Often,
it is assumed that religion can step into this void and provide clear answers.
In John, we hear some religious leaders coming to Jesus and asking him “who sinned
that this man was born blind?” We can read the Psalms and find a refrain of “Why
is this happening to me, O God?” And we have the entire book of Job that wrestles
with the question that theologians call “theodicy” – the question of where is
God’s justice when bad things happen to good people and evil deeds seemingly go
unpunished. We long for an answer to these questions. And, to be clear, some
religious people do just that: they give definitive answers, which is a clear
signal that we are encountering a human-crafted philosophy and not God-given
faith. Any church or religion that has more answers than it does questions has
seriously misunderstood God.
Two
Sundays ago, we heard the story of when Jesus was tempted in the wilderness by
the Devil. Well, for us, the temptation is to say more than we ought when it
comes to the question of “why”. I’m not saying there is anything wrong in asking
tough questions, but we need to be careful about arriving at anything that we’d
call “resolution” or “closure.”
When
it comes to the question of evil, suffering, and tragedy, there is no satisfying
or complete answer. And this is by design. Evil doesn’t make sense. When we try
to make evil make sense we are essentially trying to draw a square circle.
Sure, you can put pen to paper, but we only fool ourselves if we think we’ve
ever done it. Solving the supposed problem of evil is no different – evil is an
absurdity, which means that it cannot be solved by reason, philosophy, or even
theology.
We
get into trouble when we forge ahead anyway and try to rationalize the irrational.
When we, for example, find comfort in knowing that the person who died of COVID
was unvaccinated, that theoretical connection between their death and their education,
politics, or intelligence doesn’t do much beyond creating distance between us
and them. And distance is the opposite of the way of love that Jesus gives us
to walk. When we use unbiblical and false thinking like “Everything happens for
a reason” we falsely absolve ourselves from the need to get involved. In
Matthew 25 when Jesus famously says that we should care for the hungry, the
naked, the sick, or the imprisoned he doesn’t say that first we should evaluate
their life situation and see whether or not they’ve ended in that situation
because of their poor life choices. But when we create an explanation for their
poverty or suffering in our minds, then more easily say “well, they made their
bed, now they need to lie in it.” If we fall back on, “God must have a reason
for doing this,” then it gives us a fraudulent license to do nothing and say “Who
am I to mess with God’s plan for them?”
Seeking
a reason for evil and pain is also problematic because it directs away from God
and towards idolatry. With knowledge comes power, and if we fool ourselves into
having an understanding of evil then we think that we can control it. When wildfires
are raging in the West, there is no controlling them, only managing. That’s the
best we can do with evil – we can manage its effects, but we cannot control it.
Deluding ourselves with insufficient answers makes us think that we are in control
when we most certainly are not. And when we think that we are in control, we
tend to distance ourselves from God. This is exactly what happened in Genesis 3
– our ancestors in faith sought that which was not theirs to have – knowledge of
good and evil. Quite literally, in eating of that tree, they bit off more than
they could chew. Our seeking to make sense of that which makes no sense is to
commit that same sin over and over again. Perhaps this is why the concluding
message to the book of Job is essentially “Mind your own business.” We can get into
a lot of trouble trying to normalize things like racism, sexism, war, abuse, or
greed; things that should never be accepted as normal.
The
only “answer,” if we can call it that, to suffering is solidarity. The response
to suffering is to be with those who suffer – perhaps we can alleviate the suffering
by offering medicine, food, resources, or advocacy, and maybe all we can do is to
share in the suffering – shedding a tear, holding a hand, offering not advice
or solutions but simply a “This is hard, but you’re not alone.” And this is exactly
what Jesus does – fulfilling the promise of the prophets to be Emmanuel, God
with us. Yes, of course, Jesus does resolve the final consequences of Sin and
Death but he does it not with an explanation, not a lecture, not a mindfulness practice
– but through a love that defies all explanation and was most fully seen on the
hard wood of the cross. There’s a lovely prayer for the evening in our Prayer Book
that prays “Stir up in us the flame of that love which burned in the heart of
your Son as he bore his passion, and let it burn in us to eternal life.” That’s
the response to suffering – love. It doesn’t necessarily make the suffering go
away, it doesn’t give us an answer that satisfies our desire for clear cause
and effect explanations, nor does it leave us feeling as if we are in control.
But, as one mystic has put it, “The extreme greatness of Christianity lies in
the fact that it does not seek a supernatural remedy for suffering but a
supernatural use for it.”
This
sort of non-answer is exactly what we find Jesus pointing us towards in this
morning’s text from Luke. Just before this passage, Jesus said “You hypocrites.
You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not
know how to interpret the present time?” In other words, why do we overlook the
obvious? After saying that, the local news comes up – “Hey, did you hear about
those Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices?” Now,
Galileans, and Jesus is from the Galilee region, were seen as “lesser” than
Jerusalem Jews. It’s no different than our city versus county debates – same
dynamics, just 2,000 years ago. Pilate, who was a fairly brutal ruler, had some
Galileans killed, presumably during the Passover rituals so that their blood
ran in the streets just as did the blood of the sacrificed lambs.
