Tag Archives: Parable

What Love Looks Like

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A Sermon for 14 July 2019 – 5th Sunday after Pentecost

A reading from the gospel of Luke 10:25-37. It’s claimed that this is one of the most familiar stories told by Jesus. Listen for God’s word to us.

“Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” 27 The lawyer answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 And Jesus said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” 29 But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ 36 Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” 37 The lawyer said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.’”

This is the word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God!

 

A prayer entitled Common Prayer goes like this – perhaps you’ve heard it before. “There are only two feelings. Love and fear. There are only two languages. Love and fear. There are only two activities. Love and fear. There are only two motives, two procedures, two frameworks, two results. Love and fear. Love and fear.” (by Leunig, quoted in books and speeches by Alan Jones).

Love and fear. We know what they look like, right?

Fear looks like eyes down on the sidewalk in front of us. Hugging in as we pick up the pace just a little bit. No matter what’s up over there. Don’t make eye contact as we just keep on walking by on the other side of the road.

Fear looks like accusations from a pulpit – or podium. Speech dripping in disdain. Hateful words spit into a microphone or spewed online that only insight further dis-trust. Anger. Violence.

Fear looks like keeping ourselves separated. Safely hunkered down among our own kind. And don’t anyone dare challenge our current way of thinking by coming up close with their true personhood. The story of their own struggles, pains, hopes. We prefer our worldview just the way it already is, thank you very much!

Fear looks like worry. Hands wringing about whatever situation has arisen. Pacing the floor. Anxiety rising because what if this one mistake. This one incident. This one episode brings it all tumbling down?

Fear looks like giving up. Not trying something new because we’re too set in our own ways. Too preoccupied by other things. Too tired to even try again.

A 2018 Christian pop rock song puts it this way: “Fear is a liar.” Listen to these beautiful lyrics: “When he told you you’re not good enough. When he told you you’re not right. When he told you you’re not strong enough to put up a good fight. When he told you you’re not worthy. When he told you you’re not loved. When he told you you’re not beautiful. That you’ll never be enough. . . . When he told you were troubled. You’ll forever be alone. When he told you you should run away. You’ll never find a home. When he told you you were dirty and you should be ashamed. When he told you you could be the one that grace could never change. Fear, he is a liar. He will take your breath. Stop you in your steps. Fear he is a liar. He will rob your rest. Steal your happiness. Cast your fear in the fire. ‘Cause fear he is a liar” (“Fear is a Liar,” from Chain Breaker; written by Jason Ingram, Zach Williams, Jonathan Lindley Smith. © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Essential Music Publishing).

And love? Love looks like a story I read this week – a story much like the one once told by Jesus that the gospel of Luke alone records. A parable of Jesus, which tells us that whether or not Jesus actually ever saw such a story take place, it is true. Parables are deeply true so that we should recognize the characters. The circumstances. The twists and turns of the plot from the days and nights of our own lives. Like three different men each having an opportunity to stop. To help another left as good as dead on the side of a dangerous, desert road.

In Caravan of No Despair: A Memoir of Loss and Transformation, Mirabai Starr writes of the time her father called her up to see if she wanted to head over the boarder with her hippie, free-loving momma and her mother’s new boyfriend. Teenage Mirabai was getting over her first heart-break so she agreed. Her father dropped her off at the Mexican border just a few miles from the commune where her parents had moved Mirabai and her two siblings after the death of the oldest, then-nine year old son, Matty. Away Mirabai, her mother, and Ramón raced to the find the isolated beach on which the family lived for six months after Matty’s death. Life along Mexican beaches had changed by then, so a campsite would suffice. The story’s a little racy, because Mirabai writes that “mom and her lover proceeded to explore their relationship” (p. 40) while Mirabai sat on the beach reading and writing love poems to the boy who just had broken her heart. Topless, her mother and Ramón sat smoking a joint on the beach. Before the night was over, Mirabai would have to negotiate their way out of arrest by the Mexican police patrolling the beach who did not at all approve of what they found going on at the campsite. The next day, after some big fight between her mother and Ramón; Mirabai’s mother ended up – let’s just say, in a drug-induced state that left her racing down the beach until she suddenly disappeared. When Mirabai finally caught up to where she last had seen her mother, she saw a high bluff off of which her mother had fallen only to be laying in excruciating pain down below. Mirabai was only fourteen when suddenly the fate of her mother lay in her own hands. Somehow she got herself down the embankment, then back up it with her mother — only to find her mother unable to walk. Something was drastically wrong.

