Sermon - Controversy: He Who Receives

Philippians 2:1-11
John 12:1-8

Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair.

As tonight’s story from the Gospel of John opens, a controversy has been brewing. Jesus and his disciples are staying under a roof with people who have deep, meaningful relationships with him. They’re staying in the home of Lazarus, and Lazarus’s sisters Mary and Martha are there too. These relationships are deep and meaningful, but they are also part of an ongoing controversy. Our passage from tonight follows the dramatic story found only in the Gospel of John: Jesus travels to Bethany and encounters these sisters grieving the death of their brother Lazarus. Jesus has arrived later than they expected. Lazarus has died, and he has already been buried. Jesus demonstrates deep love, weeping with Mary and Martha, and then, deeply disturbed in his spirit, he boldly walks to the tomb where Lazarus has been laid for four days. After calling for the stone to be rolled away, he prays, and Jesus resurrects Lazarus, restoring him to life, restoring him to his family.

And this controversy is not without consequences. The chief priests and the Pharisees are fearful and furious. They’re concerned that people will continue to believe in Jesus and join his enlarging movement of disciples, and the Gospel of John tells us that because they feared this, they begin to plot his death from that day onward.

And so controversy goes ahead of Jesus. As he nears Jerusalem for the celebration of the Passover, a group of powerful leaders are plotting his death. And because we know how the story continues in Jerusalem, we’re aware that Jesus is heading into the city, where he will experience anxiety, betrayal, interrogation, torture, and excruciating death. He’s walking into controversy larger than anything we might be able to imagine.

Controversy is behind him, and controversy is before him.

But in the midst of controversial difficulty on every side, Jesus demonstrates grace in our passage tonight. He himself is a Controversy, breaking social norms and transcending our own expectations of Who he is and what he came to do. As our epistle lesson from Philippians tells us, Jesus, who did not consider equality with God as something to be grasped, entered human experience with us. Fully human – Jesus, the True Human who shows us what Humanity was created to be- teaches us how to give and receive love.

As Jesus sits at the table with his friends, he’s aware that controversy surrounds him. He knows where he has been, and he knows what he’s walking into. Like any of us, he was fearful and anxious, as we will soon see when we hear the story of his prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane in a couple of weeks. But even in the midst of controversy and fear, Jesus realizes the intrinsic value of being present with those he loves. He eats with them. He speaks to them. He looks into their eyes and listens. He’s present. And in the midst of the difficulties around him, perhaps this loving, attentive presence is a controversy in itself, as far as norms and expectations might be concerned.

But that’s not all. Jesus is present, but perhaps even more controversial to our own societal understandings which promote individualism and isolating, “hold-it-all-together” self-sufficiency, Jesus receives the loving presence of others. Mary takes a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard – which comes from a plant found in the Himalayas of China, India, and Nepal, far away from Israel – and she lovingly pours that perfume over Jesus’ feet, anointing him and wiping his feet with her own hair, filling the house with perfume. Jesus is honored by her actions, and he is moved with gratitude. Jesus has given in love, restoring Lazarus to life, health, and fellowship, and yet he is a Savior that often surprises us by overturning our expectations. He enters relationship so deeply with those he saves, that he also receives their love. Jesus demonstrates true humanity. It’s not less human to receive from others and live in gratitude for their companionship. It is truly human to receive as well as to give.

And Mary’s deed was controversial. The disciples were immediately uncomfortable. Jesus didn’t receive a small thing in this act of love. It was a huge thing. The text says that the perfume cost 300 denarii. A denarius was a typical day’s wage, so this perfume cost approximately 300 days of wages. To put it in modern terms, that’s 82% of a person’s salary. Mary poured herself out in love, and she gave abundantly and extravagantly.

The disciples expressed their discomfort, especially Judas. John adds that Judas had some ulterior motives for this, but nonetheless, an extravagant gift such as this one was not to go unnoticed. In fact, it couldn’t avoid noticing it. They were witnessing Mary’s gift of love before their eyes, and the smell was flooding the house. It was everywhere. And when they react with language of controversy, Jesus defends Mary. Jesus receives her love. He models the human need for love. And he goes beyond that. He tells the disciples that Mary has done this to prepare for his burial. It’s true that Jesus is above us and beyond us when it comes to compassion, justice, and continuous communion with God, and yet, this Divine One is human with us – so human with us, that he enters into relationship with us and receives from us. This is what he desires, communion with us. In this situation, he didn’t shun Mary’s act of love, but he invited her into his vulnerability, even into the ultimate vulnerability – the experience of death. Jesus is truly God in the flesh, fully human with us.