This
is a trap – either Jesus will condemn Pilate’s action and open himself to
charges of speaking poorly about the government or Jesus will say something
like “Well, they had it coming” and be accused of being partisan and insensitive
to human suffering. Jesus is being asked that age-old question: “why”. And
Jesus refuses to answer an absurd question. Instead, he says “Unless you
repent, you’ll perish as they did.” It was a question about human evil. And Jesus
takes it a step further. “Well, did you all hear about the tower of Siloam that
fell and killed those 18 innocent bystanders?” We don’t know anything about
this historical event – but either due to some bad architectural engineering or
some gusty winds, a tower fell and crushed some people. This is natural evil,
suffering that isn’t attributable to the choice of a person – this is things
like hurricanes, pandemics, and unfortunate accidents. Let’s see if Jesus uses
one of the worst lines in all of theology to explain it, let’s see if Jesus is
going to talk about God needing another angel. Nope. Well, does he blame them
for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or does he say this was God’s
way of dealing with worse than average sinners? “No, I tell you, but unless you
repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
Now
that word “repent,” in the Greek of Luke’s writing, means “to change your mind”
or “to have a change of heart.” The Hebrew idea behind this word is about a physical
turning – I was going this way, but I’m going to change course and go in the
way of the Lord. To repent is to be transformed – it is to see things
differently, to value things differently, to move in this world differently, to
ask different questions. A part of repentance is to stop asking “why” in order
to control, explain, or justify suffering.
In
Lent, I’ve mentioned that each Sunday the theme of death is present in the
readings. Here, it’s quite obvious. We are all on the path of death. Death, of
course, is more than the cessation of bodily functions. Yes, our mortal lives
will all come to an end. But, perhaps even more tragic is when we spend 80
years never having really lived. Because of fear, selfishness, stinginess, and
doubt, we end up missing out on the abundance of life that we have been given
in Christ. Instead of enjoying the gift of grace, we end up just slogging
through. Jesus saves us from both types of death, and through the parable of
the fig tree, Jesus speaks about the sort of death that comes when we live a life
of fruitlessness.
There
was a fig tree that for three years had no figs growing on it. According to Leviticus,
after three years of fruitlessness, the tree was hopelessly infertile. The
landowner comes to the gardener and says “Cut it down, it’s just taking up
resources without producing anything.” The gardener, though, says “Give it more
time, I’ll fertilize it and it may well eventually bear fruit.” The word that
Jesus uses for “let it alone” is “forgive it.” Somehow, this parable is Jesus’
response to the questions of suffering and evil.
The
gardener’s response is love and mercy. As Jesus has suggested, those who Pilate
had killed or who had the tower fall on them met the same fate we all will. If
that sort of calamity hasn’t yet befallen us, it’s not because we are living
right, it’s that we’ve been shown mercy. In various ways, we are all fruitless,
not producing the harvest of righteousness. And yet God spares us and gives us
more time, gives us nourishment from outside of ourselves to spur us on towards
producing the fruits of faith. When we are dead, both literally and
spiritually, the Gardener shows us mercy.
This
parable, perhaps frustratingly for those of us who want an answer, is unfinished.
What happens? Does it eventually produce fruit? Well, the parable isn’t
finished here because it takes the rest of the Gospel to finish it. Jesus takes
on the fruitlessness of Sin and Death and is indeed cut down. By the time we
get to Easter, we will be ready to celebrate the sweet fruits of his Resurrection
which, by grace, is ours as well. When there is suffering, evil, death, and
fruitlessness, Jesus’ response is to say “The story isn’t over yet.”
There’s
a play about St. Thomas More, who was a political prisoner in England. His
daughter came to visit him when he was jailed in the Tower of London. In the
play, More says “If we lived in a state where virtue was profitable, common sense
would make us saintly. But since we see that abhorrence, anger, pride, and stupidity
commonly profit far beyond charity, modesty, and justice, we must stand fast.”
His daughter pleads with him to change his stance so that he might go free
saying, “But in reason. Haven’t you done as much as God can reasonably ask?” To
which More responds, “Well, in the end, it isn’t a matter of reason; it’s a
matter of love.”
This
is why at the heart of our faith is the Cross. As St. Paul called it, it is a stumbling
block to those who want logic and foolishness to those who pursue righteousness
on their own. Evil makes no sense. In fact, it leads to the senselessness of the
world we live in. Thanks be to God that in Jesus we receive the mercy and grace
of God which only makes sense if love is the true grain of the universe.
In
whatever suffering you are facing, whenever you run into evil, whenever your
soul cries out “why?”, know that you are not alone – the love of God is always with
you. When we see suffering and pain in our world, being rooted and grounded in
this love, we can avoid the temptation to explain, to condemn, to speculate,
but rather we can follow Jesus in his way of love by joining the love of God
that is already present and already working to make all things new. There’s not
really an answer to evil, which is good news that evil cannot be made to make
any sense. But there is a response to suffering, and we see it on the Cross: it
is the love of God that makes all things well.
