Sermon on Trees, Repentance, and a Loving Gardener
A pastor with lots more experience than I have said it this way: “Repent or perish. I’ve worked my entire career to avoid using this phrase from Luke 13:5.” I’m right there with her.
If you ask me for my favorite sayings of Jesus, you’ll get something about the kingdom of God being within you, about the abundant life Christ came to bring, about the reckless God who leaves everything behind to seek one lost soul. You won’t get this one; you won’t get “unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did” (Luke 13:5).
And I’m guessing it probably isn’t on your favorites list, either. If it were, there are other kinds of churches to go to–ones that relish vengeful images for God and see it as part of their calling to scare unsuspecting drivers with highway signs and bumper stickers calling for immediate repentance. We’re a church that chooses to proclaim–above all–the grace and love of God, that wants to share that good news with the world.
And so we want to put images of Jesus like this one in the shed out back–pack away the “repent or perish” stuff with the yard tools and the file boxes, lock the door and do our best to forget about it. Sometimes it’s downright tempting to go a step further and actually slip it in with the trash, be done with it for good. It’s like an embarrassing old t-shirt lingering in the bottom of the drawer. What use could we possibly have for “repent or perish” anymore, anyway? It’s just not in fashion these days.
We try–we really do. And then Lent rolls around again. Lent with its ashes and its long confessions of sin and its devotionals and its yearly call to repent. Lent with its insistence that we revisit these difficult readings, these sayings of Jesus that nice Christians like us would rather forget about.
I’m right there with you. And yet, part of being in this big, messy, ancient tradition we call Christianity is wrestling with the parts we’d rather explain away, dusting off the parts we try to forget, even trying on the “repent or perish” t-shirt, unfashionable as it is, and seeing what it feels like.
Jesus’ tough words here are all occasioned by a specific conversation–and if we miss that part, the whole scene doesn’t make much sense. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, aware that his own end is near as the opposition to his ministry grows, and somewhere along the way, people approach him with a bit of news. Pilate–the Roman governor–has apparently just taken the lives of a number of Galileans. We don’t know the details–only that blood was spilled, Pilate was to blame, and the people who died were from Galilee, the same place Jesus and his disciples were from. It’s a story of a tragic killing, and it hits close to home for Jesus’ followers, this group of Galileans trying to keep up with their teacher.
How should we understand this senseless violence? they seem to be asking. Did God punish these Galileans because they were worse than others? Are they just getting their just deserts?
Jesus answers the question with another story–this one of a tower collapsing on innocent bystanders in Jerusalem. Were those who suffered in this accident worse sinners? he asks. Is that what’s going on here?
Jesus’ answer: No. They were not worse sinners than anyone else. They were people in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like people in any natural disaster. They were innocent victims of circumstance. The common belief in Jesus’ time–and often in ours, too, I think–that people simply get what they deserve is not true, Jesus says: these people were no worse sinners than anyone else.
And here comes that tough part: “But unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” It’s not really what the people were asking about, but it’s what Jesus has to say. Don’t misunderstand: Jesus is not suggesting here that God will smite those who are sinful–after all, he just got through a story illustrating that bad things can happen to anyone.
I think he’s saying that there are elements in all of our lives that lead to death. The greed we nurture, the grudges we hold, the apathy and addictions and self-centeredness: all of it leads to death. All of it leads away from life as its meant to be lived, in joyful relationship with God and service to others: all of it leads to life that is more like perishing.
Repentance, then–according to Jesus–is for everyone. We are all called to turn away from those elements of our lives that lead to death and to seek life instead. It can sound like a tough order, and a lonely one–but look at the image Jesus uses.
Imagine a tree in need of tending. Imagine one that hasn’t borne good fruit in a while. And imagine a gardener who loves that tree enough to keep on tending to it, to keep on pruning and digging and bringing fertilizer. Imagine a gardener working tirelessly in the sun to bring it back to the life intended for it, to bring fruit back to its brittle, old branches.
Those of us working through the book of Lenten devotions this season are invited into a different simple practice each day to help live out the call to simplify our lives and walk with humility. And one day this past week, the day’s practice was to go through the pantry or freezer and make a meal using only items there–preferably using something long-forgotten way in the back.
I offered to make dinner on Monday, and the two cans of stewed tomatoes were staring me down from their familiar spot in the cupboard. We bought them by mistake months ago, and neither Grete nor I knew what to do with them. So they sat there taking up space, and finally this seemed like the day: I went online and found a recipe, and there were stewed tomatoes on our table Monday night.
On the surface it may not sound like a particularly spiritual practice–it was just making dinner, after all–but somehow it was. Somehow the experience brought me a tiny awareness of the fact that there are provisions all around me that I ignore–whether in the company of family and friends, the generous silence of walking in our neighborhood early in the morning, or a can of stewed tomatoes.
It may not sound much like repentance, either, but I think that in a way, it was. It was a reminder that I take much for granted, including the abundance in our kitchen. It was a reminder to be grateful for what I have, to guard against waste and disregard, to receive with open hands, and not to be so darn picky.
Imagine a tree, tended by a loving gardener. That’s what repentance is like, Jesus says. Be aware of all the ways your life is cared for by others; be aware of the ways Christ is providing for you. Be aware of those who are offering you love and care and patience; be aware of the breath in your lungs and the blood in your veins and the gift of a day to love and to serve. Root down deeply into that good soil.
Remember that the sin in your life leads to death, and it is your calling to turn and live. And remember, too, that you are a tree tended by a loving gardener. It’s a humble image–the gardener is piling manure around the tree, after all–but that’s all right. Humility is simply having the grace to see ourselves as we are:
God’s beloved children, who forget who we are sometimes;
God’s beloved chicks, waiting to be gathered by the mother hen;
God’s beloved vineyard, in need of a good gardener.
Amen.