Lk 13:1-9

14 March 2004

3rd Sunday in Lent

“Why Do I Take Up Space?”

            There’s a question asked in today’s gospel reading that is staying with me.  Actually, it’s one that has confronted me more than once over the years.  I can’t seem to shake it, and for that, I’m glad.  It provides a kick to my complacency.  But we’ll get to that later!

            In Luke 13, people show up who tell Jesus about some Galileans who apparently were slaughtered at the temple, by order of Pontius Pilate.  Jesus uses this headline from the news as a teaching moment.  He also speaks of the eighteen deaths that occurred when the tower of Siloam collapsed.  Besides these verses in the gospel of Luke, nothing definite is known about these events.

            Josephus, a Jewish historian who lived in the first century, writes that on one occasion Pilate launched an initiative to bring water to Jerusalem.  This may or may not have led to the incident Jesus addresses.  Apparently, the city’s growing population was putting a strain on its water resources.  (By the way, one of the Roman Empire’s contributions to the world was its expertise in the building of aqueducts.)  However—and this is where it gets tricky—to fund this expensive public works project, Pilate decided to tap into funds reserved for the temple.

            This didn’t sit well with large segments of the Jewish population.  A large protest was organized, with Galileans, known trouble-makers, a big part of the planning.  But Pilate was determined to keep things under control.  Scattered in the mob, dressed incognito, were Roman legionnaires, carrying concealed weapons.  When the crowd ignored Pilate’s command to disperse and go home, the signal was given.  Out came the clubs and daggers, and Pilate’s men set upon the protesters.  There was a bloodletting that even Pilate hadn’t anticipated.

            It’s been suggested that the Siloam tower collapse could be related to the building of the aqueduct, since Jesus mentions it at the same time.[1]  If that’s true, then those killed may have been working on a tower adjoining the aqueduct when it fell.  Such workers may have been believed to have gotten just what they deserved, since they were helping the Romans on a project funded by temple money.  Of course, this is speculation.

            Whatever the case, Jesus asks if those who died were worse sinners than those who survived.  He’s dealing with the same mentality that we see in the book of Job:  the evil are punished, the good are rewarded, simple as that.  And according to this calculation, the greater the punishment or reward, the greater the evil or the good in the person.

            In his book, The Compassionate Christ, Walter Bowie says that “Jesus [rejects] that explanation.  Life is not as simple as that.  There are purposes of God which cannot be measured by our glib arithmetic, and mysteries which as yet we cannot fathom.  The danger is that [we] may so involve [ourselves] in perplexities about life in general that [we] ignore what is imperative for [ourselves].”[2]

            The response of Jesus:  “unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did” (v. 5).  The Greek word for repentance is metanoia (metanoia), which means “re-knowing” or “a change of knowing.”

            I’ve been reading one of the Lenten devotionals that were made available on Ash Wednesday.  It’s the one called My Prayers Rise Like Incense by Fr. Thomas Keating.  (By the way, there are still plenty of devotionals available at the Wellspring table.)  According to Keating, “The first word that Jesus speaks as he enters upon his ministry is ‘repent,’ which means, ‘change the direction in which you are looking for happiness.’”[3]

            Repentance is more than something we do ourselves.  It’s more than a decision we make.  It involves a total re-ordering of the way we look at life.  It is profoundly revolutionary.  Without a concerted effort on our part, it will fail, but repentance is a gift.  And we should continue to pray for the gift of repentance—for the rest of our lives.  That is the very spirit of Lent, and the foundation of the message of Jesus Christ.

            In verse 6, Jesus tells a parable which changes the focus from the people gathered there in his presence to the people as a whole.  He speaks of a man with a fig tree that has produced no fruit.  In Hebrew thought, the fig tree symbolizes peace and prosperity, as well as Israel itself.  An example of the first idea is found in 1 Kings 4:25, which says, “During Solomon's lifetime Judah and Israel lived in safety, from Dan even to Beer-sheba, all of them under their vines and fig trees.”  The fig tree as symbol of Israel is seen in Hosea 9:10:  “Like grapes in the wilderness, I found Israel.  Like the first fruit on the fig tree, in its first season, I saw your ancestors.”

            In the parable, as I indicated, Jesus expands the call to repentance.  The man complains to the gardener that he’s been waiting three years for the tree to produce figs.  He orders it cut down, but the gardener suggests that he fertilize the tree and give it one more year.  That’s how the parable ends—we don’t know whether or not the tree ever produces fruit.  Time is running out for his fellow Jews, Jesus is saying.  And in fact, in the year 70, the Romans destroy the temple.

But about that question I mentioned at the beginning (the one that I said is staying with me):  we see it at the end of verse 7.  After telling his gardener to cut down the fig tree, the exasperated landowner asks, “Why should it be wasting the soil?”  The word in Greek for “wasting” comes from a term (katargew, katargeo) that means “to render useless” or “occupy unprofitably.”