Now our culture doesn’t value this type of with-ness. We sense that we need community, that we need relationships and the care of others, but our culture doesn’t ultimately value or affirm this way of living. Instead, our culture tends to value and affirm people who appear entirely self-sufficient, people who don’t need anything. And this often leads us to hide our needs and vulnerability, to put forth an image that is successful – and by our cultural designations, a successful person doesn’t need anything or anyone. That Simon and Garfunkel song comes to mind:

I am a Rock.

I am an Island. . .

And a rock feels no pain.

And an island never cries.

Or listen to these slogans and jingles that send us a message of rugged, un-vulnerable, “it’s all about you and only you” individualism: Sprite’s “Obey your thirst,” McDonalds, “You deserve a break,” Burger King’s, “Have it your way,” and two from the United States’ Army: “Be all you can be,” and “An Army of One.” (Seriously, how can you have an Army of One!) We hear these messages all the time. And we see corporate executives and employees who are taught to rise to the top by looking out for their own interests. Success and strength are defined by obtaining “wants”: fast and flashy cars, the latest designer handbags, and vast material wealth to throw at exotic vacations. We value wants, but it’s culturally viewed as weak to have “needs,” especially to need other people – their time, their attention, their love, and their gifts. And it’s especially obscene to be viewed as vulnerable – to be sad, confused, afraid, or grieved. We’re taught to be strong, and that means isolating our difficulties from others, and at times, we even try to isolate them from ourselves. We try to isolate them from our own awareness.

But this cultural message doesn’t square up with what the gospel teaches. Sometimes, our ideas about individualism and power get projected on to our understanding of God, and God becomes a solitary monad in space out there – alone, distant, and powerful. The problem is that God’s power doesn’t look like our understanding of power. We tend to look at people who have the most power in our experience – solitary kings, military leaders, and dictators - and then, we multiply that understanding of power times a million-billion and paste it onto God. But that’s not how God’s power works at all.

In our faith, we have a beautiful way of saying that God’s power works differently. God isn’t some solitary monad floating out there in space - distant, isolated, and individualistic. God’s power is revealed in vulnerability, weakness, and a together-ness expressed in vulnerability and weakness. As the scripture from Philippians says tonight, God’s power is revealed in this way: Jesus, who had equality with God, emptied himself and was born in human likeness. And God has been revealed to us as a community. There is one God who is a communion of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And this communion – this community – spills over to include us. We aren’t God, but we are swept up, brought fully into the life of God. That’s amazing.

And so Jesus, God with us, shows us what it means to receive love. I suppose Jesus could have said, “Stand back, Mary! There’s no need here! Don’t you know that I’m the Savior?” Maybe with flexed arms he could have said, “I’m an Army of One!”

But no, Jesus received Mary’s love because he himself was vulnerable. And when he received Mary’s gift, he gave her a gift too: He invited her to be an abundant and extravagant and giver, someone she was always created to be.

Last week, fourteen of us embarked on an annual adventure. We traveled to Salida, Colorado for the annual ski trip. We had a wonderful time. I wish I could say that this was the year we sustained no injuries. (We will wait and hope for that to happen eventually. . .) But we did have injuries. We had two. We’ve never had more than one before! On the first day, Lauron took a spill on her second run and broke her collarbone. And on the last run of the first day, Marco fell and hurt a muscle in his leg. After that, he couldn’t walk on it. Two injuries on the first day! We were concerned for Lauron and Marco, and it was hard to watch them be in so much pain.

But with so much difficulty around us, all fourteen of us experienced such a deep sense of love and grace. We were staying at First Presbyterian Church in Salida, Colorado. And I can say emphatically, that I’ve rarely seen a more hospitable church. The congregation surrounded us and tried to do all they could to help. Two separate people brought crutches for Marco to use. And Bill and Lois Scace opened their home for Lauron. Lauron couldn’t sleep flat, so she needed to sleep in a recliner. Bill and Lois graciously offered their home to Lauron, and they also took in Libby and me as we stayed with Lauron and helped her deal with her pain. We were overwhelmed by their love and hospitality. They got to know us and allowed us to get to know them. They provided a recliner and a bed. They made us meals. Lois shared her birthday with us, and we celebrated her with a delicious chocolate cake.

