The Three Green Twigs

In the final story of the great collection of tales that would echo through generations like church bells calling souls to wisdom, there lived a hermit whose journey from despair to redemption would demonstrate the infinite depths of divine mercy and the power of genuine repentance to transform even the most hardened heart.

This hermit, whose earthly name had been forgotten even by himself during his long years of solitude, had not always been a man of prayer and contemplation. In his youth, he had been a knight of great renown, wealthy and powerful, feared by his enemies and respected by his peers. But with his success had come pride, and with his pride had come a fall so catastrophic that it had driven him from all human society into the wilderness of his own guilt and shame.

The sin that haunted him was terrible indeed. In his arrogance and greed, he had betrayed his own brother, a fellow knight who had trusted him completely. Through lies and manipulation, he had caused his brother to be accused of treason, knowing that the penalty would be death. His brother had died in disgrace, his wife and children had been left destitute, and all to satisfy the hermit’s jealousy and ambition.

For twenty years, the hermit had lived alone in a cave high in the mountains, surviving on wild berries and spring water, wearing rough cloth woven from plant fibers, and spending his days and nights in prayer and penance. Yet despite two decades of sorrow and repentance, he felt no closer to forgiveness than he had on the day he first fled civilization.

“O God,” he would cry out daily, his voice echoing off the stone walls of his cave, “how can such a sin as mine ever be forgiven? I destroyed my own brother out of jealousy and greed. I orphaned innocent children and widowed a faithful wife. How can there be mercy for one who has committed such evil?”

The hermit’s despair was so deep that he had begun to believe his situation was hopeless. He continued his prayers and penances not because he expected forgiveness, but because the alternative—giving up entirely—seemed even worse than his current torment.

One autumn morning, as the hermit knelt in prayer outside his cave, he noticed something that made him pause in wonder. Growing near the entrance to his dwelling were three small bushes that had been dead and withered for as long as he could remember. He had often used their dry branches for kindling, knowing that no life remained in them.

But on this particular morning, each of the three dead bushes had sprouted a single green twig. The new growth was fresh and vibrant, impossibly alive on plants that had shown no sign of life for years.

The hermit examined the green twigs carefully, unable to explain what he was seeing. The branches from which they grew were clearly dead—dry, brittle, and gray with age. Yet from these lifeless stems had emerged new growth that was unmistakably alive and healthy.

“This is surely a sign,” the hermit murmured to himself, “but what could it mean?”

As he contemplated this mystery, the hermit heard footsteps approaching his cave. Visitors were extremely rare in his remote mountain dwelling, and he felt a moment of panic, wondering if he had been discovered by those who might remember his past sins.

But the figure who appeared on the mountain path was clearly no ordinary traveler. It was an elderly man dressed in simple robes, carrying a staff, and radiating a peace and authority that made the hermit instinctively know he was in the presence of someone extraordinary.

“Peace be with you, brother,” the stranger called as he approached the cave. “I have climbed this mountain seeking a man of prayer who dwells here.”

The hermit bowed his head respectfully. “I am that man, though I fear I am unworthy of the title. I have spent twenty years in penance, yet I find no peace and feel no forgiveness for my sins.”

The stranger studied the hermit with eyes that seemed to see into the depths of his soul. “Tell me of these sins that trouble you so deeply.”

Though he had spoken to no human being about his past for two decades, the hermit found himself unable to resist the gentle authority of his visitor. He poured out the entire story of his betrayal, his brother’s death, and the suffering he had caused to innocent people.

When he finished, the stranger nodded thoughtfully. “Your sin was indeed great,” he said simply. “But tell me—do you truly repent of what you did?”

“With every fiber of my being,” the hermit replied without hesitation. “If I could undo it by suffering any torment, I would gladly do so. If I could restore my brother’s life by giving my own, I would not hesitate for an instant.”

“And if you were forgiven,” the stranger continued, “what would you do with the remainder of your life?”

The hermit had never dared to contemplate such a possibility. “I… I suppose I would dedicate every moment to serving others, to helping those in need, to preventing other people from making the terrible mistakes I made.”

The stranger smiled. “Look again at those three green twigs you noticed this morning.”

The hermit turned toward the bushes and gasped in amazement. The three green twigs had grown visibly during their conversation. What had been small shoots were now substantial branches, and what had been bare stems were now covered with leaves that seemed to glow with inner light.

“How is this possible?” the hermit whispered.

“Nothing is impossible for divine mercy,” the stranger explained. “These three twigs represent the three great truths you have learned during your years of solitude. The first is genuine repentance—you have truly turned away from your sin and would never commit such an act again. The second is humility—you have abandoned the pride that led to your downfall. The third is love—your heart now overflows with compassion for others and desire to serve rather than to be served.”

As the stranger spoke, the three green twigs continued to grow and flourish before their eyes, transforming from dead wood into living plants heavy with fruit.

“But I still carry the guilt of what I did,” the hermit protested. “How can that be taken away?”

The stranger reached out and picked one of the fruits that had appeared on the miraculous branches. “Taste this,” he said gently.

The hermit accepted the fruit and bit into it. Immediately, he felt a warmth spread through his entire being. The crushing weight of guilt that had pressed upon his shoulders for twenty years began to lift. The darkness that had clouded his soul started to clear, replaced by a light that seemed to come from within himself.

