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