Again and again, they gave abundantly and extravagantly. We felt like we belonged with them in their home. At the end of our week together, Bill said to us, “We just wish we could adopt all three of us.” And the truth is, we felt as though they had. They gave beyond what we needed, and yet, we had the sense that we too had given them a gift. We had allowed them to be the givers they are.

What a gift it is to receive love! As we close tonight, I would invite each one of us to consider how Jesus invites us into deep relational giving and receiving. Is there a form of love that you resist receiving? Do you feel guilty when people give to you? Are you afraid of seeming weak or too dependent? What holds you back?

This week as we encounter love all around us, how can you be a gracious receiver of love, and how can you spread it beyond you so that others can receive too? How can you extend the circle of love by receiving it, letting it flow through you?

May God continue to encounter us with love in and through these questions this week. Amen.

-Renee Roederer, Campus Minister, and the Austin Agape Community

Ski Trip 2010!

We have just returned from our annual ski trip to Salida, Colorado!

Every year on Spring Break, Austin Agape travels to Salida, Colorado for some fun, some service, and some community building. We stay at First Presbyterian Church in

Salida, where we lead worship and work with youth and children. And during the week, we ski and snowshoe at Monarch Mountain. It's a blast every year.

We always begin and end with a 18-19 hour road trip. Thanks to all our drivers who got us safely to and from Salida! The road trip is always filled with great music, conversation, and laughter. Lots of fun!

We always see snow on Monarch Mountain, but this year, we had an added bonus. It snowed in town! That led to lots of snowball fights and sledding! Several of our students had never gone sledding or seen accumulated snow!

We enjoyed spending time with the middle school and high school youth from First Presbyterian Church. . .

We also enjoyed the elementary school children from Kidz Club.

We had three beautiful days for skiing and snowshoeing. . .

And unfortunately. . .yes. . .two injuries! Hang in there, Lauron and Marco!

What did you enjoy about the ski trip this year?

"What did I enjoy about the ski trip? The Texans, the Coloradans, Colorado, the snow, the car rides (yes, the car rides). . . and oh yeah, Ian fainted."

-Patrick Garvin

"I enjoyed everything about the ski trip! From the children's sermon of awesome to skiing to Kidz Club to the Hot Springs to "Halt. . .MUSH!" and the drives there and back, every moment was a blast and fun of fun and laughter! I absolutely cannot wait for next year already, and am pumped to share this awesome trip with the people who are new to it next year."

-Alyssa Nipp

"Most meaningful was the fellowship of our group with the members of the First Pres Church of Salida, their youth, the soup kitchen and helping to lead their worship services. I went to Colorado, snow-shoed, had a snowball fight and sled down a hill for the first time. But my favorite part was getting to know everyone."

-Walter Idol

"There is a lot that I enjoyed about the ski trip. The weather was almost perfectly planned for us. It snowed the day we arrived which led to hours of snow ball fights and sledding using various means, including bean bag chairs! After that it was clear skies and beautiful weather!

However, the best part for me was experiencing how the group came together for each other when they needed it. It is a bond and friendship that is unique and special to this group. I would like to sincerely thank everyone in the group for helping me when I was injured. I can't think of any other time in my life when I was surrounded by such wonderful and caring people. It made the ski trip one of the best trips I've ever taken."

-Marco Gutierrez

Sermon: You Are Included

Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

He did a very, very offensive thing. . . The younger son in our scripture lesson today certainly offended all the customs and conventions of his day. He stepped outside of the norms, crossed over the lines, and acted in ways that were shocking and shameful – shocking and shameful to himself, his family, and his neighbors.

Perhaps he had considered his plans for a while. Maybe he practiced how he might ask the question, how he might make the demand. “How should I word this exactly. . .?” he may have asked. Or perhaps his plans were simply made on the spur of the moment. Perhaps the desire for immediate gratification overcame him, and he didn’t really consider how his words might hurt or wound those around him.

“Father, give me the share of the land that will belong to me.” That wasn’t really a question at all. It seemed to be a demand, an expectation, and entitlement. And did you catch that? That word ‘will?’ “Father, give me the share of the land that will belong to me.” He’s asking to translate ‘will’ into now.