“Your sins are forgiven,” the stranger said with quiet authority. “They have been forgiven from the moment you first truly repented. Your twenty years of anguish were not punishment, but purification—the process by which your heart was prepared to receive the mercy that was always waiting for you.”

The hermit fell to his knees, overwhelmed by emotions he could hardly comprehend. “But how can this be? My sin was so great, the harm I caused so terrible…”

“The measure of divine mercy is not the magnitude of sin but the sincerity of repentance,” the stranger explained. “A heart that truly turns back to God finds forgiveness waiting, no matter how far it had wandered into darkness.”

As the stranger spoke these words, he began to change before the hermit’s eyes. His simple robes became radiant with light, his face shone with divine glory, and the hermit realized that he had been visited not by an ordinary man but by an angel sent to deliver God’s message of mercy.

“Rise, brother,” the angel said gently. “Your time of penance is finished. You have learned what you needed to learn, and now you must return to the world to share what you have discovered.”

“Return to the world?” the hermit asked in confusion. “But I have been away so long, and my past…”

“Your past is forgiven and forgotten,” the angel assured him. “What matters now is your future and the good you can do with the wisdom you have gained through suffering.”

The angel gestured toward the three miraculous plants. “Take these three green twigs with you as a reminder of your redemption. They will never wither or die, for they represent truths that are eternal—repentance, humility, and love.”

As the hermit carefully broke off the three branches, the angel continued his instructions. “Return to the village where your brother’s family once lived. You will find that his children, now grown, still struggle with poverty and disgrace. Use your remaining years to care for them, to restore their family’s honor, and to demonstrate through your actions the reality of divine forgiveness.”

The hermit felt a moment of fear. “But what if they recognize me? What if they reject my help once they know who I am?”

“Truth and love will open the way,” the angel replied. “When they see the sincerity of your repentance and the genuineness of your desire to serve, they will understand that redemption is possible for all who truly seek it.”

As the angel began to fade from sight, he offered one final blessing. “Go in peace, brother. Your years of darkness are ended. The light you carry within you now will illuminate the path for others who struggle with guilt and despair.”

When the hermit looked again, the angel had vanished, leaving only the three green twigs as proof that his encounter had been real. But the change within his own heart was proof enough—the crushing burden of guilt was gone, replaced by a sense of purpose and hope he had never imagined possible.

The hermit gathered his few possessions and began the long journey down from the mountains toward the village where his brother’s family had lived. As he walked, he marveled at how different the world appeared now that he was free from the prison of his own guilt. Colors seemed brighter, the air smelled sweeter, and even his aged body felt stronger and more vital.

When he reached the village, he learned that his brother’s son had become a struggling farmer, barely able to support his own children due to the stigma that still clung to their family name. His brother’s daughter had never married, partly because of her family’s disgrace, and lived alone in poverty.

The hermit, who now called himself Brother Francis, approached the family with humility and offered his services as a laborer and helper. He did not immediately reveal his true identity, but simply worked tirelessly to improve their circumstances—repairing their buildings, improving their land, and gradually helping to restore their standing in the community.

As months passed, the family began to notice something extraordinary about their mysterious helper. Not only was he incredibly skilled and hardworking, but there was something almost miraculous about his presence. Crops grew better in fields he tended, sick animals recovered when he cared for them, and neighbors who had long shunned the family began to treat them with respect again.

More puzzling still were the three green twigs that Brother Francis always carried with him. No matter what season it was, the branches remained fresh and green, often producing fruit that he would share with hungry children or travelers in need.

Eventually, the hermit knew he must reveal his true identity to those he was serving. On the anniversary of his brother’s death, he gathered the family together and told them his story—not just his sin and guilt, but also his repentance, his twenty years of penance, and his miraculous encounter with the angel.

The family’s reaction was not what he had feared. Instead of anger or rejection, they showed him the same mercy he had received from heaven. His brother’s son embraced him as the uncle he had never known, and his brother’s daughter wept tears of forgiveness and joy.

“We have wondered for years what really happened to our father,” she said through her tears. “But seeing what you have become, seeing how you have served us without seeking anything in return, we understand that redemption is real and that love is stronger than any sin.”

Brother Francis spent his remaining years serving his brother’s family and the entire village community. The three green twigs became famous throughout the region as symbols of God’s mercy and the possibility of redemption for even the greatest sinners.

When people came to Brother Francis seeking comfort for their own guilt and despair, he would show them the miraculous branches and tell them the story of how divine mercy had transformed his own life. Many found in his tale the hope they needed to seek forgiveness for their own failings.

When Brother Francis finally passed away peacefully in his sleep, it was said that the three green twigs glowed with brilliant light for three days, visible from miles away. They were preserved in the village church as a permanent reminder that no sin is too great for divine mercy to forgive, and no heart is too hardened for love to transform.

The story of the hermit and the three green twigs became the final and perhaps most important tale in the great collection, for it demonstrated the truth that runs through all such stories—that redemption is always possible, forgiveness is always available, and love ultimately triumphs over all the darkness that human beings can create.

And so ended the collection of two hundred tales with this message of hope: that no matter how far we may fall, how deeply we may sin, or how lost we may feel, there is always a path back to light, always mercy waiting for the truly repentant heart, and always the possibility of new life growing from what seemed hopelessly dead—like three green twigs sprouting from lifeless wood, proving that divine love can bring forth miracles in the most unlikely places.