Jesus urges us to ask different questions of God and of life, focusing on the life God offers and to which we are invited to turn, and not on justifying others’ sin or suffering.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, 3 Lent C; texts: Luke 13:1-9; Isaiah 55:1-9; 1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Sisters and brothers, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

On the one hand, what Jesus seems to be saying to the crowds in this episode is very helpful even in our day.  He refers to two tragedies unknown to history but clearly known and clearly troubling to his listeners, and emphatically declares that no conclusions about the victims and their sinfulness can or should be drawn.  In a world where some people (and let’s be honest, it’s mostly Christians who do this) seem eager to blame the deaths of others, by everything from natural disasters to acts of evil, on the wickedness of the victims, having this clarity of declaration from the Son of God himself is incredibly important.  Those who were killed by the governor Pilate as they made their religious sacrifices were no more sinful than those who were not killed.  Those who died in a collapse of a tower near the walls of the city were no more sinful than those who escaped death in that tragedy.  Period.  End of argument.  Jesus has spoken.

Would that he would have stopped there, though.  Because the other hand of this episode is that after stating there are no causal links between tragedies, both natural and imposed by others, and those who are harmed, Jesus adds twice, “but unless you all repent, you will all perish just as they did.”  What’s the point of saying our sins don’t cause natural disasters to kill us or wicked people to kill us and then saying if we don’t stop sinning we’re going to perish like these apparently innocent bystanders did?  It seems as if Jesus is contradicting himself.

The lectionary doesn’t help us much, either, by having us hear Paul’s threats to the Corinthians that if they don’t shape up they’ll be destroyed like some of the Israelites in the wilderness were destroyed.  It’s part of an important and helpful section of this letter dealing with respect and care for others in the community, but this particular bit, added to Jesus’ statement, seems to add fuel to the fire of warning.

We can’t claim refuge in half of Jesus’ words if we’re going to dodge the other half, sadly enough.  But perhaps we don’t have to dodge anything.  There’s a lot more going on here than first meets the eye, and Jesus actually is being consistent.  He does mean to tell us that we can’t blame victims for tragedy not of their doing, naturally or human caused.  But when he asks us to repent or we will perish, he’s not threatening us with tragedy.  What Jesus is doing is pointing us to ask different questions about God, our lives, and what it might mean to turn around, to turn to God, to repent, instead of spending our time in judgment on others, and living in death rather than living in life with God.

The context of this section of Luke is a good starting point to our understanding.

Not only is this Gospel reading only found in Luke, where he places it is enlightening to consider.  In the chapter immediately preceding this, Jesus is giving a number of warnings about the coming end times.  Luke includes several of Jesus’ urgent parables about servants being at work and ready when their master returns, some of Jesus’ apocalyptic warnings, even his belief that families will be divided because of him.  That immediately leads to today’s discussion.  And recalling that the Transfiguration has already happened, and Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem and his death, we hear today’s words with the urgency of last words, dire warnings.

But what happens afterward in this chapter is also important to note.  After this, Jesus heals a woman on the Sabbath, to great criticism.  Then Luke places two parables next, the yeast and the mustard seed, parables Matthew tells as part of the Sermon on the Mount, earlier in Jesus’ ministry.  And last, the chapter ends with the lament of Jesus over Jerusalem we heard last week, that he wanted to draw his people to himself as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but they weren’t willing.

Luke seems to be making several points.

First, whatever Jesus is saying about repentance and the deaths of innocents, it’s weighted with the urgency of limited time.  He has to get his point across strongly, in other words, before he’s gone.

But second, it’s instructive to note the positive parables that follow, parables that are hard to read as anything other than the grace of God, and also to note the healing Jesus does.  The kingdom of God, Jesus says, is like yeast in flour, or a mustard seed, both which grow and flourish and bear far greater fruit than their tiny size would suggest possible.  And the grace of God that Jesus brings breaks Sabbath law, a law of God, to heal a woman in pain and suffering.

And third, the grief of Jesus comparing himself to a mother hen shapes the whole discourse.  Jesus is not only short on time, he desperately wants the people to listen to him and turn their lives to God.  He doesn’t want their destruction.

So the context tells us that Jesus desperately needs us to listen while we can, that he’s bringing grace and healing even when it seems inappropriate, and that same grace will flourish in unexpected ways, and that it causes him great sadness when we still won’t turn to God and live.

