Doesn't Anyone Miss The Fruit?

By Bishop Charles Scott
To see a new harvest of changed lives, we need Pentecostal passion.

The pear tree behind Grandma’s house in Jenny Lind, Ark., always produced fruit. Every summer the limbs of the aged tree were full of succulent pears that Grandma’s skillful hands would soon turn into delicious jam and jelly.

No effort had to be exerted to retrieve the abundant pears; they were everywhere. There was no climbing the tree to shake the limbs, no Internet research was needed about how to produce pears, no conferences on fruit-bearing were attended. We just enjoyed the copious crop.

Then one spring Grandma expressed concern about the pear tree. She said it didn’t look the same. But the faithful tree still produced. The next year the fruit was only on the higher limbs, and Grandma’s favorite grandson enjoyed climbing the sturdy limbs and shaking them profusely until the stubborn pears fell to the ground. The pears received a bruising since they fell with such force. Many had to be discarded, so the supply of jam and jelly began to diminish.

Around the dinner table there was talk about the dire situation affecting the pear tree. Because no one had the solution, all that could be done was to talk about the problem until another more interesting topic arose and the subject was changed. When no one knew how to move toward a better future, all they knew how to do was talk about the fruitful past.

The next year the tree had plenty of leaves, but no pears. As we stood under the tree, memories were shared on how much fun it was to pick up the pears and how enjoyable the tasty fruit was on Grandma’s homemade biscuits. Everyone stood silent for a few moments, then walked away, returning to menial tasks and forgetting about the fruit. Over the next few years, the pear tree spit out a few puny pears but never regained its former glory. It still stands in an empty yard and no one comes to enjoy its fruit. The tree stands as a silent reminder of what once was.

There was era when Pentecostalism seemingly produced fruit without great effort. While sacrifice has always been necessary for productivity in the kingdom of God, churches enjoyed a harvest of fruit without changing methods. Evangelistic centers thrived and services saw sinners at the altar, saints in the pew and glory in the house.

It seems in retrospect that fruit could be easily picked in a culture that embraced faith, one in which ministry was done with passion. Preachers wanted to preach. Pioneers wanted to plant churches.

Challenges then arose and a mentality of “build it and they will come” prevailed, so the church sowed its seeds in buildings and programs. Crises came and a once-spiritual culture embraced secularism, placing a greater emphasis on the “here and now” than the “sweet by and by.” Decline set in, fruit was harder to find and a new millennium arrived. Like the old pear tree, many churches sit today in the field bearing no fruit.

We talk about what once was, about how sweet the taste of the glory was and reminisce about the good old days. We can still taste the fruit, so perhaps as long as we can still remember the taste of what we once had, we can justify its absence.

Pastor Art Greco wrote in The American Church in Crisis: “When faithful Christianity is defined primarily as protecting the truth, insulating our children and surviving the onslaught of competing thoughts, the battle is lost. The church seems to be doing most of its work by competing for members and dollars, hiding behind the skirts of a few carefully selected Scripture verses about purity while burying her head in the sand for fear.”

Somehow the gospel of a bleeding Jesus has turned into the good news of becoming a better you. The negative tones of sin have changed into the positive tunes of developing stronger relationships. The expectation of the return of the King of kings has been replaced with teaching about how to embrace the place where you are. The power of the Holy Spirit has become passion for life.

Somehow, no one seems to miss the fruit. As long as we can still count the barren trees, no one misses the fruit.