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Lent 3C
March 20, 2022
Luke 13:1-9
INTRODUCTION
“Repent or perish.” This is the heading you will see in you look up today’s Gospel reading in your Bible. It is not the most comfortable message for us to hear, yet here we are, halfway through Lent, and we are told today in no uncertain terms that it is an important one. Repent, or perish.
If you don’t like that message, you might be drawn, as I am, to some of the more comforting images in the readings we’re about to hear. Isaiah offers an abundant feast, freely given by a gracious God. The Psalm reflects in beautiful poetry on finding sustenance and safety in the shadow of God’s wings – not unlike the mother hen image for God that we heard last week. Paul reminds us in Corinthians of all the times God has brought God’s people safely through danger, adding that “God is faithful!” Yes, these are all images I prefer!
And yet in each of these readings, we will also hear that same refrain: repent or perish. Turn away from that which does not give life, and turn toward that which does: that same faithful, comforting, sheltering, providing God. So as tempting as it may be to listen for the most comforting images, I urge you as you listen today, to listen for that “repent or perish” theme, the words in Scripture that are urging us not to stay the way we are, but to change our ways so that we might have life. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
The world has been horrified to see the images coming out of Ukraine these past weeks. Leveled buildings, destroyed hospitals, millions of refugees flooding to nearby countries. Not to mention the words and threats floating around: “chemical weapons,” “war crimes,” “nuclear war,” “World War III.” It is all horrifying and devastating. Even my young children have asked, “Why is this happening? Why would someone do that?”
With this backdrop, we hear a Gospel reading that shows us how inexplicable tragedy, and the heart-wrenching questions that follow it, have always been a part of human experience. We don’t know much about the tragedies the people bring up to Jesus, but we don’t really have to. Our minds easily swap them out for similar tragedies of our day – the atrocities in Ukraine, or mass shootings in churches or schools, or guilt-less events like hurricanes or buildings collapsing. We are familiar with them all, and each one brings up those same feelings of, “But why?” We are desperate for reasons, for someone to blame, for explanations, because as long as there is purposeless tragedy, our hearts remain troubled by the ground zero these tragedies leave behind.
The first time I ever heard that phrase, “ground zero,” was after 9/11, which happened when I was a freshman in college. Ground zero – it feels like a void in my gut, the negative space left there tugging at my heart. Nothing built. Nothing growing. Just the wreckage of something that once was, and a reminder of the loss. Ground zero. It begs the same questions the people ask in today’s text: “Why did this happen? Surely someone did something to deserve it. So, what did they do, so that we can condemn it, and move on with our lives?”
We are talking this Lent about finding God in whatever places we find ourselves. And sometimes, we find ourselves at ground zero. Maybe it is the ground zero in New York City, or the location of some other tragedy. But it could just as well be a ground zero in your own life, your own tragedy. It could be the half empty bed after your partner leaves you, by choice or by death. It could be the rejection letter that puts an end to your dream. It could be the suffocating darkness of grief, or yet another negative pregnancy test, or the positive biopsy report. All of these feel like ground zero.
But if God is also there (and yes, God is!) – then how might we understand such places and experiences differently?
I said before that this image of ground zero feels like negative space that tugs at our hearts. But I wonder – is this necessarily a bad thing? Yes, ground zero changes everything... but said another way, ground zero changes everything! It also has the potential to reorder our lives, even our identities, and calls us to reexamine the priorities of society. That, I think, is what can happen when God is there, at our ground zeros. God is continually about bringing life out of death, right, doing a new thing, bringing resurrection to places of loss and devastation. So if God is at ground zero… could this also become a place of resurrection?
When the people bring Jesus these tragedies of the day, Jesus doesn’t give them the black and white answers they (and we!) crave. He could have used this as an opportunity to address suffering head on, to put our minds at ease about the reason and purpose of it. Wouldn’t that have been nice? But he doesn’t. Instead of giving in to their binaries, he responds with a story. Why? Because black and white answers to black and white questions cut off the conversation. They allow us to put the issue aside, and go about our lives ignoring it until it rears its head again. They allow us to keep our distance from those suffering. If the suffering is ours, it allows us to keep from entering too deeply into it until, again, it rears its head down the road (which grief and pain not dealt with always do!).
So Jesus doesn’t go there, to that binary place. Instead, he offers a story. Because unlike answers, stories invite us in. They open possibility. They have the power to unmake us, and then transform us.
And that’s exactly what this strange parable of a fruitless fig tree does for us. The fig tree is planted in a vineyard, and is unproductive. An impatient landowner wants it gone, to take an already struggling tree and make its situation even worse, into a lifeless stump. But the gardener intercedes on the tree’s behalf – where the landowner sees waste, the gardener sees potential for growth. With patience, sympathy, advocacy and love, the gardener sets his attention upon bringing new life to the fig tree.
Where do you see yourself, your own story, in this parable? The beautiful thing about a story is that you may see yourself in a different place each time. There is no black and white answer to how to interpret this parable – you may find yourself in a position to nurture another child of God in their own pain and doubt and struggle, like the gardener. You may be the one who is out of their element (a fig tree in a vineyard) and on the brink of being destroyed, the one who needs loving care, nourishment, and a new direction. You may be the one issuing impatient judgment upon someone struggling to contribute to the world, like the landowner. You may even be the bird who has made her home in the unfruitful fig tree’s branches, an overlooked casualty in the potential devastation of the tree. (For, don’t the ripples of tragedy affect many unnamed others?)
But my guess is that you are, or at least have been at some point, all of these things! We see ourselves all over this parable! Suddenly, as we see reflections of ourselves in all the characters of this story, our hearts can begin to soften. We look at the dangers and tragedies of our lives and begin to see the nuance. We no longer see the need for clear answers to our questions of “why this, why now?” and instead, we see a different way. Our priorities shift, our perspective changes, and lo and behold something new begins to grow. A resurrection begins.
When we hear Jesus talk about how we must repent or perish, we may first hear that as threatening. I sure do! But think of this: the Greek word translated here as “repent” also means, “change one’s mind.” And this, scary as it can be, is also hopeful and life-giving. Change your mind – away from needing clear-cut, black and white answers. Change your mind – away from inclinations to cut off rather than engage. Change your mind – away from judgment and hopelessness, and toward potential and hope and newness of life.
“Unless you repent, you will perish just as they did,” says Jesus. Unless you change your mind, and turn toward the new life God is offering, you will perish, falling victim to your insistence on black and white answers to questions that have no answers. And that insistence, that desire, can indeed drag us under, can’t it? It leads to cut off and despair, not life! What if instead, we followed Jesus’ example, and told a story – a story about how at our ground zero, in our moment of despair and brokenness and pain and grief, God is there, interceding on our behalf. God is there, desiring to nourish us. God is there, gently reminding us that after Good Friday comes Easter, and that indeed Easter cannot come about without Good Friday. Resurrection can only come after death.
This is not to minimize the depth of sadness and grief that come from tragedy. It is only to assure you: that God knows this grief. And so God is there with you in it. God is rooting for you, nourishing you there, and transforming your heart so that you might make it through Good Friday and into the joy of Easter morning. Repent – and you will find life.
Let us pray… God, when we are struggling and in despair, at ground zero, you find us there. Nourish and intercede for us so that we might change our hearts – away from the need for answers, and toward finding ourselves in your story of resurrection and new life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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