Text -- Luke 13:1-9
Calamity happens. I heard it said once that when you take the forces of nature and add to it the human disposition to misuse free will, no one should be surprised that bad things, calamities, happen.
A group of people come to Jesus looking for meaning in the aftermath of calamity, maybe even looking to prove that bad things only happen to bad people. They’re looking for a good, hopefully concise, theological answer to why something like this would happen. It’s also possible they were looking to make Jesus so angry, so incensed, that he would order a revolt against Rome.
History has shown, beyond the New Testament, that Pontius Pilate was capable of doing gross acts. What this crowd is talking about is an occasion where pilgrims to Jerusalem were slaughtered by Pilate’s soldiers in the temple courtyard, a terrible crime against humanity (to use today’s terms) and something that defiled the sanctity of the Temple.
Why? Why would something so terrible happen? Surely they must be guilty of something to cause such a thing? Certainly they were more than just pilgrims and they were secretly zealots planning and plotting against Pilate and Rome and that’s why it happened.
And certainly the scapegoat phenomenon continues to occur today. More than a few pastors and theologians have offered scapegoat commentary on calamities like Hurricane Katrina, Hurricane Sandy, even 9/11. It’s easy to look for others to scapegoat when bad things happen, appealing even, because to do so means we aren’t required to look at our own short comings.
Jesus points out that if we don’t take some time to look at our own shortcomings, we’ll have our own calamities to worry about. He redirects the conversation from the question of theodicy (a topic that attempts to reconcile evil and suffering with an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving God.) Jesus redirects us from naval gazing to soul gazing. One commentary says he asks us to focus on a doctrine that Paul develops in Romans: “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”
It’s true. We can see the warning signs in the lives of other people very easily, but for whatever reason, we can’t see the signs telling us to turn back from our own destructive habits. We’ve become accustomed to believing that we can live however we want and that there are no consequences for our actions. But the sad truth is that if we drink to excess all the time we run the risk of becoming dependant upon alcohol, if not addicted. If we view pornography, we get unhealthy expectations of sexuality. If we eat nothing but unhealthy food, we’ll have unhealthy bodies. If we don’t spend quality time with our families when we have the chance, and we ignore our children, we won’t have good and healthy relationships with them later.
When we think about repenting and changing our lives, it’s more than just the obvious sins that make “great” reality television. We need to repent from the things we might not see, but that others close to us would. If you want to know if you spend good quality time with your children, don’t ask yourself that question, ask them that question (and not after you’ve just done something really cool for them…). And I only say that because I have two teenagers, one of whom will be moving out on his own someday, and I know that the “captive audience” clock is winding down. I ask that question because I know that I can spend better time with my own children…
Jesus tells us to repent or perish, because the consequences of not changing our lives IS costly. Just ask children of alcoholics, or children of drug addicts, or children of over-working parents. The cost is high. And maybe on the sliding scale of comparative morality, we aren’t as bad as others, but—in one manner or other—we’re all falling short of the glory of God.
And what a terrible ending to a sermon **that** would be. Luckily, Jesus doesn’t leave the crowd—or us—in a pit of despair. He tells a story, a story about a fig tree, a land owner, and a gardener.
The fig tree is being bad. It’s being bad because it isn’t productive. No this isn’t a parable about a work ethic…and maybe it seems weird to say that a tree is being “bad” because it’s not being productive; but truthfully, who wants a fruit tree that doesn’t bear fruit, or a garden that won’t grow vegetables, or a rose bush that only produces leaves and thorns? The landowner wants a fig tree not for leaves and shade, but for figs. It’s been in the ground for enough seasons to make figs, so since it’s a bad tree, get rid of it; cut it down!
Maybe the gardener is a hopeless optimist like I am. Maybe the gardener always sees the best in situations because he says to the land owner, give the tree one more chance, one more year. I’ll work with it. I’ll nurture the soil. Give it, give me, one more chance and if that doesn’t work, then you can cut it down.
Do you remember the profession of the man Mary confused the risen Christ for on Easter morning? A gardener.
Maybe we aren’t bearing fruit like we’re meant to; maybe…certainly…we’ve all fallen short of the glory of God. But there is one who has given himself to us, for us, on behalf of us, to give us that chance to become fruit bearing. He promises in this parable to be with us in the repentance and in the life change that comes from that turning. He promises to work the soil of our soul, to give us the nutrients that we need, and maybe that is one great way of thinking of the table we turn to as a community: the bread of heaven, the wine of new life, it is nutrition for our soul’s soil. The life of Christ mingled with our life, to make us into who God calls us to be.
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