Lent 3 C: Now!
Dear Partner in Preaching,
Theodicy is a rabbit hole.
And we don’t have to go down it.
Yeah, that’s pretty much all I have this week.
Okay, a word or two of explanation. First, this passage names questions pretty much everyone who thinks about God eventually asks. Why do bad things happen to good people? Does God cause calamity? Is tragedy – whether on the small scale or large – punishment for sin?
These are questions we ask, I think, because tragedy and calamity – whether caused by nature, like the devastation of we are witnessing in Mozambique, or caused by humans, like the murders at the mosque in New Zealand – confront us with a chaos and violence that challenge our sense of stability and order. So we seek answers that help us not just recalibrate but reclaim our sense that the world makes sense. And sometimes we settle for difficult, cruel, even vicious answer – God punishes us – in order to preserve that sense of stability, because we often fear instability and chaos more than we do cruel answers.
Jesus will have none of that in this week’s story. “No,” he answers, “these people were not being punished for their sin.” “Good news,” we sigh in relief, though – truth be told – our questions are still nagging at us. “But you’ll die just the same if you don’t repent,” he continues, refusing to answer our deeper question and instead making the matter far more personal.
So why would Jesus do that? Why dodge, or at least ignore, our deep question and instead respond with something that sounds at least ominous, if not threatening?
Maybe, as many commentators suggest, it’s because this is part of the apocalyptic tradition Luke inherits and that animates even his delayed sense of the coming kingdom. Maybe. Or maybe the issue with which Jesus is most interested is something we can actually do something about: repentance.
What I mean is that I suspect – and I think Jesus suspects as well – that in the face of tragedy and calamity and injustice, we often retreat to the “big questions” both to restore a sense of order but also to remove ourselves from any immediate responsibility. Theodicy – those big questions about why bad things happen – not only cannot be answered satisfactorily, but they can be distractions from doing something about the things we can actually influence. Like making sure, to reference the passage at hand, the next time a wall is built, the engineering is better and inspections up to date. Or speaking out against the injustice of a ruler like Pilate. Or, to move to our own time, to join a vigil or march of solidarity with our Muslim neighbors or vote for candidates who forcefully speak against hatred and bigotry.
“Why did this happen?” it’s too easy to ask, wringing our hands as we sit on the sidelines and do nothing, changing nothing, influencing and affecting nothing. Or, like the kids from Parkland protesting gun violence and the youth staging walk outs to draw attention to climate change, we can roll up our sleeves and work for a better future. Because here’s the thing: you don’t have to have answers to big questions to get about making small, but crucial and life-giving, changes right now.
These events – whether in the first or twenty-first century – aren’t ultimately about guilt or punishment or the origin and cause of evil. They are just events, some of which we can’t do much about, while others we can, but what remains is that no amount of discussing or debating the “big questions” helps us get about the things we can influence.
I plan on asking God all kinds of theodicy questions when I get the opportunity – may it not be too soon! But in the meantime – in the very present “now” that is filled by God’s spirit and grace – I’d rather see what impact I can make with the time and gifts I’ve been allotted. Perhaps this is the week, Dear Partner, we invite our folks to join us.
So… Theodicy is a rabbit hole. And we don’t have to go down it. Because we’ve got more important things to do, like loving the people God has placed in our lives, right here, right now.
Thanks for your words and work, Dear Partner, and blessings on your proclamation.
Yours in Christ,
David
PS: Over the years, I’ve written two other times on these passages where I’ve explored a bit more how the parable of the fig tree might play into all this. You can find one on this site entitled “Suffering, the Cross, and the Promise of Love,” and another at Working Preacher on “When Bad Things Happen,” if you’re interested.
Gee, what caught my attention was the grace of another chance for the fruitless tree and the act of the gardener/employee to fertilize the plant. Parables are fun because they can be looked at in so many different ways. In the first verse, Jesus points out the Pilot mingling the blood of Galileans in his sacrifices to pagan gods. And what sacrifice for good came of those who lost their lives when a tower collapsed? Where they better or worse than anyone else? No, Jesus says. Could it be the Lord’s own sacrifice that fertilizes the fruit tree for the final time… a fertilization of love that is often treated as refuse by humanity — but we know in this instance can make a difference in whether or not a plant produces fruit. I dunno… Just playing with the rather strange juxtaposition of Jesus sayings.
Eugene Peterson in his final book, As Kingfishers Catch Fire has a wonderful sermon on the parable of the fig tree. All of them are wonderful — each like a little sabbatical.