And lastly, let’s not forget the truly helpful context of the part we also heard read, the parable Luke retells right after this discourse.  The urging of patience by the gardener, to let the fruitless tree stand another season, get fertilized and worked on, in hopes that fruit will one day come, is a powerful statement of Jesus’ intent.

For all his urgency, it is that grace we see here and in the rest of this chapter that overrides all.  He wants us to turn to God, to bear fruit, and we won’t.  But the Holy Spirit, acting as gardener here, says, “let me see if I can do something, get this plant growing and bearing fruit.  Give me some time.”  Two chapters from now Luke will tell powerful parables of Jesus about the lost being found, about a father who waits for his wayward son and welcomes him home.  Such waiting grace is already seen in this story of the fig tree, and becomes our ground for hope.

What the gracious yet serious, the urgent yet patient Jesus is saying today is what he’s been saying all along: “Repent.  Turn to God.”  But today’s particular emphasis is that we remember that’s what’s really important.

In dealing with the unexplained and frightening tragedies as his framework in the way that he does, Jesus is taking our minds off of the status of others and telling us to focus instead on ourselves, not to be selfish, but because our lives depend upon it.  Don’t worry about the reasons for bad things happening to good people or good things happening to bad people, or any combination thereof, he says.  You can’t make any inference from what happens to people that will explain why things happen.  In fact, he says, I’ll just tell you right out, it’s not related to their sinfulness or behavior.

Instead, he says, you should be thinking about your life with God and whether you have that life or are living in darkness.  As Jesus shows grace in this whole chapter by his healing and his parables, by his very life, he says, “this is what God has to offer you.  Why won’t you let God surround and embrace you?”

His call to repent in this context is one of re-focusing, and it’s an important one for us.  We can spend a lot of time worrying about someone else’s salvation or sin.  Jesus says that our time would be better spent considering our own.

He’s also eliminating the “why?” question in favor of the “what can I do?” question.  By removing any justification for the innocent deaths in those tragedies, he’s answering the “why” question in something like the way God does in the book of Job: “you wouldn’t understand why if I told you.”  He’s saying, quit wasting time trying to find reasons for things you’ll never find reasons for.

Instead, ask yourselves what you will do with your lives now that you know what God is offering you.  Will you turn to God and live, or turn from God and die?

Jesus is heading to Jerusalem and the cross for the very reason that we mostly choose to turn from God and not toward God.  And he, the Son of God incarnate, will die to transform our hearts by his sacrificial love, that he might rise from the dead to bring us into this life he now is offering his hearers.

Risen from the dead, he still offers open arms, open wings, open love to welcome those who have strayed.  And he invites us to see that is where life is and turn to it, rather than perishing, and certainly rather than fretting about reasons for others’ difficulties.

This is exactly what Isaiah is saying to us as well.  I told the Tuesday study group that I hoped the Holy Spirit would lead me to Isaiah at some point this week after this hard Gospel and second reading.  And that’s just what happened.

Isaiah says what Jesus is saying: why do you run after things that don’t satisfy, eat things that don’t fill you up, seek things that are worthless?  He’s not really talking about food here, obviously.  Spending time trying to justify why someone else suffered a tragedy has no value or help for us or for them.

Rather, Isaiah says, go after the things of life God is offering.  Like Jesus, Isaiah says God is offering spiritual food and drink that will give us life, offering all we need for hearts that are in tune with God and filled with grace, if only we recognize it and turn to it.

Both Jesus and Isaiah are inviting us to find the joy of repentance, the joy of discovering life in the risen Lord who fills us with what we need and shapes our lives into children of God who will transform the world, the children God has hoped for all along.

My thoughts and ways are higher than you can imagine or think, God says through Isaiah, so don’t focus on that.  Rather, seek the LORD where he can be found, call upon him while he is near, Isaiah says.  And you will find life.

In the end, Jesus says, learn to ask the right questions in life and you’ll find the answers you need.

The One who taught us that when we seek, we certainly will find, tells us today where our questions need to lie and what answers the grace of God provides.  He shows us what truly will satisfy the longing of our hearts and lives, and will sustain us in this life, even in a world where people are killed and die in tragic accidents.  We need not fear such things because the Son of God has risen from the dead, and we have this same resurrection waiting for us no matter when or how we might die.

