Most of you know by now that we have a lectionary cycle, assigning readings for each Sunday to all Episcopal Churches, and that every three years we get the texts repeated.
I usually read the texts for Sunday on Monday or Tuesday. About midweek, I open what I previously wrote and preached three, six, or even nine years ago. I do this to help form my current thoughts, and often I pull ideas, sections, and quotes from the past.
This is one of those texts where I feel obligated to preach much of my sermon from last time, because the subject is so relevant, and so critical for this moment in time. We were even talking about this in Thursday’s Gospel of Mark Bible study. Why do bad things happen to good people? Did some sin cause the situation they find themselves in?
This week, the lectionary writers really knew what they were doing by placing Exodus 3:1-15, 1 Corinthians 10:1-13, and Luke 13:1-9 together. We begin with Moses, a figure who historically remains the most important person in Judaism. Moses was the great speaker of God’s truth and exemplary example of a human life. We see him chosen by God to bring his people out of slavery and hardship. And yet, the text presents a Moses who is afraid to see God, and counters God in numerous ways to try and get out of what he’s being called to.
We then move to Paul, who presents to the people of Corinth a sense that the people of the Hebrew Scriptures, to a certain extent, got what they deserve: struck down in the wilderness for various reasons. Paul then puts forth the notion that “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” (1 Cor. 10:13)
Paul writes specifically for the community at Corinth in the 50s. He knows them, knows their struggles, and writes in a way to both support them and light a fire under them. He trusts that they will understand this is not really about judgement of the past, but an opportunity to learn and go forward. God did not strike down Ancient Israelites to instruct future generations, and Paul’s letter was NOT written to provide universal understanding to apply in every situation.
To demonstrate this, we move to The Gospel of Luke, written later than Paul’s letter, not before 70AD, and thus after the Great Temple of Jerusalem had been destroyed. The Gospel writer is well aware of the need for an altered message for their moment, because literally, the House of God had been destroyed by the Romans.
Luke has people tell Jesus that a group of Galileans were killed, and that Pilate had done it while they were offering sacrifices in the Temple in Jerusalem. This was an abomination: and some understood this to be a terrible sign of rejection by God.
Those bringing up this occurrence to Jesus are likely looking for two things: they want Jesus to acknowledge that an atrocity has occurred, and they want to know if God was punishing these Galileans for a specific sin. This is a horrible conclusion to come to, but not an uncommon one. This after all was the conclusion of Job’s friends in response to his affliction, as well as a general assumption found throughout Hebrew Scripture, as well as in some of Paul’s writings: whenever something terrible happens to someone, it MIGHT mean that God is displeased and is punishing people.
Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, when he was Bishop of North Carolina, told a story to illustrate this human tendency to bring explanation to the aches of the human heart:
“I remember as a child, when a light-hearted occasion of misfortune befell someone, hearing the old folk say in jest, “You ain’t been living right.”
I never heard it said seriously when someone was really hurting. However, I have heard the principle behind the saying articulated when things fall apart for someone, when the burden of the heat of the day becomes unbearable, when things seem to go from bad to worse, when someone cries out from a bed of affliction or shrieks in despair from within a vale of tears. “Why?” “Why me?”
In the painful struggle of trying to make sense of something senseless, the age-old logic of “You ain’t been living right” sneaks into our conscious. Common sense suggests that if there is a demonstrable effect, there is an explainable cause. The desire to comfort by explanation is part of who we are as human beings. It comes with the territory.”
(Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2, eds. David Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, 2009, p. 93)
Jesus, with his response, expresses that these Galileans have suffered, but is careful not to suggest that this was caused by particular sin. “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you.” Jesus brings up what must have been another well known tragedy: “those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you.”
Jesus does not accept a simple understanding to the question of “Why has this happened.” There is no blame assigned to those afflicted, and there are no quick explanations to address why people suffer.
What Jesus does do, in the midst of this tragic news, is suggest a missional response to those who are hearing of this tragedy. “But unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”
This might seem like an odd and off-target message, but I believe contains an important point. Jesus doesn’t choose to identify sin in those who perished, but instead the sin of those who would hear of someone’s misfortune and then choose to live in fear.
A common result of witnessing or hearing about tragedy is paralyzation: coming to the conclusion that nothing we do matters, or the equally problematic conclusion that what we should do is play it safe and protect only our interests.
Again, Bishop Curry writes:
“Facing the reality of mystery and the limits of what we can know is not an excuse to stand still and look sad, as Luke describes some of the disciples, paralyzed at the time of the death of Jesus. Jesus is on a mission. Those who would be disciples of Jesus, who would follow in his way in the power of his Spirit, are on that mission. Much is unknown. Many questions remain unanswered.
In the end, the future is God’s, but we share in the mission of unfolding the future. That is clearly where our responsibility lies.”
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” (Luke 4:18-19 NRSV)
(Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2, eds. David Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, 2009, p. 95)
The parable of the fig tree illustrates this. A fruitless fig tree is to be cut down, but the gardener argues for it to be tended to. The gardener insists that now is not the time for judgment to be placed on the tree: refusing to speculate what has caused the tree not to bear fruit. The gardener is determined to do what she can do for the tree: open to the possibility that the future of the tree has not been fully realized.
Even with perfect care, the tree may not bloom: the final results concerning the tree are out of the gardener’s control. But despite the uncertainty, she is willing to put time and effort into caring for the tree.
Certainty and control are not part of our human lives with God. We will never figure out God’s kingdom in our lifetime, and it’s a guarantee that at some point, we will be cut down...it happens to us all.
Our options right now are this: we can choose to be trees that will not flourish or produce fruit, or we can be trees that are open to receiving the care and nourishment offered not just by God and Jesus, but by other gardeners as well: people like you and me.
Then, within that nurturing love, we are able to produce fruit by being gardeners ourselves: workers in God’s kingdom that tend to one another, and helping to make God’s promises possible.
Thanks be to God.
(Based on a sermon given at St. Paul’s Salt Lake City 3/23/2025 on the Lent 3C readings, that is pretty much based on the sermon I give every three years.…😉)
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