Luke 13:1-9
March 3, 2013/Third Sunday of Lent
The
late William Sloane Coffin, who was the pastor of Riverside Church in New York
City, a civil rights activist, a profoundly gifted preacher, teacher and writer
and who has become for me a mentor of faith, lost his 24-year-old son Alex in a
terrible car accident. Ten days after
his death he delivered a sermon that is more commonly known as A Eulogy for Alex. The following is an excerpt from that sermon.
When
a person dies, there are many things that can be said, and there is at least
one thing that should never be said. The night after Alex died I was sitting in
the living room of my sister's house outside of Boston, when the front door
opened and in came a nice-looking, middle-aged woman, carrying about eighteen
quiches. When she saw me, she shook her head, then headed for the kitchen,
saying sadly over her shoulder, "I just don't understand the will of
God." Instantly I was up and in hot pursuit, swarming all over her.
"I'll say you don't, lady!" I said.
For some
reason, nothing so infuriates me as the incapacity of seemingly intelligent
people to get it through their heads that God doesn't go around this world with
his fingers on triggers, his fists around knives, his hands on steering wheels.
God is dead set against all unnatural deaths. And Christ spent an inordinate
amount of time delivering people from paralysis, insanity, leprosy, and
muteness. Which is not to say that there are no nature-caused deaths — I can
think of many right here in this parish in the five years I've been here —
deaths that are untimely and slow and pain-ridden, which for that reason raise
unanswerable questions, and even the specter of a Cosmic Sadist — yes, even an
Eternal Vivisector. But violent deaths, such as the one Alex died — to
understand those is a piece of cake. As his younger brother put it simply,
standing at the head of the casket at the Boston funeral, "You blew it,
buddy. you blew it." The one thing that should never be said when someone
dies is "It is the will of God." Never do we know enough to say that.
My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex
die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God's heart was the first
of all our hearts to break.
“God’s heart was the first of all
our hearts to break.” This is not the
response that Jesus gives to the people who ask him about two tragedies in our
gospel passage this morning, but I think the intent of the words is there. If you were really listening to the scripture
as it was read, or if you read along carefully in your own Bible, please feel
free to look at me as if I’m crazy right now.
Go ahead. Give me the look. It’s
okay. I’ll wait.
I
know what I just said sounds off because at first glance there is nothing in
this passage from Luke that would suggest that God’s heart breaks at the
tragedies that befall us. If anything it
sounds like Jesus is saying bad things happen to people who bring it on themselves,
and if you don’t change your ways it’s going to happen to you too.
David
Lose wrote in his weekly preaching article that when it comes to this passage
there should be a warning label.
Approach with caution. And I
admit than when I read through the passages for this week, my first thought was
“Maybe I should just preach from Isaiah.”
But
warning label aside, here we are. In the
verses before these Jesus has been speaking to the people around him about
their inability to read the signs of the kingdom. They can look at the sky and figure out the
weather that is coming but they don’t know how to interpret the signs of the
times. They need to settle up with their
opponents or else it’s going to be them who lands in prison, having to pay off
every last penny they owe. So Jesus is
already on the topic of judgment when he is told about a tragedy that has
happened.
It
would seem that a group of worshipers had gone to make their sacrifices and
they were killed by Pilate. Even as they
were fulfilling their religious obligation, even as they were making their own
sacrifice they were sacrificed. And in
what is a particularly gory sentence, the blood of all was mingled
together.
Jesus
asks them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they
were worse sinners than all other Galileans?
No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”
Then
Jesus brings up another tragedy that has happened; when the tower of Siloam
fell on 18 people. Jesus asks again, “Do
you think that they were worse offenders then all the others living in
Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless
you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
If
the people listening to Jesus were hoping he’d give them answers that made them
feel better, they weren’t getting their wish, were they? Two tragedies – which as I understand, our
only knowledge of them comes from this passage – one done by human hands, one a
natural disaster. But the underlying
question is did these terrible events happen to people because God was
punishing them. Was it God’s will that
these people die because they were worse sinners than others?
At
first glance it seems that Jesus’ response somewhat confirms that, doesn’t
it? Repent or perish as they did. But is Jesus talking about a personal
morality or is he really trying to get them to understand sin as a state of
being? Because the word repent isn’t
just about confessing a litany of transgressions. It means to turn around. When we repent we turn around, we change
direction, we reorient ourselves to God.
On the first Sunday of Lent I spoke of Jesus saying no to the devil in
the wilderness. But along with that no,
he said “yes.” He said “yes” to God. He said “yes” to a life of faithfulness. So it would seem that when we repent, we’re
not just making a declarative statement about what we say “no” to. When we repent we say “yes.” We say “yes” to God.
But
I think the problem is that we most often live our lives in a state of
“no.” I think that’s what Jesus is
trying to point out to people in these verses. I think those listening to him were more
concerned about avoiding divine retribution than they were about living into
the love and grace of the kingdom.
That’s why Jesus has been challenging them so intensely. It seems that he’s trying to make them understand
that they don’t get it. You don’t get
it. You don’t get that the kingdom is
right here. You don’t get that it’s not
about who sins more than whom. You don’t
understand that living a life of faith is not just doing everything you can to
avoid punishment. It’s not just about
saying “no.” It’s about saying
“yes.” Repent. Turn around.
Reorient. Change your direction.
Then
Jesus tells them a story about a barren fig tree. The man, the owner of the fig tree, sees that
it bears no fruit. So he wants to have
it cut down! It’s wasting soil.
But
the gardener asks for one more year. One
more year to dig around it and add manure.
One more year of cultivating and tilling. One more year of patience. If the fig tree doesn’t bear fruit after a
year, then cut it down.
The
traditional interpretations I’ve heard of this parable is that God is the owner
and Jesus is the gardener. God wants to
wipe out the barren tree. But Jesus asks for more time. Jesus is the one standing between us and an
angry, vengeful God. If we live as if
our lives are about saying no, then this interpretation fits quite nicely. But if we’re about saying yes, then it no
longer works.
I
don’t believe that God is the owner who wants the tree cut down. I think God is the gardener. I think God is the one wants to have more
time with us, more time to cultivate and till and love. I think this parable is more about divine
patience and grace then it is about rooting out what doesn’t bear fruit. I realize that this interpretation begs the
question, “who then is the man?” I don’t
have a definitive answer. But I wonder
if it’s us.
What
we don’t get in this story is an ending – happy or otherwise. We don’t know what happens. We don’t know if the fig tree begins to bear
fruit or if it’s cut down. We just know
that because of the gardener’s willingness to be patient and to do more work, a
different future for the tree is now possible.
Isn’t
that true for us as well? Ultimately I
believe that the future is in God’s hands, and those are certainly good hands
to be in. But even saying that, I think
Jesus’ words remind us that we have a choice about whether we’re going to say
yes or no. Are we going to say no? Are we going to live as though God is just
waiting to smack us down? Are we going
to constantly see the terrible things that happen in life as proof of God’s
punishment for our sins? Are we going to
believe that God’s will is merely about hurting us when we’ve been bad? Or are we going to say yes? Are we going to live boldly into our faith,
knowing that we all sin and mess up and fall down and fall away, but that our
mistakes don’t have the power to diminish God’s grace? Our mistakes don’t have the power to diminish
God’s grace. Indeed it is that very
grace which imbues the world with God’s love.
May we continue to find the courage, during this season of Lent and in
every season, to say yes to God. May we
continue to trust and imagine that there is a different future for us all. Let all God’s children say, “Amen.”
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