Third Sunday of Lent
“I Am the Bread of Life”
Isaiah 55:1-9
The Gospel of Luke 13:1-9
Preached at House of Hope Lutheran Church (New Hope, MN)
March 20, 2022
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Grace and peace to you from God the Creator, Christ the Liberator, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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I am so grateful to be back with you at House of Hope today, midway through the journey of Lent. Lent is a season to deepen our relationship with God, to carve out even small moments of returning to God, rejecting the powers and structures that keep us from God, and to pay attention to living into the abundant promises and grace of God.
Part of that return is bringing not only our prayers and joys to God, but also bringing our questions, and our fears. The conversation that’s happening in this part of Luke is one of big questions, and big fears. The people around Jesus are asking him, in a sideways way, about suffering. Why does suffering exist? Why do bad things happen? Where is God in all of this?
This question of suffering does not have an easy or simple answer. People have been wrestling with it for millenia. And we will not leave worship today with a simple or easy answer. There is not always a ‘why’ to suffering. Even in this text, Jesus not only affirms that suffering exists, but he names that those who suffered didn’t deserve it. There were Galileans who were murdered by Pilate while they were worshipping. There were others who were killed when a tower fell. Their deaths weren’t part of a larger plan, they were not being punished, their suffering was not a consequence of things they had done or left undone.
And that’s frightening – much of suffering is out of our control. We can’t control the actions of others, and we can’t control Creation. We can’t distance ourselves from those who are suffering, and we can’t judge that their actions led to their suffering, imagining safety for ourselves because “we aren’t like them”. That’s simply not true. We are living in a context that is steeped in fear, in suffering, in things that are out of our control. We are living in a context of grief, anxiety, and the unknown.
And it is also true that as we seek God, we can be comforted by God’s steadfast love and sanctuary. God has been our help and nourishment, we sing for joy, and our souls cling to God, even in the midst of turmoil.
Jesus doesn’t stay too long with the question “why does suffering exist? Why do bad things happen?”. He moves instead to repentance. To returning to God. To the parts of our lives and relationships that we do have control over.
Because there are things we do that increase suffering, that turn us away from God, that take us out from the shelter of God’s wings. This is a subtle, but important difference. Experiencing suffering and pain does not mean that you are a bad person, or that God is punishing you. And it’s also true that sometimes we increase our own suffering, or the suffering of others. Lent can be a time of reflection, examining our own hearts and actions for things that turn us away from God. It’s also true that God is turning towards us again and again, inviting us into repentance and care.
I’ll share an example from my own life of an internalized value that does not turn me towards God, and tends to increase both my own suffering and the suffering experienced by others. It’s a smaller example – and I say that not to diminish it, but to invite you to reflect on any parallel experiences you might have, or divergent experiences. Actions or beliefs that you have come to suspect or discover are turning you away from God, even if they were useful or positive at some point in time. I also share this rooted in the truth that repentance, returning to God, and living faithfully is a process. None of us will be perfect at it. All of us will fall short, and still be caught and held by God, again and again.
Perfection is something I’ve chased after for years. I don’t think there was a single moment where I internalized the false belief that if I strive for perfection, doing everything correctly, then I will be a good person, and will deserve safety and security, but that belief built up over time. My value didn’t come from being a beloved child of God, part of the tapestry of Creation, giving and receiving care, loving those around me. Instead, I believed, and sometimes still do, that my value came from my grades, my resume, my job. This belief does not turn me towards God.
Perfectionism is also one of the aspects of white supremacy culture, as defined by the work of Tema Okun. White supremacy culture harms everyone, but it particularly harms BIPOC people and communities. When we require perfectionism of ourselves, that can bleed into requiring it of those around us. Perfectionism in ourselves can lead to judging others, without knowing the full story. It enforces a false binary of good people and bad people, and asserts that there is one right way, one right destination. It might lead us to blaming others for their circumstances, judging others for their choices, or putting higher expectations on certain people, or distancing ourselves from people’s suffering. When we uphold systems that require perfection, it makes it really hard to learn, to try new things, and to transform. It makes it really hard to rest, to take time to dwell in God, to make human mistakes.
Seeking perfection instead of God will cause us to perish. Jesus is harsh in his words – if you do not repent, you will perish. If you do not repent of the things that turn you away from God, you will perish. If you don’t trust in the transformative, abundant love of God, you will perish. There’s an urgency to this declaration, but if we stay only with this urgency, and do not consider the fig tree, this urgency will be enacting yet another aspect of white supremacy culture – because urgency can cause us to rush, to barrel past access needs, to cut down things that still have life in them. To focus solely on the end point, on one-time actions and decisions, instead of valuing the process, the journey, our growth.
Jesus follows up his urgency by telling a story – a parable. Stories often follow winding paths, turning back on themselves, wandering away on a side trail before returning to the main road. The story of this fig tree places us at a fork in the road – this tree has not been bearing fruit, and so the landowner wants to cut it down. If we connect this story to others in scripture, we might read the fruit as a symbol. If we are not producing the good fruit of God’s justice and love, we will perish, we will be cut down.
But the gardener knows that there is more to this story. The gardener knows that fig trees take time to produce fruit – oftentimes years. And that in order to produce good fruit, the tree needs to be cared for, nourished, tended. The gardener might’ve noticed that the fig tree’s leaves were drooping, or that it wasn’t growing at the expected rate, or that it simply hadn’t been given enough time or nutrients to root and flourish.
The gardener is living into an ethic of care – balancing the need for both urgent action and patience. Something needs to change in order for the fig tree to produce fruit – and that change is not something that can be put off. But adding manure is not an instant fix. It solves the root of the problem, and the fig tree needs time to settle in, to absorb those nutrients, to establish itself more firmly in the soil, connecting to the mycelium networks, in order to bear fruit.
We might care for ourselves and each other in a similar way, asking questions like: how do I need to be cared for? Is there somewhere I can step in to care for others? What can I offer for our common nourishment and care?
We might care for our faith in a similar way, asking questions like: how can I deepen my journey with Christ? Where is the Holy Spirit already present in my life? Am I turning towards God in what I do, and how I live?
And again, staying open and curious with these questions, instead of jumping to cutting things down, balancing urgency and patience, trusting that God’s love and justice is taking root, and growing.
The thing about fruit trees, is once they start producing fruit, it is an abundant harvest. There is enough to eat, to preserve, to share freely. Even in seasons of smaller yields, a fruit tree does not produce on an individual scale – it produces on a community scale. When we live our lives aligned with God, aligned with care, returning always to God’s love and justice, we are living abundantly, nourishing ourselves and our communities.
Midway through this Lenten journey, I invite each of us to reflect honestly on where our beliefs and actions might be causing suffering, and causing us to turn away from God. To reflect honestly about where we might need some extra care and nourishment in order to turn towards God. To reflect honestly if there is something that needs to be cut down, or changed, in our lives. To do all of this trusting that God is ever present, and ever loving.
From Isaiah: ‘Seek the LORD while God may be found, call upon God while God is near; let the wicked forsake their way, and the unrighteous their thoughts; let them return to the LORD, that God may have mercy on them, and to our God, for God will abundantly pardon.’
May this season of return bear abundant fruit. Amen.
Reed Fowler 