March 23, 2013 Luke 19:28-40 NRSV

Luke 19:28-40 NRSV

Jesus went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem.

When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany,

at the place called the Mount of Olives,

he sent two of the disciples, saying,

"Go into the village ahead of you,

and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden.

Untie it and bring it here.

If anyone asks you,

'Why are you untying it?'

just say this,

'The Lord needs it'"

So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them.

As they were untying the colt,

its owners asked them,

"Why are you untying the colt?"

They said,

"The Lord needs it."

Then they brought it to Jesus;

and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it.

As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road.

As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives,

the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully

with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,

"Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!

Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!"

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus,

"Teacher, order your disciples to stop."

He answered,

"I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out."

***

Did you notice something missing from this scripture? It is Palm Sunday and Luke’s

scripture does not mention palms. It doesn’t even say, “leafy branches,” like Mark’s gospel. Instead people lay their cloaks on the road. They lay their cloaks on the clot, and then, “as Jesus rode along people kept spreading their cloaks on the road.” Can you imagine this dirty, dusty, road, covered like a quilt with a patchwork of colored, textured, cloth? Can you imagine the people all lined up for the parade and one by one removing their jacket and placing it on the next open spot of dirt? Can you imagine Jesus coming down the road, seeing a kaleidoscope of color leading the way into Jerusalem? Can you imagine his donkey clod-ding along with softness under its feet? Can you imagine the people watching to see if the donkey stepped on the their jacket? I have never imagined this before, perhaps because it is Palm Sunday, not Cloak Sunday. Palms seem so much more reasonable.

I imagine the people picking up their cloaks after Jesus and his colt have stomped over

them. I imagine the dirt packed into the material in the shape of hoof prints. I imagine the

scrubbing to be done. Palms seem so much more reasonable. Other scriptures describe the people cutting down the leafy branches from the fields and taking down branches of palm trees. I have seen many palm trees, and I have never like palm trees. The part I don’t like is all the dead branches hanging down, brown and crisp, like blossoms never deadheaded, like a bouquet both dead and alive. I imagine I would like the palm trees more after Jesus went by. Their trunks would be cleaned of their mess. Likewise the people would have placed before Jesus something already used, something that did not have to be cleaned afterward, something that regenerates on Benigni's own. Palms seem like the sensible solution. Perhaps thats why we call it Palm Sunday, not Cloak Sunday, Palms are more reasonable.

Yet, I think Jesus wasn’t about reasonable. I think that is what he was trying to tell us last

week with Mary’s perfume. We will always have Palms, we will always have perfume, but we will not always have Jesus. It is our one chance.

There is a scene in the movie, Life is Beautiful, where Roberto Benigni's character is

attempting to court an engaged woman. She has been to the Opera with her fiancé’ and Robert Benigni steals the finance’s car and swings around to pick her up. She gets in and begins talking without looking at the driver. The driver cannot see the road and asks how to turn on the wipers. Then she turns and sees it Roberto, not her fiancé, and sees only rain out the window, she screams, the car hits something and breaks down. Roberto says he did not know how to drive, but he wanted to see her. They get out of the car in the pouring rain and in the back seat, of course, is a tasseled red velvet cushion on a stick, which he hands her as an umbrella. She steps out of the car and he reaches in the back seat again and pulls out a giant red carpet. In the rain he throws it out in front of her and it cascades down steps and beyond. He holds her hand to steady her and they walk together, her fancy black opera heels on the red carpet in the rain. It seems so frivolous, the car crashed, the rug ruined, her dress a wet mess, but it makes sense because you can see Roberto’s love by the abundance he shows.

Perhaps Jerusalem was like that. Perhaps the people knew their time was running out,

Jesus had an engagement with a cross, a date with death, and it was their one chance to see him. Like groupies at a concert they are throwing onto the stage the clothes on their backs, to be signed by the hoof prints of a colt, that one day they might say, Jesus stepped on my jacket, the dust and mud still caked on, a memory imprinted. When I think about it like that, when I think about it like Robert Benni showing his love in the midst of a rainstorm, I know just the cloak. It was my great Aunt Nancy’s and it is cream colored silk with embroidery and beading, and inside it is lined with pink. There has been no occasion in Baker City to wear it, but if Jesus was riding into town I would lay it down because it is fit for a king. I would lay it down because as our King journeys to the cross, if I could do but one thing to show my love, and to soften his approach to death I would do it, not with something reasonable like a palm branch, but the only thing reasonable for Jesus, the best I have.