He did a very, very offensive thing. . . Because under all conventional standards of the day, the younger son would not have gained this inheritance now. The ‘will’ of it all – “Father, give me the share of the land that will belong to me” – hinged on one thing: the death of his father. In other words, as we translate this demand into the cultural language of the day, the younger son is in effect saying, “Father, be dead to me. I can’t wait for your death. I want my share of the inheritance now.” That was a very, very offensive request to make.

And he receives that inheritance. But he doesn’t use it to care for himself and his father. He doesn’t use it for the good of others, or again, even for the good of himself. Instead, he runs off to a distant country and squanders the entire inheritance on dissolute living. He asked for his father to be dead to himself. And then, he became dead to himself – dead to the person he was called to be.

And yet, thank God, there is grace. Yes, thank God that grace can come even in the rock bottom moment. A famine comes, and though the younger son may have assumed that his inheritance was abundant enough to last forever, like all things that are perishable – money, food, and worldly sustenance – his monetary inheritance hit rock bottom. And so did he. He was so poor and so in need, that he did something else that would have seemed wildly offensive to anyone he grew up with back at home. He hired himself out to be a swineherd, to tend to pigs which were unclean under Jewish law and certainly considered dirty under any cultural designation. And his rock bottom moment comes when he is so hungry that he envies those pigs. They have sustenance even in that slop, and that’s more than he can say for himself. The scripture says that there was grace even in this filthy moment of needy destitution. The text says that, “He came to himself.”

Isn’t that an interesting phrase? He came to himself? His monetary inheritance had run out, but he was on the verge of discovering there's an inheritance that is not perishable, an inheritance that cannot be squandered under any circumstances, an inheritance that has to do with identity through love.

There was grace in a glimmer of understanding. And yet, he underestimated it for what it really was. He began to dream of return – return to his father, return to himself – but he underestimated it. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” He set off to return, to be less than the one he was called to be.


He did a very, very offensive thing. . . He stepped outside the norms, crossed over lines, and acted in ways that were culturally shocking and shameful. Yes, the father did a very offensive thing, culturally speaking. Though shamed by his son and treated as though he were dead, the father continually sought after he son. He did not avert his eyes, constantly looking in love, dreaming for the wellbeing of his treasured son. He broke every standard, every expectation, and looked like a fool to his neighbors. In love, perhaps beyond what we can imagine, he did an offensive thing. . . Like a fool, he ran with open arms to greet the one who had disowned him and wronged him. He kissed his son. He did not let his son finish this speech, this tainted version of who he was in his father’s eyes. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” He had spoken the truth, yet there would be no talk of acting as a hired hand. This was his beloved child, and he had returned. He had come to live as the one he is. “Bring the robe – the best one! Oh, bring the best sandals and a ring to place on his finger. My child! My child! My child has come home! My child! Kill the fatted calf! We will eat and celebrate, for this child of mine was dead and is alive again! He was lost, and he was found!”

The younger son may have treated his father as though he were dead. But there is nothing he could do – no distance that he could travel – that could render his father’s love dead. This love was alive, and for that reason, he named his son as the one he had always been, who he would always be: This fully alive, beloved child. The father welcomed him in love and threw a lavish party to celebrate that deep, rich, love – love which was wildly offensive in the world’s eyes – deep, rich, unconditional love toward this child who had returned.


And. . . he too, did a very, very offensive thing. . . The older brother was hurt by this lavishness. Perhaps he felt as though this feast – this abundance – was being squandered too. His younger brother had not only shamed himself. He had shamed everyone! He had left more work, more labor for his older brother, because he was not here to do it himself. He had literally demanded his share of the land, and then he squandered the proceeds it provided him. And because his father was still alive – and thank God he was still alive! (He didn’t want his father dead like somebody else. . .!) – the older brother had to take care of his father with a smaller pool of resources than they had before. His younger brother had tarnished his family’s name, and for what? For a lavish party! Since when had his father done anything like this for him? He had stayed here. He had toiled. He had been faithful. Where was his party? There was no fatted calf! There wasn’t even a goat. And he did an offensive thing. He refused to enter the party. He chose to be alone. Self-righteous, yes, but also alone. Somehow, self-righteousness can make hermits out of us. . . And he stood there, scowling, sulking, he himself distant from his father.

