The Holy Gospel According to Luke 13:1-9…
At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. 2He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? 3No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. 4Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them — do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? 5No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."
6Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. 7So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' 8He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. 9If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'"
The Gospel of the Lord…
Several weeks ago I had one of those moments, that I am sure has afflicted many who listen to the radio in their car. I listen to the radio nearly every time I am in my car, and as most of us know, for many days in the last months pretty much all we heard about what the earthquake and tragedies in Haiti. It was disturbing. I heard reporters start crying as they attempted to describe the devastation. I heard the desperate voices of Haitian Americans describing their numerous and often unfruitful attempts to contact loved ones. But, my moment came a few days after the earthquake as I heard reports about the response of religious leaders. Churches, including ours, jumped to the forefront of providing relief. We, as Lutherans raised millions of dollars to help the efforts of disaster relief. We joined with Catholics, Methodists, Episcopalians, and others in responding to the crisis with our efforts. But our response was not the only response. Which leads to my moment. I’m driving along, and I hear that there are some religious leaders out there who are explaining the earthquake as a direct consequence and God’s condemnation for Haiti and Haitians. Their religious practices, which are surely devil worship and voodoo, led to this earthquake, God’s wrath has come down on them. These leaders proclaimed that the Haitians got what they deserved because they made a pact with the devil a long time ago.
I had to pull my car over and pray. I was ashamed that this voice was rising above the proclamation of grace in action provided by so many people of faith. Having heard the cries of children searching for parents, having seen the pictures of bodies lying on bodies, I was angry. You don’t get to put these words of condemnation in the mouth of God.
But this isn’t a new question, because we hear it in the mouths of the crowd gathered around Jesus in our text for this morning. We don’t know much about the events they are describing, but we know that they were both jarring and tragic. Pilate has apparently ordered the death of some Galileans, mingling their blood with sacrifice. And, a tower has fallen, killing 18 people unexpectedly. It is hard to make sense of the why questions. Why were these innocent people murdered? Why did a tower fall on that day at that time? Why did some survive and not others? We heard it in the news reports and the cries coming out of Haiti. Why did some die and others live? Why were there aid workers and missionaries killed, aren’t they good people? What did they do to make this happen to them?
It is when we start coming up with answers that we often end up doing more harm than good. It is when we see the tragic pictures of homes destroyed and people in pain and wonder what they did to bring this destruction upon themselves, and forget that God is sitting in that rubble with them, with a heart that was the first to break. It might be human nature to wonder why bad things happen, and it is probably equally our nature to seek to blame each other rather than live in the pain and the suffering with our brothers and sisters who struggle.
But, Jesus doesn’t give us answers to these great questions. Instead, he asks us to consider our own lives, are they worse sinners, those that have experienced deep pain and tragedy in this life? The answer is no. But, if you don’t repent, you will die as they did.
I read these words about a million times this week. I read them backward and forward, because I wanted to hear promise. And it just sounded like a harsh warning. Unless you repent, you will perish. Ouch.
Tragedy has a way of making us think about our own mortality. I was in college in Michigan when the twin towers fell on 9/11, but within minutes both of my parents were calling me, wanting to make sure I was okay. Hundreds of miles away, seeing those buildings crumble made most of us wonder how long our lives will last. Churches, including mine, were packed that day, as people of faith gathered to pray. Repent or not, the one thing we try to get comfortable talking about here in this sanctuary is that we know we are going to die. None of us can live forever, and sometimes death comes too soon. And it is scary, and it makes us think about how we live today.
So, Jesus tells a parable. Every time that we confront a parable in our gospels, we should be prepared for a shock and surprise, because these stories aren’t fables. When we hear them we are often meant to think that we are one person in the story only realize that who we thought we were doesn’t always end up garnering favor. These parables are supposed to wake us up.
The parable is about a vineyard owner, his gardener and a tree. The landowner goes out to the tree, looking for figs, and finds none. Not a one. He calls over the gardener, cut it down, I have waited for three years, and still nothing- why does it waste the soil? Cut it down! The gardener, quick to reply, asks for just one more year. One more year of putting manure on the roots, one more year of tending, one more year of making sure this little tree gets plenty of water and sun. And the parable ends. We don’t know what happened after that one more year.
It sounds like Jesus is giving a little shout out to his old cousin John the Baptist, the one who lived on the riverbank and ate locusts and honey calling people to repentance. John warned those gathered crowds that if they didn’t get their lives in order, the coming messiah was going to take an ax to their root system. There were also a few tough lines about unquenchable fire. This might be what makes us read this parable and think it is all about judgment. Repent, or die.
But I don’t think that is what this is about at all, and I think that is the most surprising part. I don’t think this is about threats, I think this is about promise. One more year, the gardener says. One more year, and I refuse to give up. One more year, and I am going to do everything in my power to give this fig tree life. One more year.
It isn’t a threat, repent or die, it is a promise, repentance leads to life. Letting go of the sin and the sorrow that drag us down, being generous of spirit and heart, speaking peace and doing justice, reaching out hands of mercy to brothers and sisters who experience tragedy in this sanctuary and around the world, these are the beginnings of life that bears fruit. These are the signs that this is a good year for figs.
I have been approached on several occasions by street evangelists. Every so often I’ll be walking around, minding my own business, and suddenly there will be someone in front of me, thrusting tracts into my hands with some serious worry about my salvation. If you die tonight, what will happen to your soul? They look at me afraid and concerned.
Perhaps they don’t know that it isn’t fear that will keep me awake at night wondering what will happen. What should be keeping us awake at night is the sheer promise of the gift of life, one more day, one more minute, one more second to proclaim love and forgiveness to the world. One more minute to love boldly. One more second to say we’re sorry. One more moment to choose life, real life, in grace of God. One more hour to spend telling the story of what that gardener has done for us. Amen.
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