Why do bad things happen to good people? People have been asking that question for centuries, perhaps even since the days of Adam and Eve. We similarly ask, why do bad things happen to me and not so & so. Sometimes, we’ll also ask why do bad things seem to happen to him or her all the time? Tough, real-world questions, especially when you or someone you love is hip-deep in the rising waters of trouble and it feels as if God isn’t helping. It’s frightening; it’s humbling; it’s faith-testing.
The technical, theological term for trying to answer these
questions is called theodicy. Why, if God is good and all-powerful and
loving, is there still evil and suffering in the world? People have tried to
answer the question for centuries. Eastern religions espouse karma, you get
what you give. Others say you get what you deserve. Some speak of fate, others
to a nebulous “god” who is out to get you.
The people of Jesus’ time had a similar idea: if something
bad has happened to you, either you or your parents or perhaps grandparents had
some tremendous past or secret sin that God held against you and he was now
evening the score.
I suspect that’s what was driving the narrative when people
came to Jesus, telling Him about Pilate’s murder of Galileans who were
worshipping and making sacrifice and whose blood, subsequently, got mixed in
with the sacrifices. It was both a theological and civil tragedy. Their
complaint must have included the question, why did this happen? Were the
Galileans guilty of a secret sin? Was God displeased with their sacrifice? Were
they not sufficiently sanctified before making their offering?
The premise rests on the idea that there are good people and
bad people. Good people don’t deserve bad things and bad people don’t deserve
good things. When those get twisted and good people have bad things happen,
then something must be wrong.
That begs the question: What is the litmus test for a good
or bad person? Is the rating cumulative, based on life experience – overall,
allowing for a few mistakes, you are a B- on the good scale - or does a
one-time event skew the result one way or the other - you were a good boy up
until last Tuesday when you…? Were the Gentiles good people who were merely
trying to fulfill their obligations at the temple, or were they bad people
because they were not Jews? Let me give an example of a friend of mine: Robert (not
his real name, by the way) was arrested for stealing. A thief is bad, right?
But, he stole the a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, less than $5
worth of food, because he was desperate to feed his hungry kids. Is he a good
guy who was desperately trying to care for his family, or is he a bad guy who
used his family as an excuse? Who
decides whether a person is good or bad?
I want you to notice that Jesus doesn’t really answer that
question why do bad things happen to good people. In fact, He ups the ante with
the story of 18 people crushed by an industrial accident. “Do you think these
Galileans were worse sinners than other worshippers, or these 18 were worse
than the others in Jerusalem?” He avoids the question about one’s relative
goodness. Instead, he focuses on the human condition before God. To both
stories, He offers the same warning: “Unless you repent you will all likewise
perish.”
We use the word “perish” as a polite euphemism for death.
The news reported nine people perished in a car accident out in West Texas.
Three people perished in a house fire. Perished – it sounds clean, sterile,
even professional. When Jesus uses the word, perish, He strips any cleanliness
from the word. He is speaking of eternal death, the eternal separation of man
from God in the torment of hell. Unless you repent, you will all experience
what death really means as you suffer where their worm does not die and the
fire is not quenched. That is what He means when He says perish: if you perish,
you go to hell.
*His point is not that if your repentance is pure enough,
sincere enough, sorrowful enough or faithful enough that you can avoid the fire
of Gehenna and separation from God. Thinking your works, your efforts, even
your repentance is what puts you in God’s good graces is what leads to such
separation! Ironically, even being sinless is not a guarantee. In fact, it leads
to the opposite: death on the cross for Jesus.
I wonder if that’s not what Jesus is actually wanting them
to repent of – a foolish notion that somehow, this side of heaven, we can
reject death and see it as something that only happens to bad guys –
specifically, guys we determine who are bad and worthy of dying (or unworthy of
living, whichever the case may be). Perhaps that’s part of Jesus’ point: be
prepared because everyone will one day die. He’s not being macabre – He’s
speaking the truth of the havoc satan and sin has brought to creation. But that
is the purpose for which Jesus came: that He, too, would die – for you and with
you so that you no longer have to keep death at arm’s length. You have nothing
to lose but the fear and horror of death.
To help us grasp this idea, which is outside of our daily
thinking, Jesus tells this brief parable about the fig tree that isn’t
producing fruit. Briefly, an owner finds a fig tree that isn’t producing fruit.
It’s just using up soil and space so he tells his servant to cut it down. But
the vinedresser instead argues for the tree, offering to give it special care,
turning the ground and fertilizing with manure, so that it might have the
opportunity to produce fruit one more time. IF it fails in a year’s time, then it
can be cut down.
Don’t be tempted to see yourself as the vinedressing hero
who potentially saves the tree. Parables generally aren’t about you. They’re
about the kingdom. They are about Jesus. Well, I said the parable isn’t about you,
but you are in it. See yourself as the tree; see the vinedresser as Jesus; see the
landowner as God who is displeased with the spiritual fruit that you and I
produce – or, more accurately, with the complete absence of spiritual fruit.
Where is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness,
faithfulness, self control. The landowner rules that it’s as if we’re dead –
there’s no fruit, no evidence, of faith; is there any faith, any life at all?
Enter the vinedresser. Enter Jesus. He pleads for the
landowner’s mercy for the fruitless tree. Jesus intercedes to the Father on our
behalf. “Let it be, Lord, for one more year.” Let it be – it’s interesting:
Jesus uses the same phrase from the cross. There, under His own judgement of
death, we hear Jesus pray, “Father, forgive.”
That’s the wonder of the foolishness of the cross. Jesus
becomes sin for us. The foul, stinking manure of mankind’s sin is dumped upon
Him and He carries it in Himself. His body is marked by nails; a spear digs
deep into His side. He sends resurrection into our roots. He doesn’t come to
see if we think ourselves good and worthy: He comes to turn over our idea of
good and the conventions by which we pretend to be good. He doesn’t come to see
if we’re sorry: He knows our repentance is often fickle and just as much hot
air. He doesn’t count our anything. He comes only to forgive, fully, freely. No
one is too far gone, no one is too spiritually dead for His resurrection
restoration. We were dead, remember, and brought nothing to the conversation.
The vinedresser restores life, without qualification, as one enormous gift.
When we hear this section of Luke 13, it always begins with
the question, “Why?” Jesus turns us to see the “who” instead. Who we are – dead
and dying. Who He is – saving and restoring, having Himself died and rose for
us. With that as our focus, we are able to live in these grey and latter days
without having to be fearful for marauding Roman governors and strangely
falling towers, or hidden viruses, or even a crazed, maniacal dictator who
seems to hold the future of the world underneath his hot, sweaty hands. Luther
was once asked, what would you do if you knew tomorrow as the end of the world.
He thought for a minute and said that he would go plant an apple tree, that way
just in case the world didn’t end, some day, someone could enjoy the fruit of
his labor. Live each day with the joy and certainty that Christ has taken our
place, died our death, and redeems us to bear fruit in His name. And, go plant
a tree.
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