And again, unconditional love can look so downright foolish. It’s offensive really. The father’s deep, rich, unconditional love was offensive in the way that it was willing to enter even the most offensive of places. Again, the father stepped outside the norms, crossed the lines, and acted in ways that were culturally shocking and shameful. He did what no host would do it his culture: He left his guests, and he went out to meet his older son. The older son made his complaints. He expressed his frustrations. It’s easy to empathize with him, but it’s also easy to forget the same thing the older son had forgotten about himself. His father listens, but he also lavishes his son with abundant love, “Son, you are always with me. You cannot truly be distant from my love for you. All that is mine, is yours.” And then the challenge: “This brother of yours was dead and has come to life. He was lost and has been found.” Yes, the challenge. “He is mine. Will you let him be yours? Will you come in, where my love is big enough for the both of you?”

What a story. How offensive. How challenging. How profound.

Do you know who you are? Do you know it? Do you know Whose you are? Do you know who and Whose you were created to be?

The first epistle of John says it so well: “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.” “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.” Beautiful words. True words. And then, these words which are true and rich with challenge, “Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. . . if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.”

Hear the good news of God’s love for you. You are included in God’s love. Wake up to it! Live like it’s actually real and true! And hear the good news of God’s love for the world. The world is included in God’s love. God’s love for you is so big, that it can include the world – those you love, those known unto you, those unknown to you, those you can’t stand. . . – without ever diminishing God’s deep, rich, unconditional for you. God’s love for the world is so big that it can really and truly include you – yes, even you! - without diminishing any of that love for the world. This love is endless and boundless.

So what are you waiting for? Won’t you go into that party and celebrate?

You may feel as though you have wandered so far away from God, that God has stopped waiting for your return. You may feel as though God would never run after you with open arms. It may seem as though you’ve squandered it all, and you might as well indulge in pig slop. Well, the good news for you today is that you are not pig slop, and you were never made for pig slop. God is looking. God is watching. God is loving with open arms. There is nothing you can do to nullify that love. You can’t un-beloved child yourself. And because that’s true, here’s the challenge. If you don’t know that love, or you’re not living as if that love is real, you are missing something. Turn around. Come to yourself – your true self, you true beloved self. Leave that distant country – whatever it is; addiction, rage, pettiness, pride, self-loathing, isolation, greed, hoarding, competition, gossip; whatever it is – and come home. Come home. There is a Love so deep that it’s offensively running after you. It’s on the offensive! Run in the direction toward the One who runs after you.

Or you may feel as though you’re standing outside these days. Perhaps you’re resentful. Perhaps there are people you’d rather God not love. Perhaps you define them as outsiders, and yet, you are the one refusing to enter God’s deep love. Or perhaps you feel ostracized yourself. Remember that God’s love for them cannot nullify God’s love for you. And God’s love for you cannot nullify God’s love for them. If all that is God’s is lovingly yours, your neighbors and your enemies are yours to love. Embrace them. Run after them as God runs after them. Or allow yourself to be loved by them. Enter that lavish party. You are included. There is a Love so deep that it’s offensively coming into your isolation. Enter that celebration. You were born to be included and to include others.

Know that God’s love this day – and this moment! – is here, for you, and for the world. Won’t you come in?

-Renee Roederer, Campus Minister, and the Austin Agape Community

This sermon was preached at a service First Presbyterian Church in Salida, Colorado, where the students from Austin Agape led the worship service.

Faith and Labor. . .

This semester our Monday Evening Bible Study is focusing on this question: How can we put our faith into action?

We've talked about issues of racism and food justice, we've explored how we can be mindful of the people of Haiti, and we've asked deliberate questions about our giftedness and calling toward vocation. And tonight we will begin exploring the intersection of faith and labor in our world.

More specifically, we will talk about the many sweatshops that continue to undermine workers around our world. What does our faith have to say about these injustices? How can we put our faith into action, right here in Austin?

Please join us at 7pm upstairs in Room 212. We'll have meaningful conversation!

Sermon: Cultivating. . .

Luke 13:1-9

Perhaps some people in the crowd wanted to get a political reaction from Jesus. In the scripture lesson for today, some people came to share news with him. Perhaps they wanted to see him full to the brim with anger, fists clenched, his face scowling with rage and indignation. Perhaps they wanted him to point his finger, leading in the direction toward revolution, so they could finally throw their enemies - their Roman occupiers - off of their soldiers. “Jesus, did you hear how Pilate killed those Galileans and then mixed their blood with sacrifices?” Maybe they wanted to get a political reaction from Jesus, but fortunately for us, and for them, Jesus refuses to define himself by who his enemies are.

