Overview:

Saturday of the Twenty-ninth Week in Ordinary Time

A Reflection for Saturday of the Twenty-ninth Week in Ordinary Time

“There once was a person who had a fig tree planted in his orchard, 
and when he came in search of fruit on it but found none,
he said to the gardener,
‘For three years now I have come in search of fruit on this fig tree     
but have found none.
So cut it down.
Why should it exhaust the soil?’
He said to him in reply,
‘Sir, leave it for this year also, 
and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; 
it may bear fruit in the future.
If not you can cut it down.’”

Find today’s readings here.

Today’s Gospel from Luke asks a challenging question: What kind of fruit is my life producing?

Jesus tells the story of a fig tree that’s been taking up space in a vineyard for three years without bearing any fruit. The landowner wants to cut it down, but the gardener pleads for one more year. He’ll tend to it carefully, give it another chance. But if it remains barren? Well, then it has to go.

It’s a stark image. God has planted us with purpose. He’s looking for fruit in our lives—not just good intentions or religious appearances, but real fruit: love, justice, mercy, courage, fidelity. A life without that kind of fruit, Jesus is saying, is ultimately meaningless, no matter how comfortable or secure it looks.

Fifty-five years ago today, on Oct. 25, 1970, Pope Paul VI canonized forty men and women who understood this deeply. The Forty Martyrs of England and Wales came from everywhere: they were priests and bishops certainly, but also butchers’ wives, carpenters, merchants and servants. What they had in common wasn’t education or wealth. It was an unwavering commitment to live fruitfully, to remain faithful to God even when it cost them everything.

Two of them particularly move me.

Margaret Clitherow was a wife and mother in York, known as the “Pearl of York.” In an era when harboring a Catholic priest was high treason, Margaret turned her home into a sanctuary. She hid priests. She made sure Mass could be celebrated and sacraments received. Her fruitfulness wasn’t in grand public gestures but in the quiet and dangerous hospitality of her home, at a time when that basic gesture was deemed treason to the state. When she was arrested, Margaret refused to enter a plea because she knew her children would be forced to testify against her. She was sentenced to death by pressing in 1586, a death memorialized in verse by poet Gerard Manley Hopkins:

“When she felt the kill-weights crush
 She told His name times-over three;
 I suffer this she said for Thee.”

Nicholas Owen was a Jesuit brother and carpenter who quietly built “priest holes,” ingenious hiding places that saved countless lives. His hidden labor was eventually discovered, and he was tortured to death. Neither Margaret nor Nicholas sought attention or glory. They simply let their love for God shape the choices of their daily lives. Their fruitfulness grew out of fidelity.

Pope Paul VI said at their canonization: “This was precisely the tragedy of their existence: their honest and sincere loyalty to civil authority came into conflict with their fidelity to God and with what, according to the dictates of their consciences enlightened by the Catholic faith, they knew to involve revealed truths.”

These weren’t rebels. They were patriots who loved their country. But they recognized something crucial: loyalty to earthly authority could never trump fidelity to God. When those loyalties clashed, they chose God. Their martyrdom wasn’t a rejection of England, it was an affirmation that true freedom can never exist apart from truth.

So what does this mean for us today?

We’re called to be fruitful. To stand up for what’s right, to defend human dignity, even when it runs against the political or cultural climate. Like Margaret, we’re called to shelter the vulnerable, to open our homes and hearts to those fleeing persecution. Like Nicholas, we’re called to use our skills, however hidden or humble, in service of the Gospel and the protection of others.

The barren fig tree is a reminder: we can’t postpone this work indefinitely. God has given us gifts, graces, opportunities. He’s looking for fruit. The Forty Martyrs teach us that holiness and courage aren’t reserved for the extraordinary. They’re available to and required of all of us. These men and women chose love of God and love of neighbor over political expedience. Their witness challenges us to do the same. May their example inspire us to live fruitfully, to stand firm for truth, and to offer our lives as testimony to the love of Christ.

Robert Buckland, a Jesuit novice, was born in Georgetown, Guyana, but has spent much of his life in Belize. After graduating from St. John’s College in Belize, he attended Fordham University in New York. Most recently, he served as C.I.O. for Belize's largest airline, Tropic Air.