Tonight’s Gospel features one of my favorite words :
“repent.” I don’t like this word when people shout it at other people in the
street; I don’t like this word when it’s used to flay others into guilt, when
it’s just a way of saying “You’re bad.”
But repentance isn’t really like that at all!
Contrition and penitence are feelings of sorrow or
conviction for the wrong we’ve done. But repentance doesn’t stop there—repentance
follows this acknowledgement with a turn towards the right thing, the good
thing—towards God. When we repent, we stop doing one thing and start doing
something better. I like this word, “repent,” because I know I can trust the
God we’re turning towards. I know that when we repent, we can say with the
Psalmist, You have been my helper, and under the shadow of your wings I will
rejoice.
Our reading from Luke starts off with a cryptic statement
about Pilate and some Galileans. Bishop N. T. Wright explains that some
Galilean pilgrims had been offering sacrifices in the Temple
in Jerusalem.
Pilate—perhaps fearing rebellion or a riot—had ordered in the troops and had them
killed. Jesus immediately dismisses the idea that these Galileans deserved this
sudden and violent death, or that it was a punishment of some sort. Jesus turns
these sudden deaths towards his listeners—“unless you repent, you will all
perish just as they did.” Commentator Luke Timothy Johnson says Jesus’s point
is that “death itself, with the judgment of God, is always so close. It can
happen when engaged in ritual. It can happen standing under a wall. And when it
happens so suddenly, there is no time to repent.” This repentance is “not
simply a turning from sin, but an acceptance of the visitation of God in the
proclamation of God’s kingdom.”
This is certainly one motivation to repent. If we keep in
mind that any day may be our last, why would we waste time?! If our time here
is short and fragile, certainly NOW is the time to ask for forgiveness from
those you’ve hurt, to set things right with those you love, to start treating
every person you meet with the dignity they deserve, to spend your time and
energy on the things that actually matter.
I’m a nervous, worrying person, and this awareness of the
fragility of my life has always been a strong motivator. But I found after a
while that if this is your only motivation, it runs you down quick. It might
get you sprinting, it might quicken your pulse, but if you end up living a
marathon rather than a sprint, this fear of death might turn you bitter,
instead of helping you live a holy and Godly life. Fear only goes so far.
Luckily, the second half of our reading from Luke holds
another, longer-burning motivation for repentance. At first glance, it seems
like this is another threat-filled story—our attention is definitely caught by
those three words, “Cut it down!”
But I think that this parable shows the mystery of God’s
righteousness and love. I think God is the vineyard owner, but God is also the
gardener.
God looks at us and knows fully our pettiness, every hidden
place where we are crooked and thorny, our nastiness, our dismissiveness, our
small and petty cruelties. God sees all of this. And God says, This is not good
enough. What have you done with all the sunlight and good soil and care, to
produce these dry branches? We’re like the Israelites who Paul talks about in
First Corinthians, who take the gifts and guidance of God and then—because
they’re human—keep messing up.
But see, God is also the gardener, who says, Give her
another year. In fact, I think God says this year after year—Give her another
year. He knows where we have hidden new
roots, new branches, new leaves which we can’t even see in ourselves. He sees
somewhere a capacity for generosity, giving without expectation of receiving. He
sees that we can be patient and kind; we can be self-controlled, and at peace. And
he sees, most importantly, that we can learn to love others even as he loves
us—selflessly, entirely, joyfully. We look at ourselves and see the dried tree
which gives no fruit; God sees that, but sees also what we might become, if we
accept his love and help.
And THIS is in fact the best motivation to repent: God’s
relentless compassion, his mercy.
This mercy and compassion is like the burning bush which
Moses sees—strange, and apparently impossible. God’s mercy and compassion are
so unexpected and wonderful that they draw us away from our usual paths, and
closer to God’s flame.
And caught in his flame, how could we not change? As we’re
drawn closer to him, we give up things that are not good enough for God. We
give up things, and God takes them away, and the line between each gesture is
sometimes blurred, so that we can’t tell where our will and God’s mysterious
action interact exactly. As we come closer to God, these things are burnt away,
discarded like Moses’s sandals. This is the mystery of sanctification, the
lifelong process of being sanctified, made holy by and for God’s glory.
This is fantastic!
ReplyDelete