It’s Cloak Sunday. Jesus is riding into to town. On Friday he will be dead. Today may be

the last day you see him alive. What are you willing to lay down? How are you going to show him a wild abundance of love? What is the best you have? It’s Cloak Sunday, Hosannah Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.

March 17, 2013 JOHN 11: 1 -3, 17, 31 - 35, 38 - 43, and JOHN 12:1-8

JOHN 11: 1 -3, 17, 31 - 35, 38 - 43, and JOHN 12:1-8

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Now a man named Lazarus was sick.

He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha.

(This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.)

So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”

On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days.

When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her,

noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there.

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him,

she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping,

he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.

“Where have you laid him?” he asked.

“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.

Jesus wept.

Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb.

It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance.

“Take away the stone,” he said.

“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

So they took away the stone.

Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me.

I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here,

that they may believe that you sent me.”

43 When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”

The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.

Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

JOHN 12:1-8

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany,

the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.

There they gave a dinner for him.

Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.

Mary took a pint of costly perfume made of pure nard,

anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair.

The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples

(the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor? It is worth a years wages."

(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief;

he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.)

Jesus said, "Leave her alone.

She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.

You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."

Can you imagine why Mary had to anoint Jesus’ feet with a pound of perfume?

Can you imagine the stench of Lazarus in the tomb four days? Can you imagine the pungency of Mary’s tears, reeking of loss and love, longing and loneliness? Can you imagine the power of her pain, enough to bring Jesus to tears? “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied. Jesus wept. “Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb.” Can you imagine walking toward that stench, rotting, rancid, curdling, choking? Can you imagine Lazarus’ beloved body broken, blistered, and bloated, having stiffened with the rigidity of rigor-mortis, then stretched with decay, the sour smell of death seeping out? “Take away the stone,” Jesus said. “But, Lord,” said Martha, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.” ...The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” Lazarus was bound like a mummy, and I imagine with each strip of cloth they unraveled, came a reeking, repulsive, rank smell. I am sure they were overcome with the smell of death, and floored at the smell of death being overcome.

***

Can you imagine the smell of Christ crucified, died, and buried? Can you imagine a

thousand people in the city street, smashed together, sweating, stinking, steaming, searing, sneering, seeing Jesus carry his cross, like the steeple chase of all deaths, a long march toward the grave? Can you imagine the smell of that street, reeking of sin and sadness, shame and sorrow? Can you imagine the smell of Jesus’ last marathon, his young frame, hauling hundreds of pounds of heavy wood, crippled over with the weight, body exerting every last ounce of energy, bearing the sins of the world, sins dripping forth in a mix of warm sweat and blood, blood from having been flogged, and from a crown of thorns, the smell of warm blood, fresh and then caked. Can you imagine the smell of crucifixion, of metal nails in human flesh, of naked last breaths, of hanging and waiting, and crying out? Can you imagine the stench of those sins, all of our sins together, the sins of the world? Can you imagine the smell of Jesus’ death? The flies

swarming, sitting. The tomb turning from stale, to musky, to foul? Can you imagine the smell of Christ crucified, died, and buried? Can you imagine being overcome with the smell of death, and floored at the smell of death being overcome.

Can you imagine the smell of a pound of perfume broken open all at once, perhaps it was

like lillies, or gardenias, or orange blossoms? Can you imagine the suffocating scent of Mary’s gratitude, perhaps it smelled like lilacs, or wisteria, or roses? Can you imagine the way the fragrance must have filled room upon room with the incense of thankfulness, like the smell of rain-washed sage, or fall leaves, or ocean breezes? Can you smell the sweetness with which Mary bought such a gift, like the smell of cupcakes, or brownies, or or peppermint? Can you imagine what a years wages would smell like, like jasmine, or tuberose, or honeysuckle? Can you imagine the essence of praise poured out to Jesus in one instance, a praise stronger than pine in crisp cool air, a praise for Jesus who raised her brother from the dead? Can you imagine giving this gift not in a spray, but in a shower, of perfume, washing Jesus’ feet with a cloth of Mary’s own hair, taken down for him? Was it a shower of coconut, or vanilla, or fresh soap? Can you imagine the bouquet of this servant act? This serving scent that is both the aroma that anoints a king, and the spice that embalms him for burial. Can you imagine anything less then a smell that could overcome death, the death of a brother, the death of the son of God, and our own deaths?

