The Gospel for this Sunday begins with someone telling Jesus about the tragic death of some people from Galilee. The people want to understand why this happened. They wonder if this is God's way of judging sinners.
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.
Pilate killed the people from Galilee. Later, we know, Pilate gives the order to kill Jesus. Do we think that God judges Jesus and has him killed? Of course not. Does God judge people and use a person like Pilate to execute the worst sinners? Jesus says, no. Of course not.
Jesus continues,
Or 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? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
Jesus mentions another tragedy—the accidental death of people due to a tower collapsing on them. Do we think God judges people and causes towers to fall on the worst sinners? Jesus says, no. Of course not.
But why then, does Jesus say twice,
unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
Repent means to turn around, to change one's ways. Jesus speaks about sinners. He speaks to sinners. Unless you turn and make a change, he says, you will perish like these people did.
To perish means to die. However, Jesus cannot mean that Pilate will kill everyone who does not repent. He cannot mean that a tower will fall on everyone who does not repent. That does not make sense. The word for "repent" that St. Luke uses here also means "to be cut off entirely from." From whom will we be cut off if we do not repent? We know Jesus means from him, from God.
The word unless holds within it all of God's judgment, does it not?

Jesus wants the people to understand about God's judgment. It has nothing to do with Pilate or falling towers. So Jesus tells them 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?’ He 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.’”
The owner of the vineyard has someone plant this fig tree within his care. He gives it a long time to produce fruit. We can imagine the owner coming each day for three years to see whether today there would be a change. Each day, he would leave disappointed. Three years in the warmth of Israel, within the safety of the vineyard, that tree should produce fruit. But it does not. We wonder why.
The owner gives the fig tree an abundance of time to grow, to change. Something went wrong. It is time to cut it down and use the soil to plant something new. We feel badly for the fig tree, but it had its chance—many chances. It is right and just to cut it down now. This is justice.
The gardener though, intercedes for the fig tree. He agrees that it is just to cut it down, but asks for a little more time—time to nourish the roots and encourage change. Wait until, he says. This is mercy.
Unless and until. Justice and mercy. Both qualities belong to God.

In this time of Lent, we consider our need to repent. We consider also the manure the gardener mixes into the soil to encourage growth, to encourage this change. What could this manure be? What encourages our growth in relationship to God? What encourages us to change and produce good fruit? In Lent, we seek to suck up all this goodness. Where can we find it? Someone mixes it into our soil out of the abundance of God's mercy.
A fig tree cannot make itself produce fruit, but it does have to suck up the good nutrients. Then there will be fruit—fruit that the fig tree cannot even begin to imagine.

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