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| Figs & Foliage |
At that very time there were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. (Luke 13:1)
I’ve often had people tell me everything happens for a reason. Personally, I’m not so sure. I think sometimes stuff just happens[i]. I have to wonder who these folks were in the Gospel Lesson appointed for Lent 3, Year C (Luke 13:1-9) and why they wanted to tell Jesus about this brutal atrocity which the Roman governor had committed against the Galileans. What did they expect from him? Did they want him to feel outrage, so he’d rally the people to rebellion? Or did they just want to hear some comforting words from their rabbi?
Sometimes
when horrible stuff happens—like a senseless killing or a natural disaster like
the falling of the tower of Siloam or a wildfire or tornado—we want to know why
a loving God would permit such a thing. In the world of the text, suffering and
misfortune could only be understood as a sign of God’s wrath. But then you have
to ask, “Why was God wrathful? What did these folks do to deserve this
punishment?” You see, if you can come up with some kind of a reason, you
might not feel so scared and out of control. Sometimes we even blame ourselves
for the misfortune of others. We say stupid stuff like, “If I’d only been
there,” or “If I’d only known,” as if we’d rather feel guilty than feel
helpless. But the “what if” questions can only make us feel guilty or
impotently angry. They never give us peace or any real answers.
Sometimes
stuff just happens. It’s no good asking “Why me?” or “Why not me?” We
can’t ever control the things which happen to us. All we can control is how we
react to them.
Jesus’
reaction to the news of the Galilean massacre gives us a pretty good clue as to
what the people who brought him this news were asking. They wanted to know why
God had allowed this to happen. If Jesus could give them an easy answer like,
“They weren’t worshiping correctly like you guys do, so God had them
butchered,” then they could’ve gone on their way feeling safe and smugly
superior. But Jesus didn’t say that. I like to imagine Jesus saying, “They were
slaughtered because Pilate is a blood-thirsty tyrannical myrmidon of a
rapacious occupying power, and he feels he can do whatever he wants, and they
just happened to be on the wrong side of him today. God had nothing to do with
it. Oh? And those guys who got crushed under the tower of Siloam? Wrong place,
wrong time. It happens.”
But
Jesus doesn’t leave them in existential angst. He assures them this was not a sign
of God’s wrath because God doesn’t work that way. But he reminds them that the
clock is ticking down for all of us. We are called to live out our life of
grace actively and productively. To drive home the point—as Jesus is wont to
do—he tells them a little story about a fig tree that doesn’t bear fruit. The tree
doesn’t really thrive, it just sort of exists. The owner of the grove
sees it as useless. Just wasting space and the nutrients which could be used by
fruit-bearing trees. He decides to have it chopped up for kindling—at least it
will be useful in that way. His gardener, a guy who seems to have a bit more
agricultural know-how than the owner, suggests giving the tree a reprieve. Maybe,
he suggests, the tree is good after all, but its life is missing something. Maybe
it needs to have a little cow poop thrown its way before it’s ready to do what
it’s supposed to do.
My
wife always liked this parable. When she was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and
had to close her neuromuscular practice, she felt useless like a fig tree that
wasn’t producing any figs. She needed a change of direction to see what she
was capable of doing. Eventually she became involved with a number of charities,
many of which are in support of our veterans.
I
think Jesus is trying to tell us these scary moments which shock us into
remembering our uncontrollable fragility are opportunities for us to address
things we might actually have the power to do something about. Sometimes having
the cow poop flung at us leads us to bear better fruit than we thought we were
capable of producing. These are moments for repentance.
The
word for repent in Greek is metanoia, literally “change of mind” or
“change of heart.” We might tend to think of repentance in terms of contrition
for bad acts or living a wicked life, but it could mean that what you’re
doing is perfectly okay. It just isn’t the best choice for you.
Rotten
stuff is going to happen. Get used to it. But if you live in the light of God’s
grace, every day is an opportunity to celebrate your baptism, rejoice in God’s
wonderful love, and ask yourself, “How am I of service to the Kingdom of God?” Everyone
is called to pursue the Kingdom with urgency because none of us knows the day—and
it might just be tomorrow—when the Time Out buzzer is going to sound for us.
I
end this post with a note of caution. Don’t let others decide what your “good
fruit” is or is supposed to be. They may just be judging by the standards of
the world, and not by the standards of God. Don’t look to others for validation
or try to imagine how they are evaluating you. And don’t even presume to judge
the fruit of another. For all you know, the laziest, most impious slob you’ve
ever met might be doing his or her good works in secret, knowing our Father who
sees in secret will reward them.
Just
be yourself. Follow your path. Do your thing. Love God. Love everyone else.
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