In this moment between the death and raising of Lazarus, and the death and raising of Jesus, it had to be a pint of strong perfume, it had to be broken open in that instant, it had to smell of sheer gratitude. It had to be a fragrance powerful enough to overcome death.

Can you smell it? Can you imagine the smell of Easter breaking into the depths of Lent?

Can you imagine the sweet fragrance of death overcome? Can you imagine the smell of grateful praise? Can you imagine what scent you might bring to the feet of our Lord? Imagine. Amen.

March 10, 2013 LUKE 15:1-3, 11B-32

LUKE 15:1-3, 11B-32 

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1Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him.

2And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them." 3So he told them this parable:

11b"There was a man who had two sons. 12The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. 13A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. 14When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. 15So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. 16He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. 17But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18I will get up and go to my

father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands."' 20So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. 21Then the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' 22But the father said to his slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe-the best one-and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; 24for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.

25"Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. 27He replied, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.' 28Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. 29But he answered his father, 'Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!' 31Then the father said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost

and has been found.'”

Now I gotta tell you, as a preacher, there are scripture passages that follow me through seasons of my life. Then, all of a sudden, they show up in the lectionary, and it is a wrestling match, where my life meets the scripture in such a way in such a way that a struggle ensues because of what’s at stake. The scripture’s interpretation and it’s meaning become an understanding and interpretation of my own life. It is as if the parable is actually being lived out in my preparing, in my writing, and my preaching life.

I hope every now and then this happens to you, that a scripture meets you where you are,

and becomes alive in you, I hope you tell me about it, so I can witness it with you, and stand with you while you wrestle though. Likewise, I hope by telling you the ways a scripture becomes alive in my life, you too can witness the way these ancient texts still speak.

Since I got divorced, the parable of, ‘The Prodigal Son,’ has been one I’ve wrestled with.

Now, I’ll say up front there are many ways my life and the parable are not the same. But I think perhaps in the most important way they are. The way that tells of the grace of God.

To set the scene, though I am the eldest daughter, I have always identified with the younger son in this parable. I am the one to test the boundaries past the point of their bounds. I am the one who got in trouble, so much so, that my senior year in high-school I was voted, ‘most likely to be grounded.’ I am the one whose life consists of trial and error, of a life lived in extremes in everything from climates to cultures. I’m not like the older brother in the parable, telling me to stay and work in the fields, like generations before me, has not satisfied me. There’s a Dixie Chicks Song, that sings,

“My friends from high-school,

Married their high school boyfriends

Moved into houses in the same ZIP codes

Where their parents live

But I, I could never follow

No I, I could never follow

I hit the highway

in a pink RV with stars on the ceiling

Lived like a gypsy

Six strong hands on the steering wheel.”

I relate to that song, its the youngest brother in, ‘The Prodigal Son,’ kind of song. I’ve

traveled to distant lands, mixed with gentiles, and befriend both the stripper and the nun. I’ve experienced a lot for my 29 years. When I got divorced, a woman who knows me well said, “Katy, you had to get married, to know you tried.” In the same way, I got divorced after I could try no more. It’s like that with me. I have to try something in order to know what works and doesn’t. I wonder about the younger son, perhaps he was the same. Perhaps he had leave in order to come home. Perhaps he had to squander his inheritance to realize it’s worth.

I feel kind of the same. My parents threw me a big wedding. They invited their friends from near and far, and I invited mine likewise. People came from across the country, gifts in tow, there was great food, and wine, and everyone dressed up and dancing, and the night ended with Will and I walking out beneath a bridge of hands raised with sparklers lighting up the night. I thought this would be my life. My inheritance. I had made promises, vows we wrote ourselves, blessings given by our parents and the gathered. Toasts and glasses raised for happiness and children, and the same years upon years of love that mother and dad still share. I thought this was my inheritance. I thought my future was sent before me.

