First Presbyterian Church of Hallock, Minn.

Adam J. Copeland, pastor

3rd Sunday in Lent

No, but…

Luke 13:1-9

Open the newspaper, turn on the television, listen to the radio, pull up your favorite home page and it probably bears some bad news for you. As if there was not tragedy in our own lives, the worries of the world stream into our living rooms and kitchens every day.

It’s not as if these stories are untrue. Instead, the difficult part is so much tragedy is all too real. 30,000 children die every day of hunger. Millions around the world don’t have access to safe drinking water. And then there’s the recent earthquakes in Haiti and Chile. We’ll never know for sure, but its estimated that about 300,000 people died in Haiti and about the same number were injured. Comparing that to population totals closer to home, it’s as if half the population of North Dakota died, and the other half was injured.

We’d be crazy, in the face of such tragedies, if we did not ask the dreaded question: “Why?” It just doesn’t seem fair. Why would God let such a thing happen? Why Haiti and Chile and not Canada and the US? What had anyone done to deserve such tragedy?

Maybe these are our current questions, but they aren’t new ones. Jesus deals with just that type of question in the Luke reading for today. First, those who had gathered around him asked Jesus about the Galileans whose had been killed by Pilate. Remember, Jesus himself was from the region of Galilee so these were his home town people asking about Jesus’ own. Historically speaking, we don’t know anything about the murders in Galilee other than what Luke says, but we do know that Pilate was a ruler not kind to the Jews.

So the Galileans want answers. “Why, Jesus, why did these murders happen? Why to these people?” they ask.

The logic at the time was that any misfortune to strike must somehow be tied to sin. That’s how people explained the world in those days. But, Jesus knew otherwise. Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you.

Wow. Well, that was clear. “No,” Jesus said. And to press his point, he used another example from current events. You know those eighteen people who were killed last month when the tower of Siloam fell on them? Do you think they were worse sinners than anyone one else walking by that tower before it fell? No, I tell you.

No. Jesus, often full of unanswered questions wanted to make that quite clear. No, God does not punish us by throwing tragedy upon us. God doesn’t play it like that.

But. But Jesus was not done. Were these tragic events a result of sin — No, I tell you, Jesus said, but he went on. No, I tell you, but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.

Hmm. Maybe Jesus is up to his old tricks after all — dodging answers, making life so complicated. No, I tell you, but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.

Barbara Brown Taylor figures that Jesus wasn’t really aiming to comfort the crowd, but to challenge them. That sounds like Jesus alright, never one for the easy life.

No, but… That’s not the answer, Jesus says, but you’re not off the hook. Repent. Repent or you will perish. Repent, all of you, repent.

Now I’m no great expert on the American media, but I’d put money on the fact that recently you’ve been seeing lots of shows on the danger of earthquakes. The media just loves to exploit our fear. Turn on the TV and you’ll hear some survival expert on how to avoid injury in a quake, you’ll hear a travel agent on where to travel to avoid fault lines and tsunamis; I’m sure there’s folk around saying the end of the world is near. Earthquake survival kits go flying off the shelves. (In fact, I have noticed that we’ve been selling a high number of emergency radios at Eddie Bauer in recent days.)

So, Matt Skinner wonders: is Jesus pulling a similar trick here? Is Jesus just exploiting the tragedy of the Galilean murders and Siloam tower falling to score theological points?

Well, exploiting? No, but…Jesus is certainly capitalizing on the memory of the recent events to point out the unpredictable nature of life. Skinner writes, “[Jesus] does not promise freedom from calamity, but urges his hearers against false self-assurances. If life’s fragility demands urgency, that urgency shows that life itself has carved out opportunity for us to seize God’s graciousness” [WorkingPreacher.org].

So in the urgency of tragedy, Jesus says “repent.” But what does “repent” actually mean?

“Repent” is a word in the Bible plenty, but maybe not one we think very carefully about. Repentance, by its basic definition, means to “turn around.” In the early church, before adults were baptized they would literally turn their bodies as they made their baptismal vows. They would renounce Satan and all the ways of evil facing the west (the direction of darkness and despair) and then, turn east (toward the sun), to confess their faith in Jesus Christ.

But here in Luke, “repent” means not only to turn around, but to turn and look at the world in a new way. Repentance as a changed mind, as a willingness to adopt a new perspective. Repentance is about turning around, sure, but then re-orienting your life once you’ve turned.

Megan has some big exams this week so she didn’t make it up this morning, but it’s probably good she’s not here for this next story. Now Megan is a very brave woman with a huge heart, but she is deathly afraid of snakes. For her, snakes are a true phobia — so much so that’s it’s almost hard for her to even talk about them.

A few years ago Megan and I were hiking on Mount Mitchell in North Carolina minding our own business on a beautiful trail and, curled up on a tree stump, was a big old copperhead rattle snake. And the thing was, thank goodness, I saw it and Megan didn’t.

As luck would have it, though, the trail broke off at that point and another little path went up through the woods right before the stump with the rattler on it. So, as calmly as I could — because if Megan saw the snake she certainly would have screamed and quite possibly fainted — I suggested we turn and take the other path. The turn worked. Megan never even saw the snake. But not only that, for the rest of the hike I looked at the trail in a new way, always scanning for snakes. Our urgent turn around caused me to look at the world differently, through new lenses fixed with Megan’s phobia in mind.

Repent means to turn around, and look at the world with a changed mind and heart. Jesus says, No, I tell you, but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Then Jesus tells this parable about the fig tree. The man who had planted it wanted to chop it down, but the gardener said to give it another year. The man said it was wasting the soil, but the gardener said he’d aerate the soil, put some fertilizer on it, add in some of that world-class western Kittson County soil and see if it bears fruit next year.

There’s hope in this parable — don’t cut the tree down, writes Barbara Lundblad. But, there’s also urgency — give me one more year.

We could read the parable as a threat — there’s only one year left, you better get things right. Or, as an invitation — to work at the soil, to dig at our hearts, to turn away from those things that keep us from God (fear, hatred, jealousy) and turn towards a new way of looking at the world.

But, in either case, the beautiful thing about this parable is that the fig tree isn’t in it alone. The gardener helps. The gardener wants us to live. As Lundblad says, “His passion, [Jesus the gardener’s passion] is marked for us by great urgency — don’t wait! Flourish now.

Look at your life and dare to ask the hard questions: Am I stingy with my love for others? Am I withholding forgiveness from old wrongs? Am I so busy making a living that I’ve forgotten to make a life? Such questions, like the parable of the fig tree, move us towards repentance” [Barbara K. Lundblad, “Could This Be the Year for Figs?” Day 1, March 18, 2001].

On such a morning, then, it is only right that we move to this holy table where the gardener provides food for our journey, a type of fertilizer for our faith. Are only the sinless invited to this supper? No, but…repent. Are only those worthy invited….no, but, turn towards what is worthwhile? Is this meal our only means of forgiveness and grace? No, but, eat and drink, for the gardener expects his harvest. Amen.