When I was a kid, my dad had this massive garden—actually, calling it a garden doesn’t even do it justice. It was basically a small farm in our backyard. We grew everything imaginable, but especially corn. And when I say corn, I mean hundreds of ears of corn!
Each summer, we’d grow, pick, shuck/silk, and freeze corn as if the apocalypse was imminent and corn was the only thing that could save us.
And guess whose unpaid summer job it was to handle the worst part of that whole corn operation?
Yeah. Me.
Hours upon hours of my teenage years vanished while shucking and silking corn. I’d pull away husk after husk, getting those annoying little strands of silk stuck everywhere—on my hands, in my hair. But the worst—the absolute worst—was when I’d peel back the husk and discover a worm. A fat, slimy, repulsive little worm curled up comfortably inside what I thought was a perfectly good ear of corn.
Disgusting doesn’t even begin to describe it. Far too many ears were wasted when I’d scream and throw the corn to try to get the worm away from me.
From the outside, the corn always looked perfect. Full, bright green husks promised something delicious inside. But those worms taught me early on that things aren’t always as they appear. What looks perfect on the outside can sometimes hide something rotten and squirmy just beneath the surface.
Maybe that’s exactly what Jesus had in mind when he cursed the fig tree. It’s one of the weirder stories in the Bible, right? Jesus gets hungry, sees a leafy fig tree, and expects to find something edible. But nope, not a single fig. And so, seemingly annoyed, Jesus curses the tree, and it withers almost instantly.
It feels harsh. Like, c’mon, Jesus, it’s just a tree, right? Did “hanger” take over that day?
But the tree represented something bigger—something Jesus had zero tolerance for: looking good on the outside but being empty, fruitless, or even rotten within. The tree looked healthy from afar, full of leafy promises, but up close it had nothing real, nothing meaningful to offer.
Kind of like the religious leaders back then. They wore the right robes, said the right prayers, memorized all the rules—but their hearts? Empty. Their actions didn’t match their appearances. Beneath the surface, they were filled with judgment, arrogance, selfishness, and pride. And Jesus, well, he was done with that show. He wanted authenticity. Real fruit. Real love.
Holy Week is a perfect time for us to pause and take a good, honest look inside ourselves. Are we like the fig tree, looking good but producing nothing real? Are we hiding worms beneath a shiny exterior? Or does our inside match the outside we show the world?
We don’t have to be perfect—thank goodness for that. But we do need to be honest. Honest about our struggles, our imperfections, our messy, wormy insides. Because when we’re authentic—when we match on the inside and the outside—then we’re actually becoming more like Jesus. We become real.
And trust me: facing a few worms now is way better than spending a lifetime just pretending.
How can you be authentic this week? How can you take an honest look and offer Christ in concrete ways? Kindness. Forgiveness. Grace.
Grace and Peace,
Andrea
God, sometimes we’re really good at putting on a show—
making things look great on the outside,
but ignoring the mess within.
Help us cut through our own pretending.
Remind us that faith isn’t about appearances,
it’s about authenticity—
being real, even when it’s messy,
especially when it’s messy.
Keep nudging us when we slip into performance mode.
Give us the courage to face our inner stuff honestly
and the guts to change it.
Amen.