Many people reading these Gospel lines feel sorry for the fig tree, for it is entirely unclear why it had to be withered. Admittedly, those who are puzzled do not pay attention to the many branches thrown the day before beneath the feet of the donkey on which Jesus entered Jerusalem. This mass of greenery, destined to wither, must surely have exceeded the mass of the fig tree. And that is not even to mention the trees cut down for firewood every day.

Nevertheless, such reasoning certainly does not remove the question: what does the event with the fig tree mean? And how are we to understand the words addressed to the disciples, saying that they will be able to do the same? Are they really to be understood as a call to punish those who displease them? Such a superficial interpretation would contradict all the other Gospel episodes. Elsewhere in the Gospel (Lk 13:6-9) there is a parable about a fig tree that the vine-grower tends to the very end. Here too we have a visible parable. For we are all called to bear fruit, and if this fig tree is condemned, it is not because it is incapable of bearing fruit, but because every possibility of correcting it has been exhausted. Notice that Jesus does not pronounce words of condemnation in anger. He does not hurl a curse, but speaks calmly about reality.

The barren fig tree is an image of what we can bring upon ourselves if we do not share what the Lord has given us. For if we do not want to feed someone or serve one who needs us, we ourselves wither, having refused to draw life-giving strength from the One who gives us all the more, the more we give to others.

Concluding his discussion of gifts and ministries, Paul calls for order in church gatherings, while neither restricting nor condemning anyone, even for such ecstatic manifestations as glossolalia (vv. 39-40). Of course, in saying this the apostle also has church discipline in mind. But that is evidently not the whole matter. Above all, Paul has in mind the spiritual benefit of the Church as a community of Christians living in the Kingdom. The purpose of the Church's existence lies above all in being a place where everyone can partake of the Kingdom: both someone who has already made his choice and has experience of life in this Kingdom, and someone for whom it is still merely an abstraction, something he may have heard about but has not yet had the opportunity to touch. This is why Paul says that glossolalia and prophecy must above all serve the task of conveying revelation to the church community, rather than merely demonstrating to those gathered the personal “spiritual achievements” of those to whom these gifts have been given.

The task of explaining the meaning of a prophecy probably seemed to many less “exalted” than prophesying or “speaking in tongues,” but according to the apostle's testimony, without such an explanation both become useless to the Church (vv. 26-31). One can, of course, surrender to “ecstasy without limits,” but states of this kind bring nothing good from a spiritual point of view and say nothing about the authenticity of the experience: under normal circumstances, a person evidently should not lose self-control even in ecstasy (v. 32). The same applies to the natural emotionality and sociability for which women in particular were evidently distinguished in church gatherings (vv. 34-35).

Of course, emotions or sociability in themselves bring nothing bad. Problems begin when emotional and excessively sociable people do not consider it necessary to control themselves even when they are fully capable of doing so. And the main problem here, as in the case of uncontrolled ecstasy—especially when such ecstasy, like one's own emotions, could perfectly well be brought under control—is not that all these manifestations of religious or quasi-religious feeling often disturb those gathered, but that they are incompatible with life in the Kingdom. Natural emotionality, like a natural inclination toward ecstasy, is of course not in itself an insurmountable obstacle on the spiritual path. But spiritual and emotional self-indulgence, unless it is recognized as sin and resisted, will inevitably become such an obstacle. Moreover, it may well set a bad example for those who are new to the Church, for outwardly such self-indulgence closely resembles the spiritual freedom about which Paul speaks so often. In essence, however, it not only bears no resemblance to that freedom but is its direct opposite. Paul considers it necessary to remind the Corinthian Christians of this (vv. 36-37), for among them there were apparently some who often confused the one with the other.

Today's reading consists of two parts that at first glance are not directly connected with each other. The first part is the account of the withered fig tree (vv. 18-22); the second gives the conversation of Jesus with the chief priests and elders in the Temple (vv. 23-32). And yet there is a connection between these two events, although it is not immediately obvious.

It is no accident that the account of the withered fig tree ends with a conversation about faith that, according to Jesus, can move mountains (vv. 21-22). Clearly, faith here is not only trust in God and in the One whom God sends into the world, but also a definite spiritual state. And the second part of the passage is devoted precisely to what prevents a person from acquiring and keeping that state.

The conversation with the chief priests and elders begins with the question, already discussed more than once, of who gave Jesus the authority to do what He does (v. 23). Jesus, as had happened before, answers a question with a question: was the washing ("baptism") with which John washed people true or false (v. 25)? Then Jesus' interlocutors begin thinking about how to answer Him (vv. 25-27). But they are clearly concerned not with the truth of John's ministry, but only with the possibility of getting out of a delicate situation without losing face. And in the end, as often happens in such cases, they avoid answering (v. 27).

Then Jesus also refuses to answer their question. There is no game here: in fact, with such an attitude toward the matter, trying to explain anything to these people is truly pointless. They are not interested in truth; their own opinion is more important to them - whatever they may say about spiritual life, purity of faith, and other things of that sort.

The parable Jesus tells about the two sons (vv. 28-32) characterizes the situation as well as possible: one can talk about faith and spiritual life as much as one likes, but if there is no sincere obedience to God's will, all of it is only words. And what prevents obedience is a lack of resolve and inner wholeness.

After all, Jesus' interlocutors cannot be called complete unbelievers. But this is not unconditional faith; it is faith with reservations and allowances. Such faith is worth little. It certainly cannot move mountains. The only thing such faith is good for is serving as self-consolation for those who would like to consider themselves believers without sacrificing anything. But such faith has nothing to do with the Kingdom.