But best of all, we need not even wait for God’s redeeming grace to come only at the time of our death, because in this life, Jesus urges us to know, we will have the certain and gracious love of God not only filling us to our depths, but offering forgiveness for our sin and the gracious gardening action of the Holy Spirit helping us bear fruits of Christly love beyond what we thought possible, and that will shape the world.

Let us do what Jesus asks, repent, turn to our God and the life we are being offered.  And then we’ll see what well-fertilized lives planted in the grace of God can really do.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Our fear of God, of being vulnerable before God inhibits our letting God in, but it is overcome by God’s loving embrace and patient waiting for us to come under the wings of love and life.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, 2 Lent C; texts: Luke 13:31-35; Psalm 27

Sisters and brothers, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

The mosaic from an altar in a church on the Mount of Olives pictured on the bulletin cover is beautiful to me.  And of course it depicts Jesus’ lament from today that he is like a mother hen longing to gather her brood together under her wings, but they weren’t willing.  There is much we could say about this image from Jesus, and this particular mosaic depicting it.  But we should notice the striking placement of the words here.  It’s Jesus’ quote in Latin (cited from Matthew’s version, but Matthew and Luke use the same words here).  But if you notice, the last two words aren’t placed around the edge with the others.  Literally translated “and you would not,” the “and you were not willing” phrase is separated out, under the baby chicks.  And it has a question mark.

Now we could see the question mark as attending to the whole sentence: how often have I wanted and you were not willing?  The NRSV and most English translations use an exclamation point.  But the way this is laid out, it looks to me as if the artist is asking the viewer the question: you were not willing?  Are you not willing?  Almost as if each time we encounter this verse, this art, the same question comes to us: are we willing to let Jesus enfold us in his wings?  Almost as if the artist says Jesus isn’t talking to ancient Jerusalem, he’s talking to us today.

It’s also interesting that the way Jesus uses this metaphor of a hen and her chicks only works if we humanize the chicks.  Baby chickens are hardwired to run to their mother for protection when a threat comes, to respond to her call.  Not so for us, apparently, since Jesus seems to think he has something we need but we aren’t willing to trust him to meet that need.

And that seems to be the crucial question: why wouldn’t we be willing?  If we read this as a question mark, as if we are faced with this choice, this offer, every day, what on earth would keep us from running under Jesus’ wings?

We speak of “God’s will,” and say, as St. James invites, “the Lord willing.”  But here Jesus declares the mystery that despite his will, we have a different will.

We don’t want what he’s offering.  We’re not willing.  And it makes him deeply sad to face such rejection.

Now, what Jesus says we’re rejecting is being gathered by him under his wings, being drawn into his care.  It’s an image of protection.  But it’s also an image of relationship and vulnerability.  It’s an image which, if we accept it for ourselves, suggests we are not in charge, we cannot save ourselves, we are dependent upon the mercy and grace of God for everything.

And that might be our dealbreaker.  Jesus is saying here that the Triune God wants a relationship with us, but it’s a relationship on God’s terms, a relationship based on a recognition that we need God for everything.  And as much as we want God for some things, we’d rather keep some parts to ourselves.

The great risk in any relationship important to us is vulnerability and exposure.

In any of our relationships, if they are to deepen, we need to open ourselves to the other.  And all of us have varying levels of openness with varying people.  Those closest to us usually know us the best, and we’re more willing to be open to them about our deeper needs and wants and even our flaws.  The further out the circle goes, the less free we are with ourselves.

In a relationship like a marriage, where two people commit to lifelong love and faithfulness, that kind of openness and vulnerability becomes central to growth and depth of love.  But even there, we can hesitate to share everything we think and feel, to be known completely.  There’s always a piece of us afraid of complete disclosure.

That’s the huge risk of any relationship, really, isn’t it?  Vulnerability and exposure.  How much do I trust you?  And can I risk being hurt by you?

So what’s this have to do with the Triune God?  Everything.  Clearly God knows everything about each of us.  So in one sense, there is no hiding.  But the reason for confession, for prayer, for openness with God is our finding a willingness to admit our failings, our deepest fears, our flaws, our sins, to ourselves, and so to God.

When we can be honest with ourselves before God, that we cannot fix our lives, that we cannot be who we know we are meant to be, that we are broken and sinful, we’re not telling God anything that God doesn’t already know.  But in that vulnerability, our relationship with God is strengthened.  Because we’re saying we depend upon God for life.  We won’t run to Mother Hen, in other words, unless we think we’re in need of help.

