September 10, 2025, will be etched in the minds of many for different reasons, but for me it will be remembered as the day I stood in the unspeakable space of anger and rage. My anger is not only about one event or one death; it is about a world that continues to buy into a false reality woven into the very DNA of the United States. While people debate about whether we should show decency in difficult times, I cannot escape the truth that this nation has always been the cousin of imperialism. For two and a half centuries, America has survived on the backs of those who never deserved violence or death, finding new ways to demean and denigrate those who made this land their home—whether by choice or by force. Violence has always been its default mode, a live-action version of Call of Duty in which human lives become expendable for the sake of power.
The tragedies of recent weeks remind us that the infection is not surface-level. This nation carries multiple terminal illnesses it refuses to treat. We comfort ourselves with shallow moral outrage that flares only in the wake of catastrophe, but then vanishes once comfort is restored. Our outrage is selective, our compassion conditional, our memory short. I cannot be compelled to weep deeply for those who have built their legacies on hatred and destruction; that is not a political position, but a personal choice rooted in clarity. As Malcolm X once said, “Chickens come home to roost.” As Paul warned, “You reap what you sow.” We are watching in real time what happens when a people sow seeds of violence, pride, and idolatry: the harvest is bitter, and there is no control over the evil it produces.
The gospel being preached in the public square today is often no gospel at all. It is a guilt trip wrapped in cheap grace—a forgiveness that demands no confession, a salvation that produces no transformation. It is a leafy religion that looks alive but bears no fruit. Jesus cursed the fig tree because it promised life and nourishment yet produced nothing but leaves. That fig tree was a sign of a faith that looked holy but was barren of justice and mercy. We are living under that same tree now. America has leaves—grand speeches, patriotic slogans, political rituals—but when we reach for fruit, we find nothing.
Howard Thurman spoke of the “integrity of being,” warning that faith without substance collapses into hypocrisy. Dietrich Bonhoeffer named it “cheap grace.” Desmond Tutu reminded the world that there is no future without forgiveness—but forgiveness requires truth. And truth is what this nation has always resisted. The FBI can mobilize a nationwide manhunt for one shooter while murderers of children walk free, and still, the country pretends that justice is in its DNA. But the right thing has never been in its DNA. What we are reaping is the fruit of what has long been sown.
To live under a fruitless fig tree is to mourn not only the deaths of individuals, but the death of what could have been. It is to acknowledge that our soil is corrupted, that our leaves are deceptive, that our roots are shallow. The only way forward is not cosmetic change, but the burning of the ground itself. Only then can something new grow—something nourished by truth, cultivated in justice, and sustained by love. Otherwise, people will continue to die for no reason, and the seeds of demonic enterprise will keep producing their harvest of destruction.
To mourn a fruitless fig tree is to refuse the lie of appearances, to confront the barrenness we have inherited, and to demand that the soil be broken open for something new. We mourn, yes—but we also declare that mourning is not enough. If fruit is to grow again, the ground itself must change.
A Prophetic Prayer
God of fire and truth,
We come not with soft words but with groans too deep for comfort.
We name before You a nation leafy but barren, loud with promises but empty of justice.
We will not cover its sickness with prayers that cost us nothing.
We will not baptize its violence in patriotic hymns.
We will not call peace where there is no peace.
Tear down the fruitless fig tree, O God.
Burn the soil if You must, until every seed of hatred, greed, and falsehood is consumed.
Uproot every system that feeds on the blood of children.
Expose every lie that dresses itself as righteousness.
Judge the idols of guns, of profit, of empire, and cast them down.
And when the smoke clears, plant in us seeds that cannot be corrupted—
Seeds of truth-telling,
Seeds of righteous anger,
Seeds of mercy that defends the weak,
Seeds of love that does not flinch in the face of evil.
Do not let us rest under barren leaves any longer.
Shake us, strip us, and if You must—break us—
Until we bear the fruit of Your kingdom.
In the name of Jesus, who cursed the tree of hypocrisy and raised the tree of life,
Amen.
Dr. Charles W. Ferguson 