A sermon by Jim S. Amstutz '76, Co-Pastor
Akron Mennonite Church
March 11, 2007
Text: Luke 13:1-9
Sometimes a scripture text chooses us. Several weeks ago I reviewed the Lenten scriptures for this Sunday and settled on the Luke text, even though I knew it would be challenging to preach from. As the events at Bluffton unfolded last weekend, I knew that this was a passage that I needed to explore deeply because it was already going deep into me. I grew up in Bluffton, my father worked at the University for 32 years. I graduated from there, worked there, coached there, and have a son who is a student there now. I was in college with David Betts’ parents, John and Joy. Robert Ramseyer, David’s grandfather, was one of my professors at seminary, and his great-grandfather, Lloyd “Prexy” Ramseyer, was a mentor to me in my home church when I was in high school and college. I wrote two sermons this week. One for me, as it just came pouring out, knowing I needed to work through my own stuff; and this one, to share with you.
In his Pulitzer Prize winning novel, The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder tells the fictional story of a famous rope footbridge near Lima, Peru. One day a Franciscan Monk, brother Juniper was near the bridge when it suddenly collapsed, killing five people who were on the bridge at the time. At that moment brother Juniper, instead of saying “ten minutes more and that could have been me!” said “here is an opportunity to investigate why this happened. He asks the timeless question as follows:
“Why did this happen to those five?” If there was any plan in the universe at all, if there were any pattern in a human life, surely it could be discovered mysteriously latent in those lives so suddenly cut off. Either we live by accident and die by accident, or we live by plan and die by plan. And on that instant Brother Juniper made the resolve to inquire into the secret lives of those five persons, that moment falling through the air, and to surprise the reason of their taking off.
It seemed to Brother Juniper that it was high time for theology to take its place among the exact sciences and he had long intended putting it there.
The main part of the novel is the profile of the five victims whose lives all have some common thread of connection. We learn to know their human strengths and weaknesses, their pettiness and sinfulness, their capacity to love and to seek the truth. And so he adds color and flesh and complexity to the tragedy. But the question remains “was there some explanation, either of accidental fate devoid of God’s purview, OR was this somehow all according to a divine plan? Can theology as “exact science” figure out the “why” question? And are these the only two options??
This question is as old as human life itself and our passage from Luke’s gospel today finds Jesus being asked similar questions. In the first instance, Jesus is told of the cruelty of Pilate who evidently killed some Galilean worshippers presumably at Passover, the only Jewish holiday when lay person slaughter their own sacrifices. And since Galileans had a reputation of being rebellious, coming from a borderland territory, Pilate may have exercised his brutal hand swiftly and definitely upon this band of potential rebels. Perhaps they were of the Zealot party seeking the violent overthrow of Rome. But notice how Jesus shifts the focus of the conversation back to those telling Jesus of the deaths and even offers another example:
‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? 3No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. 4Or 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? 5No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.’
So in other words Does God punish us because of our sinfulness? Do people get what they deserve and that punishment comes in appropriate measure according to our level of offense? In both cases Jesus says “No, I tell you.” In the first case the deaths were manmade. In the second, an accidental death when a tower collapsed. Caused by the victim’s guilt? “No, I tell you” says Jesus.
The rest of what Jesus says to those he is addressing, at first is problematic for us. It is a favorite theme of Luke, that of repentance. But let’s step back a bit and look at the book of Luke, written shortly after 70 AD to early Christians, now almost a generation removed from the time of Jesus. For a mixture of Gentile and Jewish converts, 70 AD is when the temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by Rome and a lot of people of faith, both Jews and Christians were wondering just where God was in all of this?
We all remember the ongoing question “Where was God on 9/11?” Like, Jesus, let’s look at the assumptions behind that question. An unspeakable act of violence and destruction happens in New York City, then in Washington, DC and in rural Pennsylvania. We gathered here in the sanctuary on that Tuesday evening, to grieve, to cry, to lament, and to pray. And because of our faith—because of our faith—we also lead those gathered into a collective time of confession and repentance for what has happened. Because of a global perspective, we KNOW that this was not some isolated, random act of violence. We needed to pray for our enemies at that precise moment, because we knew that in many gatherings around the world, our “enemies” were praying for us. This was not about whether God was absent or present, but how to define our faith in the midst of the chaos, and carnage, and catastrophe. Edgar Stoesz from our congregation, helped bring this book “Where Was God on Sept. 11?” into existence—an Anabaptist response to the question on everyone’s mind at the time.
In his brilliant book “A Grace Disguised” Gerald Sittser includes a chapter called “Why NOT me?” If you are not familiar with the book, Sittser waited three years before writing his thoughts and theology about the tragic car accident that claimed the life of his mother, wife and four year old daughter. Many that I have shared this book with say “It’s the only thing that makes any sense” as they work through their own loss and grief.