Earlier in the week, Mirabai had found a cantina far down the beach. It was late in the night when at last Mirabai managed to get her mother there. Mirabai explained to the elderly Mexican gentleman standing in the cantina that her mother had fallen down a bluff – her foot was growing larger and more purple by the second. We can see why Mirabai helped – even if she was pushing all the boundaries of acceptable mother behavior, the woman who had fallen over the bluff was her mother. As I read the story, I couldn’t help but wonder if the man in the cantina noticed her mother’s blood-shot, stoned eyes. Suddenly this free-loving American was being dragged to him – their only shot at hope in the middle of the night on that vacant Mexican beach. Almost as quickly as Mirabai had gotten to work to rescue her whimpering mother, the man at the cantina got under her mother’s arm and led them to a small table. He ensured her legs got propped – and took a closer look at the balloon expanding where once a foot had been. Mirabai insisted they needed a doctor – unfortunately, they no longer had any money or their car because those were negotiated away the day before in order to keep the three from being put in jail when the police came up upon their illegal activity on the beach. The man explained there would be no getting a doctor in the middle of the night. Then, almost like he’d known these two strangers his whole life long; he helped them out back to his little beach hut. Getting Mirabai’s mother settled in his own, only bed; he said he’d sleep the night in the hammock between the trees. If they needed anything, Mirabai was to come get him – which she did when the pain got so bad. It was then the man offered a bottle of tequila to at least get the woman to sleep. When morning at last broke, Mirabai was able to find Ramón whose friend drove them back to the cantina. The friend tried to pay the elderly gentleman for tending the two through the night, but the man of the cantina refused to take any payment. Instead, Mirabai reports, “he helped us load Mom into the car, kissed the top of her head, and asked God to bless us all” (pp. 40-46).

Love looks like strangers in need being treated as kin – so they make it through the darkest night.

Love looks like holding what we have freely so that we’re willing and ready to share.

Love looks like carrying one who has fallen until they can walk on their own again.

Love looks like waiting with another in pain – even if there’s nothing we can do to make that pain stop.

Love even looks like offering another the blessing of God when they’ve messed up and don’t deserve it at all.

Once, a lawyer wanted to test Jesus – we hear from the gospel of Luke. He wanted to know how to have Life – eternal Life, which is Life in full here and now and forever yet to be. He knew the rules – love God and neighbor as yourself. But he didn’t quite understand that Life’s not at all a bunch of rules we’re supposed to follow. Life is putting love in action in order to experience God. For, as one source reminds: when we let go of fear, we are touched by God” (paraphrase of EnneaThought for the Day, The Enneagram Institute, 8 July 2019). When we Love, we know God. We Live!

May those with ears to hear, understand. May we choose love and Live.

In the name of the life-giving Father, the life-redeeming Son, and the life-sustaining Spirit, Amen.

© Copyright JMN – 2019 (All rights reserved.)

Clash of the Generations

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A Sermon for 18 September 2016

A reading from the gospel of Luke 16:1-13. And just a warning in advance: this really is one of Jesus’ more confusing parables. One commentator writes about this text: “A parable is a grassroots lesson connecting the ordinariness of life with the extraordinary nature of God. Parables usually are gifts of clear insight into God’s choices for our lives. However, this parable is difficult to read and difficult to preach. The reader is oftentimes left to struggle for meaning, just as the preacher struggles to interpret. Both end up frustrated” (Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 4, Helen Montgomery Debevoise, p. 92). In other words, get ready to join me in how I’ve felt all week about preparing a sermon on this text! . . . Another commentator writes of this text: “None of the parables of Jesus has baffled interpreters quite like the story of the dishonest steward (or is he better labeled ‘the shrewd manager’ or ‘the prudent treasurer’?). The story is clearly set in a context in which wealth is of paramount importance” (Ibid., Charles B. Cousar, p. 93). That part seems clearest in this text – the admonition at the end, which scholars believe to be a move on the part of the gospel’s author. The thought there is that the parable was floating around along with a bunch of other sayings folks had heard from Jesus. And when the gospel story was being written down, the author decided the parable needed the saying from Jesus about wealth and God to follow it. Maybe the text came to us in that way. We don’t really know. What we do know is that we have a puzzling parable before us today. Hold on, and if you find yourself saying: HUH? It’s ok! Just listen for the word of God to us in a reading of Luke 16:1-13. And remember this comes right after the gospel of Luke’s unique parables about the Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, and the Lost Brothers – also called the Prodigal Son. Listen:

“Then Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.’ So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, sit down quickly, and make it fifty.’ Then he asked another, ‘And how much do you owe?’ He replied, ‘A hundred containers of wheat.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill and make it eighty.’ And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly; for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes. Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much; and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much. If then you have not been faithful with the dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches? And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own? No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.’”

This is the word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God!

 

Did you hear that the new season of Survivor begins this Wednesday? If you’re a fan, record it so you still can come to our gospel of Luke Wednesday night study! I’ve never watched the show. But I think it’s a whole competition to be the last one standing – avoid being the one voted off the island. Survive to the end and you get a bunch of money, I guess. This new season it’s the Millennials versus the Gen Xers. And it’s got me thinking about the clash of the generations. While many Presbyterian Churches really don’t have among them a whole lot of people born after 1964 and before the turn of the 21st Century in the year 2000, the two generations of those who are between eighteen and fifty comprise about 43% of the total population of the United States (www.marketingcharts.com). We’d do well to know something about them. The Millennials are slightly larger as a generation than are the Gen Xers – so they’ll have the numbers advantage in this upcoming season of Survivor. Each generation has its own flare – based upon general worldview, societal realities in their most formative years, and lived values passed on through their parents. Well, these are the first two generations of U.S. adults who primarily experienced two working parents in their household – if they still had two parents in their household. Their parents’ and older siblings’ anti-authority push of the 1960s was ancient history for these two generations. The Millennials are the first generation to grow up experiencing the realities of school shootings – mass violence at the hands of their peers so that factors like bullying, mental illness, gun-control laws, and other realities coming to light in their formative years (like sex-scandals, harassment, and college campus rape cases). All of this significantly shapes the way they understand the world. The way they view the institution of the church, and how they choose to connect with God. . . . Rachel Held Evans, the blogger who is the author of the book we’re about to study for Home Book Club, describes herself as “having one foot in generation X” while “identifying most strongly with the attitudes and ethos of the millennial generation” (Searching for Sunday, p. xii-xiii). Thanks to the 1992 de-regulations regarding marketing to children, about millennials Evans writes: “We millennials have been advertised to our entire lives, so we can smell (BLEEP) from a mile away” (Ibid., xiv). Millennials demand authenticity. Gen Xers pretty much want it too. Both generations tend to be drawn more to what they are for rather than what they are against. Millennials seem to be a bit more optimistic about life than many Gen Xers do, and for the most part are more ready to throw themselves into working together to make a positive impact in the world. Gen Xers and Millennials alike all were born after postmodernism began – the movement that stepped outside of the box, was more comfortable with AND rather than OR so that pluralism became an expected norm, and wasn’t about to buy into top-down authoritarian anything. Grassroots is a typical term for Gen X and Millennial adults – not only because formation from within tends to be their way, but also because sustainability of the earth is a crucial value for them. In fact, most of them have grown up believing earth to be only one significant part of this universe thanks to the readily-available-on-the-internet photos of it all from the Hubble Space Telescope. For the most part, Gen Xers and Millennials aren’t all that interested in the sweet by and by. If they’re not dreaming about how to make it to Mars or beyond, they’re focused on the ground under their feet and the community that will accept them to provide a stable sense of belonging in the chaotic world into which they were born and in which they continue to live. . . . I’m not about to watch, but it’s bound to be a very interesting season of Survivor!

Jesus presents a clash of generations too. Here in the gospel of Luke he paints a picture of the generation of this eon – or the shrewd children of this age – and the children of light – who he seems to call here the overly-naïve generation of those following him. The text points to the clash of those chasing wealth against those chasing the ways of God. It’s hard for us to believe, as the parable seems to state, that Jesus would want us to embrace practices of securing dishonest wealth. When the squandering manager realizes he’s about to be fired; he indebts the rich man’s debtors not only to himself but also to the rich man. While still in the role of representing the rich man, the manager decreases their debts in what surely seems to them an act of great generosity. The debtors now may see the rich man as one who cares about them. And as the agent of that kindness, the debtors now owe the manager a favor – which he hopes will secure him somewhere to go when the boss cuts him loose – brilliant really as everyone seems a winner in the end. But it sounds like Jesus is saying the end justifies the means – the sneaky, conniving-to-save-his-own-skin act is something that shouldn’t irksomely rub against our sense of right and wrong. Is this parable really promoting that we act likewise?

We forget the backdrop of the story. The Pharisees are within earshot – at least according to verse fourteen of chapter sixteen. The gospel records: “The Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all this, and they ridiculed him. So Jesus said to them: ‘You are those who justify yourselves in the sight of others; but God knows your hearts; for what is prized by human beings is an abomination in the sight of God’” (Luke 16:14-15). While it seems this parable is addressed to Jesus’ disciples, clearly some are present who are squandering what was entrusted to them. Maybe they really care about the little guy getting a break in the eyes of the rich man. But it sounds a whole lot more like they’re just putting first their own desires for wealth, power, and security – even if they have to align themselves, as was happening in Jesus’ day, with the powers-that-be in Rome. Is it possible that Jesus is trying to expose the ways of the children of this age while teaching a lesson to the children of the light? Is this parable supposed to confound us so that we find ourselves going right along with Jesus as he speaks until we have to perk our ears because he suddenly sounds like an unexpected trickster? Is he backhandedly saying you can put your hope in securing your own wealth, or you can put your hope in God? You can take on the values of the ways of this world, or you can stay true to being light in the darkest places?

It’s clear we cannot put our energies to both ways. There’s a Cherokee legend of two wolves battling within. The legend goes that a grandfather is trying to teach his grandson about life. He tells him: “’A fight is going on inside me.’ . . . ‘It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One (wolf) is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.’ He continued: ‘the other (wolf) is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.’” The grandfather wisely states: “’The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person too.’ The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, ‘Which wolf will win?’” The story goes that “The old Cherokee simply replied, ‘The one you feed.’” (http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TwoWolves-Cherokee.html).

We cannot feed our striving for the accumulation of wealth, as is typical of the children of this age, and our striving for the ways of God. With the ways of God growing in us, we share when we see someone in need. We welcome the stranger. We walk alongside those going through any kind of need just so they know they are not alone and they will make it through. Maybe we need to get a little bit wiser in dealing with the powers-that-be around us. After all, there really are those who starve the good wolf in them while sumptuously feeding the other wolf that also is in us all. Maybe the children of the light need to wake up to that. To open our eyes to see what too often is right before us. Maybe the most important thing we need to know is that the clash is real. Children who live for the Light walk differently. They live differently. They feed in themselves the way of joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. They seek first to serve the One we know in Jesus the Christ. And in so doing, we are welcomed here and now, and forever, by an incredibly Gracious Master.

In this we can trust.

In the name of the life-giving Father, the life-redeeming Son, and the life-sustaining Spirit, Amen.

 

© Copyright JMN – 2016  (All rights reserved.)

 

“The Fruitful Interruption”

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A Sermon for 28 February 2016 – Third Sunday of Lent

A reading from the gospel of Luke 13:1-9. I know it may seem like we’re going in reverse order as we move back to the first verses of chapter 13 today. The lectionary takes us on an interesting gospel-ride during this season of Lent. Though we’ve already considered what happens after it with a warning from some Pharisees regarding Herod’s growing disdain for Jesus, Jesus has been preaching up a storm. And, according to the gospel of Luke, the crowds have been getting bigger and bigger and bigger. Suddenly, the following takes place. . . . Listen for God’s word to us.

“At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. Jesus asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or 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; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.’ Then he told this parable: ‘A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, “See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?” He replied, “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.”’ ”

This is the word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God!

 

I still remember the night in fifth grade Wednesday night bible school when our class had a substitute teacher. If you’re in school now, or if you still recall such days; then maybe you know what often happens in classes with substitute teachers. . . . That night, we did everything as a group of slightly obnoxious fifth graders, to throw off our substitute teacher. He was the new pastor from the Presbyterian Church in the small community down the road from ours. We had never met him before. He was young and wound just a bit too tight, which made him fresh meat for our sharp-minded class. That night, something came over four of us in particular. For the better part of the hour, we had his head swimming with our what if interruptions. He was getting more and more frustrated, because he just wanted to get through the lesson. We sensed it. We kept on firing off questions until he finally threw up his hands in anger and drew a firm line in the sand. He wasn’t budging. We knew we had got to him. He never returned to sub for us again. I’m not proud of the incident, but I certainly learned that night how a group quickly can lead a teacher off course.

In our text for today, Jesus gets interrupted. Thousands have gathered to hear him teach. They’ve come to soak in his words like thirsty sponges. And it’s good stuff. “Beware of the yeast of the phonies” (Luke 12:1). “Don’t worry about your life, what you will eat . . . or wear . . . but strive for God’s kingdom and you’ll get the rest as well” (Luke 12:22, 31). “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded” (Luke 12:48). Jesus was out there preaching with impressive passion. He was proclaiming the providing love of God. Then – someone abruptly interjects, “Hey Jesus, have you heard about the Galileans Pilate killed while they worshipped?” . . . Now, this is one of those totally off the wall comments that seemingly has nothing to do with the topic at hand – at least not in anyone else’s mind but the one who spoke it. A whole lot of teachers would react by laughing off the interrupter. Some might ignore the comment all together. Others might shame the person into silence. Substitutes often end up totally frustrated. Not Jesus. Instead he goes with it. Perhaps seeing it as a perfect opportunity to further his point – even if the example provokes anxiety in other listeners.

