invitation: "Come and be transformed, forget your faults, forget your sins. Just be with me in the present moment and I will take care of you." But because we are not like little children, we don't hear the reassurance.

The child keeps raising her tiny foot, but even with her greatest efforts there is no chance of getting to the first step because her legs are too short. The child keeps raising one tiny foot and then the other, all to no avail. There is no chance at all she is going to negotiate even the first step. Her father keeps on calling her with immense tenderness: "Come on! Come on! I'm waiting for you!" She keeps trying and trying. In other words, the child keeps shoveling the manure--accepting her weakness and her inability to make any progress. But she does not give up even though the task is impossible.

Thérèse says that if the child keeps up her helpless efforts, the Father himself, because of his great love, will not be able to stand the situation anymore and will come rushing down the stairs, gather her into his arms, and carry her to the top of the stairs. Thérèse says that this is how she got where she was in the spiritual life: not by any efforts of her own, but by the infinite mercy and tenderness of God.

This is why Thérèse's insight into the Gospel is so great a contribution to spiritual renewal in our time, especially to the renewal of the contemplative life, which is the way of spiritual childhood--that is, of listening to God, waiting, trying, trusting, and turning ourselves over to God. This way means refusing to listen to our commentaries that say we are not getting anywhere, or that we will never make it. Or, to be more specific, it means not complaining that we cannot negotiate the spiritual life because we are having problems in our marriage, business, professional life, or with our children, money, or some addiction.

The difficulties just listed may be very real, and I do not want to minimize them. But God is using these difficulties to give us the Kingdom, and the coming of the Kingdom is conditioned only by our consent and acceptance of the situation. One may try to change the situation, but always with detachment from the results.

The Kingdom is most powerful where we least expect to find it. God does not take away our problems and trials but rather joins us in them. Such is the profound meaning of the Incarnation: God becoming a human being. The Kingdom will manifest itself, not because of our efforts to keep trying, even when all effort seems hopeless, but because God loves us so much that God won't be able to stand seeing us struggle and always failing. God will do the impossible. He will give us a new attitude toward suffering. Such is the heart of the Christian ascesis, or self-discipline, and the mystery of transformation. It is the meaning of the Gospel as Thérèse perceived it.

Is this program too hard? Everyone can love and everyone can suffer: that is all we need. It gets a little uncomfortable now and then, but it also perks up every now and then. And it does not matter whether there is discomfort or pleasure, because God is fully present at all times! Whatever psychological trauma or difficulty we experience--even when we are the cause of our own suffering--that trauma or event is the way God alerts us to the fact that we need to let go of something to which we are overly attached. Some preconceived idea or prejudice is putting us into a straight jacket. The Little Way is the path of liberation from our false self with its over identification with our emotional programs for happiness and our cultural conditioning.

Here is an important distinction. We have feelings, but we are not our feelings. Indeed, we should not say, "I'm angry" or "I'm in despair." We should rather say, "I have angry feelings," or "I have feelings of despair." We can do something about these feelings once we do not identify with them. We can choose what to do with them. Remembering the distinction between "having feelings" and "being" our feelings allows us to change our attitude and look more kindly upon our feebleness and failings. Thérèse writes, "I accept all for the love of God, even the most extravagant thoughts that come to my mind and intrude themselves upon me."

While it is important for us to work on our addictions--if not for ourselves, then at least for the sake of other people--it is vital to know that only God can deliver us. Freedom usually comes only after a long wait--not because God wants to keep us waiting, but because we are not ready to be healed. We have first to hit bottom and know experientially that we cannot do it ourselves. Then God's grace can provide the healing. External disciplines can be harmful if we put too much confidence in them. We may think that if we do certain things we will force God to help us. But God responds only to love. It is a relationship. It was in the fullness of that relationship that Thérèse died. Her last words were what her life had become: an act of love, "Oh my God, I love you!"

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Excerpted from St. Thérèse of Lisieux by Fr. Thomas Keating

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