Or perhaps they wanted simple answers, a simple theological reaction from Jesus. “Jesus, did you hear? Those Galileans went down to Jerusalem, and do you know what Pilate did? He killed them and mixed their blood with sacrifices. God must have had it out for them, huh? What do you think, Jesus?” Maybe they wanted a theological reaction from Jesus, but fortunately for us, and for them, Jesus refuses to define others by simple theological answers.

Or perhaps they wanted a pastoral reaction from Jesus. “Jesus, did you hear the news? Pilate killed some Galileans – some people just like us. . . – and then mixed their blood with sacrifices. . .” Perhaps they wanted him to understand their fear, to help them make sense of senseless suffering. Maybe they wanted a pastoral reaction from Jesus.

And Jesus does what Jesus so often does. He meets our needs but is not confined by our expectations. He makes the moment a teaching moment. He addresses the crowd of disciples with a question of his own: “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?” He says, “No, I tell you.” They are not worse sinners. They did not commit something so heinous that they brought this upon themselves. But then he adds something else: “But unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”

He goes on. “Or 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?” The crowd must have known about this tragedy too. What about those people? What could they have possibly done to cause a tower to fall upon them? Jesus answers his own question again: “No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”

The questions that the people in the crowd were carrying are not unfamiliar to us. Everyone asks about suffering. Why did this happen? Why is this happening now? Why me? Why her? Why him? Why us? God, where are you? God, will you save us from this suffering?

And it’s encouraging to us that our spiritual forebears – our ancestors in the faith – have asked these questions alongside us. The writers of the Bible find so many ways to ask questions about suffering, and they add their voices – differently and uniquely – to form a cacophony of answers as well.

There’s the Deuteronomistic way of thought. (Now try saying that word three times fast. . . I can hardly say it once!) Basically, the Deuteronomistic way of thought is a theology that comes out of the book Deuteronomy but is filtered through many books of the Hebrew Bible. If you obey God through the law of the Torah, you will be blessed. And if you are disobedient to God by not following the law of the Torah, you will be cursed. Of course, there is something profoundly true and inspired about this: Following God, living in love, justice, kindness, and deep-rooted community are blessings in and of themselves. But turning our backs on God, living in hatred, injustice, inhospitality, and isolation are truly part of a cursed existence we create for ourselves. But what about other types of blessings and curses? When good things happen – wealth, health, happy circumstances - are they because we’ve obeyed? When bad things happen – poverty, sickness, unhappy circumstances – are they because we’ve disobeyed?

The Deuteronomistic strand of theological thought isn’t the only one in our Bible. The Book of Job seems to offer another theologically inspired voice. Job – a righteous man – is struck down with disaster beyond anything we can wrap our minds around. All of his children die, and all of his livestock die, and he himself loses his health and is covered with blistering sores. His friends come and join him to sit with him in his suffering, but he would have been better off if they would have just stayed away. The Book of Job is clear that Job has done nothing to cause or deserve his current sufferings, but his friends have all kinds of hurtful things to say: “As I have seen, those who plow iniquity and sow trouble reap the same,” one says. In other words, “If you weren’t guilty, Job, these things wouldn’t have happened to you!” Another friend says that this present level of suffering is really God’s way of being gracious to Job: He says, “Know then that God exacts of you less than your guilt deserves.” But the end of the book, God speaks to Job from the whirlwind, and God vindicates Job, saying that his friends have spoken falsely. Sin is real. And suffering is real. But particular sin and particular suffering do not always have a one-to-one correspondence.

And there are theologically inspired voices from the prophets too. In times of great suffering – when the people of Judah were in exile in Babylon, away from their land living as captives, prophets often spoke words of hope. Isaiah speaks these words of God: “Can a woman forget her nursing-child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. ¹⁶See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me.” And Jeremiah speaks these words of God: “For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.¹².”

Clearly, suffering is no new question and there’s no new, easy answer. Fortunately for us and for them, Jesus doesn’t wrap suffering in a pretty, easy-to-explain bow. But rather, he speaks to our hearts and calls us to repentance.

Repentance. . .now let’s be honest. . . That’s not a word we really like. It certainly isn’t fun. . . You don’t call up your friends on a Friday night to plan a fun, evening outing of repentance! (I’m just trying to imagine Repentance Event up on Facebook. . .) But there are other reasons we might resist this word too. Perhaps we’ve had difficulty with people who tend to preach a fire and brimstone God, a God who doesn’t seem to have great plans for us, plans of welfare or a good future. The theological thought behind a God like that seems to say that God is waiting for one misstep, and BAM! At best, a Tower of Siloam falls on us. At worst, we are cast into everlasting torment in a fiery hell.

