Scripture Lesson:
From the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 13:
1At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. 2He asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? 3No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. 4Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? 5No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.’
6 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. 7So 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?” 8He replied, “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. 9If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.” ’
"Making Meaning - Part II"
A
Sermon Preached by
Rev. Jean Niven Lenk
at
the First
Congregational Church of Stoughton
United
Church of Christ
Over the past five years that I have been your pastor, I have occasionally shared with you the story of how I have been widowed twice: my husband Darcy died in 1982, and my husband John – the father of my two children – died in 1997. I hesitate to mention this part of my life too often, because serving as your Pastor is not about me; it’s about God through Christ and you.
But every three years, the parable of the fig tree shows up in the schedule of scripture lessons, and I think this passage --- and the season of Lent in general -- is an opportunity to share with you a little of my story, especially in light of Easter, and the new life that God has so graciously blessed me with. So even though there is no “I” in the word sermon, there is an “I” in the word testimony. I ask for a little grace this morning, and I thank you for allowing me to give my testimony.
Our scripture lesson begins with a group of people approaching Jesus to tell him about the murder of some Galilean worshipers and the accidental deaths of some others. They assume these murders are God’s punishment for sinful behavior, in keeping with the common world-view of the time. But Jesus does not comfort his audience with the assurance that tragedy will not befall them as long as they are faithful and do the right thing. Instead, he challenges their attitude that they have no need to repent as long as things are going well in their lives. “Unless you repent,” warns Jesus, “you will all perish as they did.”
Jesus calls his audience to repentance. “Repentance” means turning around, and we often use it in terms of sin. Sin is separation from God, God’s people, God’s creation, and God’s purpose for our lives. When we repent, we turn around, back toward God. We are all called to draw closer to God, whatever the circumstances of our lives – when things are going not so well and when they are going well. And to emphasize that God looks at the roots and the fruits of our lives, Jesus tells a parable about fertilizing a fig tree.
Fertilizer. That’s a nice term for manure. And manure is a nice term for well, you know….
You may have heard the story about President Harry Truman. Always an earthy talker, Truman once offended a friend of his wife's by referring repeatedly to "the good manure" that must have been used to nurture the fine blossoms at a Washington horticulture show. "Bess, couldn't you get the President to say 'fertilizer'?" the woman complained. Replied Mrs. Truman: "Heavens, no. It took me 25 years to get him to say 'manure.' "[1]
Whatever you call it, it happens in life. In this morning’s passage, the fertilizer was Galileans being murdered and eighteen people being killed when a tower fell on them. In the news recently, the fertilizer has been January’s earthquake in Haiti and the one in Chile two weeks ago.
And I know most of you have your own stories of fertilizer, of heartache and suffering. It may be financial worries, a failed relationship, a chronic illness, a grim diagnosis.
The circumstances of our fertilizer may be different but I think there is one universal: the question why? Now, as I have often said, there is no easy answer to that question and I am not going to offer up some saccharin platitude as explanation.
The fact of life is -- fertilizer happens. If we’re fully alive, we are going to experience pain and suffering, but suffering can be transformative. Our broken hearts can be renewed by God, and our broken lives can be revitalized. But it will happen on God’s time, not according to our own schedule.
Three years ago, the last time I preached on the parable of the fig tree, I talked about my husband Darcy’s death from cancer and how it took me 13 years before I was finally able to make meaning of it. It happened when I was doing my student chaplaincy at Symmes Hospital in Arlington, and found myself time and again going back to the oncology unit. None of my fellow students wanted to go near the place, but I felt comfortable there, sitting with patients as they underwent their chemotherapy treatments and talking with family members about the heartbreak of seeing their loved ones struggle with the disease. It did not take me long to understand why I was drawn to the oncology unit. Through my experience with Darcy’s illness, cancer – and cancer patients – did not scare me, and I wanted to minister in the service to which Christ calls all of us, just as we had been ministered to during Darcy’s illness. Thus, I was able to take the experience of Darcy’s illness and turn it into something positive by giving back to the patients and families in the oncology unit.
But I have never shared with you about John’s death. The reason is that for many years, I could not make meaning of it. And for many years, I was too ashamed to talk about the circumstances.
My husband John was a smart, sensitive, witty, lovely guy. One of the nicest guys you could ever meet. He was also a heroin addict. It’s taken me a long time to be able to say those words. Because people look at you funny. “You married a heroin addict? What’s wrong with you that you would be willing to have drugs part of your life?” And if I said, “Well I had no idea when I married him,” people would look at me as if asking, “What’s wrong with you that you didn’t know?”
And so, I didn’t talk about it; I kept the truth of my life hidden, even after an overdose took John’s life. That was in 1997, when our beautiful daughter Elizabeth was only eight years old, and our precious son Ian was only eight months old. And for years, I tried to find some way to make his death, and the cause of his death, meaningful. But for years, it just seemed like just a meaningless waste.
Until recently. Because in the past couple of years, I have been called to minister to people with drug addictions. And what I found was that I wasn’t repulsed or scared or turned off by them or their circumstances. Now make no mistake – drugs are a scourge which ruin finances, families, futures, and lives. I also know that addiction is a disease, not a moral weakness, and it permeates every level of society, every kind of family, every socio-economic status. Because of my experience with John’s illness, I could pastor without judgment or pre-conceived notions of what kind of people use drugs. And I knew that as much as I cared about and wanted to help people with this illness, they were the only ones who could kick their addictions. No one else could do it for them.
All of these things I had learned from John and his illness. Almost eleven years after his death, I was able to put to positive use those heartbreaking lessons. And as a result, I have been able to make meaning of John’s death.
I do not believe for one second that it was “God’s plan” for Darcy to die of cancer or for John to die of an overdose so I would be a better pastor. I could not worship, much less devote my life to, a God like that. But let me tell you – those experiences -- they sure were fertilizer – but fertilizer that has helped me grow in so many ways, including into a better pastor.
It may take us years, even decades, to see new growth spring from the fertilizer of our lives. For some, the new growth may never come, because not all suffering is redemptive. Redemption means to change for the better, and it can be hard to find anything redemptive in famine, genocide, or physical or sexual abuse.
Suffering is redemptive only if it transforms and brings new life – which is what Jesus came to offer. My life, and the lives of my children, have indeed been renewed and transformed in the years since John’s death, and the greatest blessing God has given us is their new Dad and my husband Peter, with whom I celebrated five years of marriage this past week.
Suffering is human, it’s a part of life. God does not instigate our suffering as punishment for sin; rather, God holds us in our suffering, uplifting and strengthening us. Jesus calls us to repent, to turn toward God, in both the good and bad times of our lives. And God will help us find new meaning and growth springing from the fertilizer of our lives.
We began Lent three weeks ago by remembering Jesus’ time in the wilderness as he began his ministry. Our wilderness times – our times of illness or loss or shame – can be fertilizer which leads to transformation and new growth. Christ shows us the way through suffering and offers us something beyond – hope, meaning, and new life. That is the journey to the cross. And that is the promise of Easter. Amen.
1 Luke 7.
2 John 3 and 4.
3 Matthew 21:32.
4 18:22.
5 1:26-27.
6 Matthew 19:1.
|