When we dwell too long with the almost automatic response of “Why me?” we lose perspective. Sittser says that if we look around, and observe the reality of most of the world—of daily hardships, suffering, and tragic and senseless losses—then it is almost arrogant to say “Why me?” The more honest question is “Why NOT me?” In his words:
The accident was really a brief, albeit dramatic, interruption in an otherwise happy, secure, and prosperous life. I am still white, still male, still American, still middle-class, still rich, still employed, still established, still loved. To many people I am even heroic, which is ironic to me, since I have only done what people around the world have been doing for centuries—make the most of a bad situation. So why not me? Can I expect to live an entire lifetime free of disappointment and suffering? Free of loss and pain? The very expectation strikes me as not only unrealistic but also arrogant. (109-110)
Without this global perspective and embrace of life as it really is, often random, unfair, and undeserving, we can easily slip into faith as magic.
In the novel, Thornton Wilder has one eccentric character who is obsessed with the safety and welfare of her only child, her daughter who married and moved away. He says …for what she had lost of religion as faith she had replaced with religion as magic. Magic is defined as saying all the right words in all the right order to effect the desired outcome.
One of my first seminary classes was on the Psalms right here at LTS. I remember so clearly the professor reading to us Psalm 37 followed by Psalm 73. In the first we read of what she called “The magical Assumption of religion.” That is, devote yourself to God and God will protect you. Be a good person and you will be rewarded for that goodness.” But as often happens in the Bible, we don’t stay there in one place. Scripture interprets scripture and by the time we read Psalm 73 the psalmist is in a crisis “Only the wicked prosper. They have no pain, they are in good health, they are trouble free. And me? I’m not doing so well right now.”
Religion as magic is saying all the right words in all the right order so that God will bless us with all the right things. It’s almost a manipulation of God—a very old and persistent temptation—as if it really were up to us.
So what is up to us? Two things from this text give us hope. The first is a word study on the statement of Jesus that he repeats twice to the crowd “but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.” Repent or perish just doesn’t sound like good news to me. For me it sounds like fire and brimstone preaching that leaves not room for grace or human frailty. It’s all about a weeping confession and saving ourselves from the fires of hell. But instead of reacting to or ignoring what Jesus said, I looked a little deeper.
The word for repent, it turns out, is metanoia—a complete change of life, turning your life around, going in a different direction, changing not only your heart in a personal and private way, but your mind, your attitude, your lifestyle, your loyalty, your allegiance. In the novel about the bridge, the common Peruvian parting word was “Go with God.” This sounds like Gospel. Metanoia means “going with God” through life and Jesus is simply saying, at some point if you don’t turn things around, if you don’t ever get around to saying Yes to God, then, well you lose in life.”
The word Perish also means lost, as in chapter 15 of Luke where we hear the parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son. “Lostness” in that more figurative sense means pursuing meaningless endeavors, trifling your life away, going your own way instead of God’s way, and in the end, you end up just as dead as those who Pilate killed or who died when the tower fell on them.
The early Anabaptist saw salvation as this all encompassing way of life turnaround. “No one can truly know Christ unless he follow him in life, and no one can follow him until he first know him.” Nachfolge Christi I believe is the German words for Following Christ.
The second perspective that gives us hope in this difficult text, is the gardener who intercedes on behalf of the unfruitful tree. Fertilizer may help—one more year please! That is grace. God advocates for us and invites us to turn things around and put ourselves in a position to bear fruit.
So I hear Jesus giving us a wakeup call about life, and God and grace. Here is what I mean.
His global view of the world reminds us that “life happens.” Buses crash on highways, spouses die suddenly and unexpectedly, cancer invades our lives, sinful choices made by others affect those who are at the wrong place at the wrong time. God neither prevents nor causes those things. Jesus tells us that that is not how God loves the world. God doesn’t treat us like robots or the world like a machine—God pushing buttons and making things happen. But neither is God absent. We may feel God-forsaken, as Jesus utters from the cross—but that doesn’t mean that we are God forsaken.
What Gerald Sittser learned from his experience is that the hole in his heart, the void left in his life by the tragic loss of his mother, wife, and daughter will never go away. That is not something we ever “get over.” We remember but are not immobilized by it because, he says, we can make room for grace to co-exist along side the loss.
In the end, Brother Juniper could not find a definitive cause for the tragedy of the falling bridge of San Luis Rey. One of the loved ones of those who died, says to another who lost her son,“Now learn, learn at last that anywhere you may expect grace.” And she goes on to say that what bridges this life to those who have died is love.
God’s love bridges the human condition with the divine. As people of faith we grieve not as those who have no hope, but as those who Go with God. We grieve in the context of a community of faith, that pulls itself together around those who find themselves the ones suffering, and we say more by our presence and our actions than by our words “Let us be the church for you. Let us incarnate the love of God for you. Together, we will get through this.”
The late William Sloan Coffin, on the occasion of his 24 year old son’s funeral quotes from Hemmingway. “The world breaks everyone, then some become strong at the broken places.”
On this Lenten Journey through all of life’s joys and deepest sorrows, that we journey through the shadow of death with God walking beside us, leading us, guiding us, waiting patiently for us to catch up.
Rabbi Harold Kushner, who many of us know by his book “Why Bad Things Happen to Good People” written after the death of his 14 year old son from an incurable disease. He latest book is a reflection on the 23rd Psalm. He says that no other passage of scripture has a more calming effect on a grieving crowd, no Psalm in the Hebrew scriptures is used more at Jewish and Christian funerals than this one. I invite us to recite this as our closing word.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
May it be so for us. AMEN