I can see why we would want to throw out ideas about a God like that, but we don’t need to throw out repentance with them. The word for repentance literally means to change direction. It means to turn around – to do a 180 – for the sake of the life we will find in the other direction, for the sake of the Person who is the Life in the other direction. A God who calls us to repentance is gracious, because this God calls us for the sake of the fullness of life and service we will find in that process. This God loves us. This God calls us to life, life in the midst of suffering, life in spite of suffering.

And so, Jesus tells a parable. It isn’t found in another of the other Gospels. It’s just here in Luke. It’s kind of quirky - maybe even a bit weird to our ears. The owner of a vineyard comes and wants fruit from his fig tree, but lo and behold, there is none! And from the way it sounds, there’s never been any fruit on this particular tree. The owner of the vineyard is enraged about this. “Why should a tree like that even waste soil?” He goes to his gardener. “I’ve been coming for fruit from this tree for three years now, and it hasn’t produced one fig! Cut it down!”

But the gardener is an advocate. The gardener is bold to see possibility where the owner doesn’t. “Oh no, sir. Please. Let me do some work on this tree. Let me dig around it. Let me put some fertilizer on it. Let me cultivate it. Who knows? Perhaps that fruit will come after all.”

Now if we’re fire and brimstone people, we probably think that the owner of the vineyard is God. God is ready for one misstep, and BAM! We’re a fig tree cut down to the ground. But if we remember that God is our loving Creator – our Nurturer, our Sustainer – we may see God’s presence in the figure of the gardener. God is cultivating us. God is leading us, digging around us, and if you will allow me to be very frank – God is even using the manure that sometimes comes our way, transforming even that for our good - that we might be grafted into the very reign of God – where God is honored and we are rooted in love, for God’s sake and for ours.

I’ll close by sharing some words about some friends of mine who seem to illustrate the beauty of this. Last night, Ian and I went to the home of Mary Smith and Walter Stewart. Some of you know them. They sing in UPC’s Chancel Choir. They live on a property outside of the city, where they grow wildflowers and build houses for purple martins, little birds that migrate here from Brazil every year. If you know Mary and Walter, you know that they have to be the most enthusiastic people you’ve ever met. When they love something, they love it! They’ve recently made a nursery to grow wildflowers, and they have this large list of friends who come to work in the nursery just for fun. They nurse the plants to health so that they can spread then them all over their property. It’s like they’re building a reigning kingdom of wildflowers.

What I love about Mary and Walter is that they are firm believers in possibilities, and they celebrate growth. They become wildly enthusiastic when they make a smallest discovery in their fields. They see the possibility for life – for fruit, if you will – even in the small things. They are advocates for little plants making their way in this world.

A couple of years ago, we were out at their home, and we had a wonderful opportunity to get a tour of their land and watch this enthusiasm unfold. From the second we arrived, that enthusiasm for life began:

"Oh look! And this is a such and such!"

"Oh Mary! Look! Did you see this?"
"Recently, we pulled off so many seeds from this plant! You can spread them anywhere!"
"Oh! And do you see this? This is a long blue stalk! That's pretty much ice cream to cows. They always go for them first!"

In this excited speech, Walter began to envision possibility upon possibility. It had been a cloudy and rainy day. The wildflower season had been over for a good while, the sky was a firm shade of gray, and most of the vegetation was golden brown. But Walter continued to see colors that were not presently there. "In the spring, this entire hill will look like this!" "In a couple of years, this side will be filled with these!" "Oh, it's just going to be spectacular!" He continued to talk at a fast pace. Only one thing would stop him from time to time. "Wowwwww. . ." He would marvel and his voice would lower. "Oh, look at that. . ." Walter would occasionally spot a colorful wildflower. "It's completely out of season," he would say. "Isn't it just wonderful? Just think, in the spring, this place will be filled with them!"

Tonight in this season of Lent, know that God cultivating you and yes, calling you – calling us – to repent. Turn around. Open your eyes. Really live. Bear the fruit you were born to create. How can you grow into the places where Christ is calling you to follow?

-Renee Roederer, Campus Minister, and the Austin Agape Community