But there was a famine in the land, and there were ways in which Will and I both squandered our marriage, our inheritance. We were Jews feeding pigs, and oh so hungry. And at some point we realized the only way to keep from starving was to go to back to the places from which we came. But there were ways we could not return whole, we had lost our inheritance.

I am quickly approaching thirty and wonder if kids will ever come now. Back home my

mother visits childhood friends of mine and holds their newborns. Here I bake Christmas

cookies, and make crayon-waxed paper-Valentines-hearts with other peoples’ children. I watch the late bloomers’ Facebook statues change to, ‘engaged’, and I feel like I am pointing the other direction, ‘married,’ to, ‘single.’ Though I am nowhere ready to find love again, I wonder if I ever do, what my wedding will be like. All I have heard of second weddings is that they are small, and quiet, and the brides’ dress is often shorter, or a different color entirely. I loved my dress; will I be allowed to wear its floor length elegant lace and vail again? Or does society cringe because I already took my inheritance. Would it be rude to ask friends and family again to travel? I pray there would be no gifts, no bridal showers, I already have my inheritance in a gold and white china pattern.

Mostly, I wonder, will my parents again offer to throw me a big wedding. Will they be filled with compassion and run up and kiss me, let me wear the best robe, that dress again, and offer to kill the fatted calf ? I don’t want this for it bigness; I want this for its acceptance. I want this for its welcome, and to be called daughter in toasts and blessings. I want an inheritance of love. The father in, ‘The Prodigal Son,’ risked a lot to throw his son a party. His youngest son had insulted his father by asking for his inheritance early, he had abandoned his responsibility to the land of his ancestors by selling it and leaving, he shucked off his religion to the point of feeding pigs when Jews do not eat even eat, he threw away his morals with prostitutes and dissolute living. The father’s neighbors would have seen this son as a bad influence, a sinner, and an outcast. By the father accepting his son back, the father put himself at risk for ridicule, and speculation, and to become outcast himself. The only chance the son stood of being accepted was, if the father first

welcomed the son in a public display along with his the neighbors. The father risked a lot to throw his son a party, just as Jesus is risking a lot to welcome and eat with sinners. Though my parents are immensely kind, and loving, I don’t know if they will think of taking the risk of another big wedding, it is just not what is typically done. In honesty, I don’t know if marriage will ever come again.

But I know what God, my Father, is risking. A friend of mine said to me, “Katy, someday you can have the wedding that matches your excitement.” It was a statement of amazing grace, of not seeing me as the lost, but claiming me as found, of not merely looking at the part of me that died, but seeing through to the part that was searching to become fully alive. Her words gave me a glimpse of myself beyond the shame, and I was able to imagine how the Father in heaven sees me. “Katy, someday you can have the wedding that matches your excitement.” Katy, there is hope and grace that follows, and that is your inheritance, an inheritance of love. I have a Father in heaven, who despite myself, is running up and kissing me, and is killing the fatted calf, and inviting all the neighbors. My inheritance is a God, a Father who welcomes home and his son with love.

This is the inheritance that truly matters. I don’t know what my parents will do and if

marriage will ever come again. There is only so much they can do, or even God can do. In the scripture, the younger son has has already spent his inheritance, and the older son complains that the father has never even given him a goat, to celebrate with his friends. The father says to the elder son, “All that I have is yours.” It is fair and right that the elder son’s inheritance is not split again. It is fair and right that I can not go back in time and start over. I would not want to, like the younger son, I am one who has to leave in order to come home. I am one who has to try everything in order to know whats right. And perhaps the older son should have gone away too.

Because maybe then he, like the younger son, would know, it is neither the fatted calf, nor the goat that matter. It is having an inheritance of love. It is having a father in heaven who welcomes the lost, and celebrates when they are found.

The elder son stands in the doorway, disobeying his father, turning away from neighbors and a loving celebration. Perhaps he too has to squander his inheritance to know what’s lost. Perhaps he too has to leave to come home. I don’t imagine him joining the party. I imagine him storming away in anger. But I know whenever he turns around the father will be there with compassion to run up and kiss him, and welcome him home with risk filled acceptance and love. I know this happens over, and over, as this ancient text still speaks, in my life, and perhaps in yours, and as the chorus of that song sings,

“I've been a long time gone now

Maybe someday, someday I'm gonna settle down

But I've always found my way somehow

By taking the long way

Taking the long way around”

March 3rd, 2013 Luke 13:1-9

Luke 13:1-9

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans

whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.