But it isn’t just our fear of vulnerability that holds us back.  We also fear being trapped.

I was thinking this week that a hug might be analogous to the wings image in a helpful way.  Some people are big huggers, others are not.  And it often has to do with a sense of personal space.

Some people like a little space around themselves, are uncomfortable if others break into that space, unless they’re family or loved ones.  And in some families, not even then.  Others find great joy in physical touch and in hugging, and have no problem letting others into their personal space.  Both options are certainly fine for people to choose.  But look at what this might mean if we are trying to understand Jesus’ lament.

Whether you’re a natural hugger or not, can you think of a situation where someone’s hug made you uncomfortable?  Or have you ever hugged someone who clearly didn’t want it, and stiffened up like a board?  Why wouldn’t someone want to be embraced in that way?  I think it’s because of fear of vulnerability, but also a fear of being trapped.

If we let someone into our personal space, we risk being harmed by them.  We risk being touched, which can be threatening.  And most important, we lose our ability to maneuver, we lose our room to move.

So what if that’s the problem with letting our Lord Jesus surround us with his care and love?  What if we’re afraid of being so close to Jesus there is no place to hide from him?  There will be no such thing as personal space for us any more?  What if we’re afraid we’ll have no more room to maneuver under those wings, nowhere to run, nowhere to turn?  If we accept his embrace and protection and care, we’re trusting him to embrace us, protect us, care for us, not to harm us or crush us.

And if we get nervous under those wings, we might fear that we can’t run away because he has us trapped.  Think of that: an embrace, even between humans, can be freeing and a sign of love.  Or it can make one of the people feel trapped.  And maybe that’s part of our fear with Jesus.

And feeling trapped is more than just a concern we can’t escape or run.  If we let him surround us with God’s wings, we not only put ourselves in God’s care, we put ourselves under God’s guidance and will.  We freely give up some freedom to obey and follow his will and way.  Going under those wings means giving Jesus, the Son of God, control of everything.  It means agreeing to follow Jesus’ way, the way of the Triune God, and not ours.  And that’s another way to feel trapped.

But freedom is actually key to all of this, because Jesus astonishingly leaves us to our choice.

He says, “See, your house is left to you.”  In effect, “You’re in a mess, and you want to stay there because you can’t see trusting me with everything yet.  And I will let you stay in that mess as long as you need.  See, your house is left to you.”

This is key: Jesus is powerless in the face of our unwillingness because Jesus will not force us to trust, force us to faith, force us into relationship.  He will not drag us under the wings of God.

But here’s the promise he says to Jerusalem and to us: “when you’re ready to recognize that I am the one who comes in the name of the Lord, that what I offer is God’s offer of life, that I am life for you, when you’re ready, I will be here.”

That’s what Jesus says.  “I will be here when you’re ready.”  I will wait for you, however long it takes.

And even more, the promise Jesus makes in dying and rising from the dead is that if we do decide to trust him, to let him bring us into relationship with the Triune God, to deepen in this relationship of trust and dependence, he will not let us down.  Just as much as he won’t leave us simply because we keep rejecting his desire to gather us, we can trust that he also won’t let us down when we do let go and trust.  He died and rose to prove that.

So the wings are waiting for us.  For you.  What are we waiting for?

That’s our question today.  It’s our question for the rest of life.  It may be good to think of entering into a relationship with God, “being willing” to go under those wings as something which takes little steps instead of one giant leap.  Little steps like starting to open up just a little in prayer and confession and letting God see the inside, and trusting in God’s love.  Steps like beginning to listen to the Word and actually hearing it and the promise again and again, and starting to live in that Word.  Little steps like simply coming to this Table once again to be fed today and for at least a moment trusting God enough to forgive all.

And taking those steps means discovering what it is to live with the joy of the psalmist of Psalm 27 who today has no problem trusting in God for all things, in delighting in the shelter and protection the LORD God provides, and in calling God a rock, a sanctuary, a home, a light and a salvation.  That joy is where Jesus invites us to go, the life Jesus hopes we will seek.

Because make no mistake, this is where life is, abundant life: under the wings of God’s love and grace, where we are known fully and still loved, and where we are protected as much from our own fears and brokenness as from any outside force.  With God is life.  Let’s not be afraid to go there.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen