Not Why, But Who

Text: Luke 13:1-9

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            We have a thirst to know why. From the time we’re children, one of the questions we learn to ask over and over again is “Why?” And often, this is good. It helps us dig deeper into the workings of this wonderful creation in which we live. It helps us understand these bodies God gave us. It helps us appreciate with ever deepening wonder the creative hand of God in the art and machinery of the universe. It’s the reason learning is a joy and discovery is thrilling.

            But one of the most frustrating things about being mortal and finite is that we cannot always learn the why behind everything. We can go back to that example of a child asking “Why?” repeatedly. It doesn’t take us long until we run out of answers. We hit the bottom layer of our understanding and aren’t able to go any further in our explanation of why something is the way it is.

            So when we approach the question of “Why did this happen?” or more specifically, “Why did God let this happen?” we can hit a wall pretty quickly. This is especially true if it’s something bad that’s happened. It doesn’t matter if it’s in our personal lives or current events, moments in history or looming shadows over the present and future; or if it’s some overlap between all those. Whatever it is, we’re prone to ask “Why?” much like a child. We’re also going to hit an end to that repeated question of why something has happened the way it has.

            This was the question behind the question that the people asked Jesus about in our Gospel reading today. There were some present in the crowd who wanted to ask Jesus about current events and what it meant for them. Pontius Pilate had given the order that some Galileans who were in Jerusalem for one of the annual required sacrifices were to be killed. Galilee was known as something of a hotbed for rebellious talk and activity. The Galileans who were killed by Pilate’s orders were likely known as rebels or troublemakers. But what really horrified the people asking Jesus about this violence was what happened during the bloodshed resulting in their deaths. As they were killed, the Galileans’ blood was mingled with the blood of their animal sacrifices. This essentially meant that they were offering human blood on the altar—something which God had commanded them to never do under any circumstances. But with their dying breath, that’s what was happening, with no chance to take it back or offer right sacrifices as a way to cover this abomination. So, the people were wondering, what was the fate of these Galileans? Why did this happen to them?

            We can understand where they’re coming from with a question like this. Whether it’s about suicide and not have having the chance to repent of it before death, or if it’s a question about someone who’s mind has been broken by dementia in the last days of their lives, we all want that straight line, simple explanation. This happened because of that. The result of this action is that punishment. The Galileans did this, they poked the bear, they took matters into their own hands; therefore, they got that. This was their status when the clock ran out, offering a human sacrifice to the God who commanded them not to, so they end up there. We want those answers in straight, clean lines because it helps us judge our own status.

            But Jesus will not allow such short line, merely mortal thinking. When those asking Him about those dark current events think they might have a handle on the why of the situation, Jesus ups the ante. He moves the conversation from the Galileans being murdered by Pilate to something even harder to decipher. Recently a tower had collapsed and ended up killing eighteen innocent bystanders. That wasn’t a matter of bad things happening to people who might not-so-secretly deserve it. Now it’s a matter of tragedy striking like lightning out of the clear blue sky. Jesus lumps these events together so that now it’s a question of all bad things happening to all people, whether others think they might deserve it or not.

            Why? That’s the question behind the question. “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans, because they suffered in this way? Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them: do you think they were worse offenders than all the others who lived in Jerusalem?” We want to know the why—why did this happen? But Jesus does not give us a reason. He won’t peel back the next layer of knowledge. He doesn’t explain why bad things happen to good—or bad—people. Besides, even if we had a reason, would we be satisfied with it? Would it be the last why that’s answered? Of course not. Even if we know the why behind it, we would still try to offer up self-justifications for why we didn’t deserve it. We would still try to explain to God why we earned better, why He owed us something nicer, why that other person is actually a much worse person than us.

            Jesus knows our fallen knack for self-justification, so He points us in another direction entirely. When we observe tragedy, whether it’s in our own life or the lives of others, He tell us to repent. “Do you think these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans, because they suffered in this way? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish. Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them: do you think they were worse offenders than all the others who lived in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.” Jesus tells us to repent, to get outside of yourself and your little self-justifications, to throw away your tally of rights and wrongs you’ve done, your record of who’s better or worse, who deserves what. Instead, recognize your need for salvation. Recognize your mortality, that you can likewise perish, your life can end and then what good will your recordkeeping be? Instead, repent, remember you are dust and to dust you shall return. Look to no one but Jesus for forgiveness, life, and salvation.

            To that point, Jesus follows up this lesson with a parable. There’s a certain vineyard owner has a fig tree in his vineyard, but the fig tree won’t produce any fruit. He gives the order for it to be cut down. But the vinedresser says that he should give it another year. In the meantime, the vinedresser will work on the tree, digging around it to aerate the soil, fertilize it, and then they’ll see what it does. The parable is easy enough to track: God is the landowner, Jesus is the vinedresser, you are the fig tree. Rather than trying to point out why it’s OK you’re not producing fruit or how much worse the other fig trees are doing, instead recognize that the vinedresser is working on you. He’s digging around you, nurturing you, pruning you. He’s enriching you with His Word of wisdom, with the waters of your baptism, with the healthy nourishment of the Lord’s Supper. He’s giving you time to do as His prophets have said and bear fruits of repentance. So call out for those things that will make you grow and bear fruit, that is, doing those deeds that are pleasing to God and beneficial for your neighbor.

            The vinedresser is working on you. He’s done more than you could have imagined. He was nailed to the dead tree of the cross so that it would become a tree of life for you. He’s sharing the fruits of that cross, His body and blood, so that you would be enlivened, nurtured, bearing fruit when and where He wills. Look not to the why for a satisfying answer and instead look to the who. Look to Jesus. In the name of Jesus, the Crucified One. Amen.