You see, the common conviction of the day was that suffering was a sign of God’s displeasure. The whole system of Greco-Roman gods – which was the system of belief held by many of the Gentiles of Jesus’ day – their beliefs were based on it. They believed the gods to be moody entities who needed to be appeased by the little people whom they had created for their own whims. Jesus’ response to his interrupter leads us to believe that the one asking implied that those Galileans must have been really bad. Why else would such a sacrilegious end have come to them – being slain by Rome’s puppet Pilate while they offered sacrifices in Jerusalem’s Temple? The interrupter imagines that those Galileans must have done something wrong. Something that transgressed so badly that they were brought to such a horrible, abrupt, end. . . . We know about such rationing because it’s still found around us today. Too often people blame the victim for whatever circumstance befalls. Remember after 9/11, when a nationally-known preacher said that the catastrophe was God’s judgment on us for becoming the perverse nation he believed we had become. Then a few years back when Haiti had that terrible earthquake, remember the retired professional athlete who posted on his blog that the Haitians deserved what they got because they lived in such rubble to begin with? Layers of ignorance ooze from sentiments like these. We know better than to believe that such suffering is a mark of wretched sinfulness. . . . Now, don’t get me wrong: we do bring plenty of pain upon ourselves and the rest of our world – awful actions about which God has warned. Hildegard, the infamous German mystic, theologian, healer, artist, musician, and church reformer of the Twelfth Century, was saying all the way back then that the natural world will not tolerate human beings living out of balance with it. We’ve had plenty of experiences in the past twenty years to show us how true Hildegard’s Twelfth Century wisdom is. But it’s not God doing anything to us as punishment. . . . Jesus beautifully takes the interruption as a time to correct the popular, though off-base, notion. The truth is that bad stuff happens – to anyone and everyone. Sometimes Galileans get slaughtered – it’s no fault of their own. Sometimes a tower of the city wall suddenly collapses; as Jesus pointed out about another innocent eighteen. They didn’t bring it on themselves. It’s not like that. Sometimes suffering just happens – it’s not punishment from God and it’s not due to a person’s sinfulness.

Not only does Jesus grab the gift given by those who interrupted his preaching, but he also uses the time to re-direct those with ears to hear. He launches into his favorite teaching method. He begins to tell a story. The one about the fig tree. . . . Once upon a time there was a tree – a fig tree. It was planted in a vineyard for the purpose of – well bearing figs, of course. Why else are fig trees planted? So there’s the tree. Summer turns to winter. Winter to spring. Three years the tree matures. However, there’s one problem. The tree is trouble. Not once does it do what it’s intended to do. Three years; no fruit! Now most fig farmers are pretty decent people. They’re patient and persistent. But three years – three fruitless harvests is a long time. If you’re not one to work the land, then imagine your car. If, for instance, we had a car that for three years wouldn’t work; well, no doubt about it: we’d sell it in an instant. Now when we take it in to get rid of it and the car man says, “Wait; let me tighten a hose or two. Add some oil. Maybe even give it a new gallon of gas.” Before we’d buy another, it’d make sense to see if we could get the old one running. Who among us wouldn’t give it a chance? . . . The owner of the fig tree allows another year. Hoping that perhaps this will be the remedy. The tree finally will bear fruit.

That’s Jesus’ message: come on guys. Bear fruit! After all, it’s why you exist. How many years are you foolishly going to let the fig farmer find you fruitless? It’s like he’s trying to wake them up. Don’t waste a single moment. Especially in light of the Galilean tragedy, bear fruit NOW. . . . Someone tries to throw off Jesus with the horrifying story of a group of Galileans being murdered as they worship and Jesus just seizes the opportunity to vividly remind us that we have absolutely no idea. Life – at least on earth – is fleeting. We’re not guaranteed tomorrow, or the next day, or another year. BUT. We do have this moment. This exact instant to be as we are meant to be. To bear the fruit God wants from us. To birth LIFE into the world with our every breath, through every word, every deed.

I hope you noticed that Jesus’ parable is unfinished. “Let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down . . .” (Luke 13:9). That’s it. Here ends our reading of the Word of God. . . . I want to know what happened to that fig tree, don’t you? I mean, I wish Jesus would’ve told us. After the gardener tended it; a year later. Did it make it? Was all well and good? Or did this unproductive little tree find itself fatefully falling to the ground? He never said. That’s the beauty of parables. . . . The answer is up to us. We are left to write the ending. . . . The answer is up to us: what are we going to do with this very moment? Today? Will we bear fruit or not?

In the name of the life-giving Father, the life-redeeming Son, and the life-sustaining Spirit, Amen.

© Copyright JMN – 2016  (All rights reserved.)