He 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 killedm 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?'

The gardener 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.'

Today’s scripture is in two parts, and therefore your sermon will be also. The first part of

the scripture addresses the age old question, of, “Does God punish sin with suffering?”

In the beginning of the scripture. Jesus is told of Pilate killing a group of Galilean

religious pilgrims in the temple. Jesus responds, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?” in other words, Jesus asks, “Do you think they were killed because they were sinful? No, I tell you.” Jesus says. Jesus doesn’t see this suffering as a punishment for the Galileans’ sin. He is unwilling to blame to blame the victim. Likewise, he points to random accidents, saying that those eighteen whom the tower fell on, were also no more sinful than anyone else. Jesus does not try to explain why bad things happen to people. Jesus does not try to explain why kindergartners are slaughtered, or why hurricanes hit Haiti. Jesus does not try to explain why there are wars Syria, or a teenage suicide in LaGrande. Jesus does not try to explain why young parents die, or a little local girl had to wait for a new heart. Perhaps, if we are to be like Jesus, our job is not to explain either.

Jesus instead lets the questioners know that bad things happen, and our response is to

repent, to turn to God. Jesus says, “Unless you repent, you will perish as they did.” Wow, this seems harsh and confusing. As if, on the one hand, Jesus is saying that suffering and death is not caused by sin, and on the other hand, Jesus is saying that if we do not turn to God, we will suffer, and perhaps die. I read it like this, suffering can happen because of sin, but not all suffering is caused by sin.We know suffering can happen because of sin. Look at the commandments. If someone commits adultery, there is suffering that happens because of it. If someone kills another person, there is suffering that happens because of it. Even by not observing the sabbath, and making a time to rest, we suffer. In this scripture the tower wall might have been fraudulently built and therefore have fallen on the people. Pilate, and his Roman forces killed the Galileans. “There are all kinds of sin, that contribute to much of the suffering in the world. Jesus doesn’t sever the connection between sin and suffering. He severs the connection between suffering and punishment.1”

Likewise, we know that suffering can happen because of sin, but we cannot look at

suffering and assume people have sinned. We cannot look at the poor and think they are poor because they have sinned. We cannot look at the oppressed and think because they are oppressed they be sinful. We cannot look at the prisoner and assume just because they are imprisoned they have sinned. Suffering can happen because of sin, but not all suffering is caused by sin. Like Jesus we are not to judge, or to equate suffering with God’s punishment.

Instead Jesus calls us to repent. We are called not to see our fortune as evidence of God’s

blessing. In looking at suffering, we are called to see the fragility, and finiteness of life, and turn to God. We are to turn to God, because we are fortunate enough to have time to do so.

Part 2 - after calling the listeners to repent, Jesus then tells the parable of the fig tree,

"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?'

The gardener 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.'

How often are we like the man drawn to the fig tree looking only for it’s fruit? How many years have we come to the tree and finding no fruit walked away? How many times have we blamed the tree for its barrenness, called it worthless and wanted it cut down?

How often are we like the fig tree, barren, unable to produce fruit, and seemingly stuck in

the wrong place, like a fig tree in a vineyard? How often because of where we are, because of our inability to produce do we fear someone cutting us down? How often do we long for someone to dig around us, and nourish us with good soil?

In the parable we are given an image of God in the gardener. We are given an image of

patience and nurture. We are given an image of God seeking to bargain for us, that we might have one more year to live and bear fruit. I’m not sure God, the gardener even thinks we need to bear fruit, perhaps God sees us as whole just as we are. Yet, God wants to help us be all that we can be. We are given an image of God nourishing us, just as the gardner digs around the tree and puts manure on it. Lastly, we are also given an image of God allowing us to be cut down. God does not stop the suffering, but in the end, if the tree bears no fruit, it is the man who cuts it down. Our time is limited. We only have so long to repent, and turn to God.

It is Lent, Jesus will be crucified in 27 days. Our time is limited. How in this time, might

we turn to God as individuals? How, in this time, might we bargain for the weaker among us? How, in this time, might we be patient and nurture one another to bearing fruit? How might we turn to God and repent? Our time is limited.

¹WorkingPreacher.org