The question in the Revised English Bible is even more blunt:  “Why should it go on taking goodness from the soil?”  And New Testament scholar Alfred Plummer is even less charitable when he translates the question:  “Why, in addition to doing no good, does it sterilize the ground?”[4]  That’s kind of harsh!  It’s not simply that the tree is failing to produce something positive—in this case, fruit.  But the tree is actually a negative force—it’s sucking nutrients out of the earth, taking the place of another tree that might have something to contribute in return.

This question in the parable is especially directed to the religious establishment of Jesus’ time.  Today, it is certainly put to the church.  We should understand that it’s put to our church.  Recalling my comment that it has confronted me more than once, I understand it as being put to me.  In fact, I remember a sermon or two while a member of the Assemblies of God in which the preacher would say in so many words, “Yes, it is put to you!”

Am I wasting the soil, so to speak?  Why do I take up space?  Why do I breathe perfectly good air?  Am I producing the kind of fruit that Jesus desires?  Or am I a parasite?  Continuing with the analogy of the tree, we all produce fruit of some kind.  Whether it’s good fruit, whether it’s edible; that’s another question.

            Australian pastor B. D. Prewer tells the story of a nursing home he used to visit when he had a church in Tasmania.[5]  He says that there was “a woman in her seventies who would sometimes taunt me.  One day when I sat beside her, she changed [her approach] and said:  ‘Please don’t be hurt by my bitterness, young man.  I had my chances to make something of my life but did not take them.  I am a hopeless case.  God can’t do anything with me now.’”

            Prewer responded by pointing out that God’s grace and God’s love continue to call and to surround her.  This is certainly one of my themes—that no one is a hopeless case.  If there is a pulse, then there is hope.  Whether you’re a terrorist or a child molester, or whether you’ve been in church all your life and the fire within you has gone out, God wants to pour so much love and life into you that you will truly be a new creation.

But the lady in our story shakes her head and says, “No it’s too late.  Something in me has dried up and hardened.  I feel regret but have no passion for change.  The soul has died in me.  I’ve left it too late.  I am locked in my own little hell.”  She sounds a lot like what Jesus means by the statement, “Unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”  She’s already dead!  They might as well go ahead and throw dirt on her!

This is a case of someone who is seriously set in her ways.  But even when the situation isn’t expressed this…dramatically, it’s still a tragedy when people are set in their ways.  They need to repent; they need to “re-know.”  They need to open themselves to new ways.  As our Old Testament reading in Isaiah 55 says, “my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (vv. 8-9).

Being open to change is a quality of life itself.  Living things by definition undergo change.  The willingness to change is part of what it means to produce good fruit.

Another part of it involves generosity.  I’ve been hearing some good stuff on that subject during my visits to Ryan’s Sunday school class.  Unfortunately, it seems that generosity remains one of our…I’ll call it one of our “growth” areas.  The report from the Finance meeting last Tuesday was that our treasurer is being forced to delay payment of some basic expenses, because she simply doesn’t have the money.

At the congregational meeting in January 2003, the proposal from session to remove the then seventeen year old cap of $50,000 on the investment fund was defeated.  It was expressed at the time that the congregation would step up on the day of serious need.  (I’m paraphrasing!)  Well, friends, that day has arrived.

The congregation approved a budget of $93,465.04 for 2004.  That’s slightly less than 2003’s budget.  We currently have 94 active members (and I realize that that number includes couples).  That number is partly offset by those who worship with us but aren’t members, as well as some former members who still give to the church.  Still, just going by the number of active members, meeting our budget would mean an average of $994.31 per member.  That works out to $19.12 per week.

That figure represents a tithe, ten percent, for someone whose income is $9,943 per year.  That would be giving 5 percent for an annual income of $19,886.  And that’s 2 percent for an income of $49,716.

            I’ll admit to a certain…reluctance about getting into all this.  I realize that a lot of people don’t like to talk about how much money they have.  (And then there are some folks who can speak of nothing else!)  You all know our income; it’s right there in the budget.

            But if we approach money the way Jesus does, we’ll realize that everything we have has been given to us by God.  And when we give, we’ll understand it to be an act of worship.  We’re giving to God—not to me, not to Robin, not to the boiler down in the basement.  If we see money that way, we’ll be a lot less anxious if we don’t have it to give, and if we do have it, we’ll want to give.

Why do I take up space?  Am I a parasite?  At some level, we all are.  We can’t help but be.  We rely on God—and on each other.  In order for that to be more than just words, to be something we really are, we walk the path of repentance.  We learn over and again to re-order the way we look at life, to change the direction in which we look for happiness.

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