There are some men that steal into a profession, nobody knows how, even as this fig-tree was brought into the vineyard by other hands than God’s; and there they abide lifeless, graceless, careless, and without any good conscience to God at all.  Perhaps they came in for the loaves, for a trade, for credit, for a blind; or it may be, to stifle and choke the checks and grinding pangs of an awakened and disquieted conscience.  Now, having obtained their purpose, like the sinners of Zion, they are at ease and secure, saying, like Agag, Surely the bitterness of death is past:  I am well; I shall be saved and go to heaven.  Thus in these vain conceits they spend a year, two, or three; not remembering that at every season of grace, and at every opportunity of the gospel, the Lord comes seeking fruit.

Well, sinner, well, barren fig-tree, this is but an evil beginning.  God comes for fruit.  What have I here? saith God.  What a fig-tree is this, that hath stood this year in my vineyard, and brought me forth no fruit!  I will cry unto him, Professor, barren fig-tree, be fruitful; I look for fruit, I expect fruit, I must have fruit; therefore bethink thyself.  At these the professor pauses; but these are words, not blows; therefore off goes this consideration from the heart.

When God comes the next year, he finds him still as he was, a barren, fruitless cumber-ground.  And now again he complains, Here are two years gone, and no fruit appears; well, I will defer mine anger for my name’s sake.  I will yet wait to be gracious.  But this helps not, this hath not the least influence upon the barren fig-tree:  Tush, saith he, here is no threatening; God is merciful, he will defer his anger, he waits to be gracious; I am not yet afraid.  O, how ungodly men, that are unawares crept into the vineyard, how do they turn the grace of our God into lasciviousness!

Well, he comes the third year for fruit, as he did before, but still he finds but a barren fig-tree; no fruit.  Now he cries out again, O thou dresser of my vineyard, come hither:  here is a fig-tree hath stood these three years in my vineyard, and hath at every season disappointed my expectation; for I have looked for fruit in vain.  Cut it down; my patience is worn out, I shall wait on this fig-tree no longer.

And now he begins to shake the fig-tree with his threatenings:  Fetch out the axe.  Now the axe is death; death therefore is called for.  Death, come, smite me this fig-tree.  And withal the Lord shakes this sinner, and whirls him upon a sick-bed, saying, Take him, death; he hath abused my patience and forbearance, not remembering that it should have led him to repentance and to the fruits thereof:  death, fetch away this fig-tree to the fire, fetch this barren professor to hell.  At this, death comes with grim looks into the chamber, yea, and hell follows with him to the bedside, and both stare this professor in the face, yea, begin to lay hands upon him.  One smites