Even though the fig tree doesn’t blossom

It's been over a year since my son Sam dropped out of college and moved back home. The last twelve months have been comprised of small steps forward, followed by steps backward. The overall net gains have been modest and slow.

There were a few times when I believed Sam was finally coming out of this depressive state. I felt hopeful when he visited old friends from high school, rejoined our church worship team, and started classes at the local community college. Sadly, he met with friends only a handful of instances all year. He played guitar with the worship team a few times before withdrawing from church altogether. And he stopped attending classes at the community college after three months.

It is difficult not to feel weary as we start another year. Sam still struggles to engage in any real conversation, complete basic tasks, or maintain a schedule for himself. For the most part, he prefers a nocturnal existence, so it is not unusual for me to go for days without seeing him. And there are still days when Sam isolates in his room, sometimes for more than twenty-four hours at a time.

Whenever I feel discouraged, I need only remind myself of Sam's sophomore year of college, when all contact from him ceased and I was left fearing the worst. What I would have given then to be where we are today, with Sam—even in this diminished state—living a few feet away under the same roof. When I think of that dreadful season, I am filled with deep gratitude that my son is alive and home.

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The book of Habakkuk comes to mind often these days. This short text records a back-and-forth conversation between Habakkuk and God. The prophet is troubled that God has allowed the Chaldeans, who do not revere Him, to violently attack Judah.

In the final chapter, Habakkuk pleads with God to make His work known “in the midst of the years” (Habakkuk 3:2). The prophet knows that God is mighty to save His people and rescue them from their invaders. He describes God’s power and authority over creation, acknowledging that He can cause the mountains to writhe and the raging waters to give forth their voice (Habakkuk 3:10). There is no question in Habakkuk’s mind that God can intervene and deliver His people from suffering.

Even though God is able to save His people, the book ends with the Chaldeans laying siege on Judah. Habakkuk’s prayers for deliverance have not been answered as the prophet hoped. Instead, God has decided to permit His people to undergo suffering.

And yet, Habakkuk persists in praising God:

“Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.” (Habakkuk 3:17-18)

‭The structure of Habakkuk’s short prayer is unique among all of the prayers recorded in the Bible. Even though, he laments… yet I will, he declares.

Few prayers acknowledge the “even though” sentiments of life: that our worst fears have come to pass, that our enemies have triumphed over us, that God hasn’t brought about a change in circumstances despite having the power to do so. Habakkuk’s honest prayer does not gloss over the harsh realities of life. He recognizes that the fig tree is barren, that there are no natural resources bearing fruit whatsoever. In other words, there is no reason—from an earthly perspective—for joy.

And few prayers provide such a bold “yet I will” call to action. Habakkuk acknowledges that, indeed, life is hard, but he will take joy in God alone. His joy does not come from the figs that might have ripened on the tree, or the deliverance from the Chaldeans that he prayed for but did not receive. Figs or no figs, he will rejoice in God.

What an astounding prayer. How can Habakkuk rejoice in God, knowing that God was entirely capable of saving His people but chose not to? How can he take joy in the “God of my salvation” (a term which a calloused heart might consider ironic), rather than stumble under the weight of disappointment with God?

The prophet must have understood and accepted that God is sovereign. If God did not deliver His people from their enemies, it was not by accident or neglect. God alone has the right to rule His world as He pleases, and neither Habakkuk nor any of us are entitled to having our prayers answered in the manner we hope. If God is sovereign, He must have had a purpose for allowing the Chaldeans to invade Judea.

Moreover, Habakkuk must have understood that God is good. Whatever God’s purpose was for Judea’s suffering, that purpose must be good because God is good. Perhaps He allowed the attack by the Chaldeans to bring His people to a posture of humble dependence on Him. Perhaps God determined to effectuate justice for His people’s disobedience (and justice can be a good purpose by itself). Or perhaps Habakkuk would not understand God’s purpose in his own lifetime, but He nevertheless trusted that it must be good.

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Like Habakkuk, I continue to ask God to make His work known in the midst of these locust years. Every day, I pray that God will show us that He is working in Sam to deliver him out of the darkness. I also ask that He will make us see how He is doing a good work in me, and in the rest of our family, as we wait for Sam to be restored.

And even though (for now) the fig tree doesn’t blossom, even though Sam is still suffering, even though I know God can heal him but hasn’t yet, even though our lives don’t look that much different than when he came home a year ago… yet I will take joy in God. I know He is sovereign and good, and that alone is reason to praise Him.