The following essay is excerpted from Christine Norvell’s recent book The Sycomore Fig Tree: Biblical Botany & Scriptural Truth.
I read the Book of Amos several times one summer, drawn in by how the land responded to what was spoken. Years ago, in my master’s thesis, I explored the land as a character in the early works of American author Willa Cather. Call it land, call it setting, in fiction it was not a very original thesis idea—I argued that the land was essentially human. Never neutral and never static, it could change its mind. It could act for good or ill for those who presumed to control it or who thought they could tend it. But the image of nature as a person is ancient.
In the Book of Amos, the land felt judgment, a human response. Amaziah the priest complained to Jeroboam, “The land cannot bear all [Amos’s] words” (7:10 NIV). It could not sustain or endure it. The land trembled with agitation, rising and falling like the Nile River (8:8). It was as if the land God created knew that He would release an unimaginably horrific famine. No one would be able to hear the words of Adonai (8:11). Amaziah was right.
In my early research I quickly realized that Amos drew the attention of many biblical scholars for one reason, a reason I was eager to investigate as well—no one knew for certain what he did for a living. What was his true occupation? Amos claimed, “I was no prophet, nor a prophet’s son, but I was a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore figs” (7:14 ESV). (Note that Sycomore is a kind of fig, deriving its spelling from the fruit syconium and the Greek word sykomoraia. It is not to be confused with the American sycamore, Plantanus occidentalis L., or the British sycamore tree, an actual maple, Acer pseudoplatanus L.) But what does that mean?
Opinions swirled over centuries of research. Before Adonai called him, was Amos a shepherd, goatherder, manager, businessman, owner, temple procurer, fig picker, fig pricker, arborist, lowly, or wealthy? English translations assumed he was a simple shepherd because he would be perfectly suited to plead the case for injustice to the poor, one of the greatest themes in Amos. The logic is strong, but recent translations of the last three centuries were based on limited evidence. Within the ancient Semitic languages of Akkadian and Ugaritic, however, both the history and etymology of the time provide incredible insights that center around a single tree.
My meander began in earnest. I dug through commentaries on geography, agriculture, and the person of Amos. I learned about ancient Mediterranean horticulture. What type of fig would a common shepherd tend along with his sheep? Why would it be mentioned at all? I uncovered an archaeological entry about petrified sycomore figs in Egyptian tombs. These specific figs, this tree, were important to Egyptians? I kept reading.
I found a treasure trove of botanical information about this tree. In ancient Palestine, the sycomore fig tree was the same that Zacchaeus would climb. To the Egyptians, it was “The Tree of Life.” King Sennacherib promised each Israelite his own fig tree. King David appointed Baal-Hanan to oversee his sycomore figs. Jeremiah describes the Israelites as both good and bad figs. Jesus spoke of a fig tree whose budding showed the Kingdom of God was close at hand.
Whether the common fig or the sycomore fig, these verses prompted me to find out more about how a non-native tree came to the lands of Scripture, how it survived and provided, how its fruit came to maturity, and most importantly how the sycomore fig tree and the tending of all trees parallel our life in Christ and the challenges we face.
The sycomore fig is a robust grower with a wide spread, growing nine to twelve meters tall, and at its best, measuring six meters in diameter. The main trunk is short, often dividing into twisted main branches near the ground with lateral branches spreading in every direction. Its unlobed leaves are evergreen and somewhat heart-shaped, smooth on top and hairy beneath. In Tree and Shrub in Our Biblical Heritage, Nogah Hareuveni describes it with “dark green leaves that densely cover the branches, creating a canopy through which bits of sky are visible.” A single tree provides bountiful shade, and in times of drought, its large leaves can be fodder for sheep and goats.
Its flowers may be inconspicuous, but its fruit always appears in clusters on both its branches and on the main trunk beneath the tree’s crown. Flowering and fruiting occur year-round, producing up to six crops a year. Two to three centimeters in diameter, the fig ripens from a buff-green to yellow or red on a series of branchlets.
This is such a hope-filled image to me. The sycomore-fig is not some rare or colorful or stunning botanic gem. It’s not a specimen tree, an intentional focal point of a garden. It’s a wild fruiting shade tree where every single part of it holds value. Its maturity over decades and centuries is a picture of enduring fruitfulness, a steadfast hope of what a fruitful life in Christ can become.
As a large sturdy tree, the destruction of it would require almost supernatural power as described in Psalm 78:47, where vines are destroyed with hail and sycomore figs with sleet. But its girth and canopy are also an example of great faith. In Luke 17:6, Jesus describes the tree in a different way: “If you had trust as tiny as a mustard seed, you could say to this [sycomore] fig tree, ‘Be uprooted and replanted in the sea!’ and it would obey you.”
Unlike some fruit trees, a sycomore fig does not successfully produce offshoots that will survive if transplanted. But in the wild, the sycomore fig is tenacious. If wind exposes its roots, it will not die but grow deeper. Though sand cover it entirely, it will survive. It is the very picture of its Hebrew name, shiqmah, or shiqum—rejuvenation.
In Luke 19, Zacchaeus the tax collector easily climbed the sycomore fig branches to catch a glimpse of Christ. A man of wealth who could afford the best of foods climbs a common tree, one he would never eat the fruit of in daily life. Yet in that humble tree Christ sees him and calls him. Christ made a point of speaking to Zacchaeus and inviting Himself to stay at his house as the guest of a sinner. Zacchaeus repented of his greed and promised to repay what he had wrongfully gained. Jesus’s purpose was clear: “Today salvation has come to this house, inasmuch as this man too is a son of Avraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and save what was lost” (Luke 19:9–10).
Wild yet humble, the sycomore fig is a remarkable symbol of the Christian life, beautiful in its simplicity. Capable of multiple harvests a year, it thrives on rocky or sandy soil in a semi-arid climate. Its presence often indicates that water is near. And unlike Christ’s parable of the sower, this tree digs through rocky shallow ground without withering. It is accessible to all people for its fruit and wood, a generous sign of its year-round provision. And it can live for centuries, a legacy of fruitfulness.
