March 2022
"Chickens"
Second Sunday in Lent; based on Luke 13:31-35 (texts at end of post)
March 13, 2022
When I grew up, chickens lived on farms. Of course, like most kids who lived in town—even though it was a small town, I never appreciated chickens. Chickens were something you had for supper. Chickens produced eggs for omelets and egg salads.
Chickens were something my Uncle Walter raised. When we visited his farm on weekends, there were chickens everywhere. Back then, all chickens were free-range—long before anyone even used that term— which terrified me as a little kid.
Now almost all chicken farms have “broilers,” where chickens are kept in massive sheds in extremely confining cages or pens, with more than 100,000 birds under one roof. So crowded the chickens can barely move past one another. Today, there’s a movement to raise chickens the old-fashioned way. And not just on farms. But even in cities and towns.
Back when Charlie and I lived in north Minneapolis, one of our neighbors down the block built a chicken coop in her backyard. Every time I drove by her house, I wondered why anyone would want to have chickens and their smelly poop in a small yard like hers.
However, more and more municipalities are developing ordinances for chickens. Just seven years ago, my hometown of Dassel, Minnesota, first passed a law allowing people living in town to raise chickens. With some very rigid guidelines (perhaps not so unusual for a small-town government), including a lot of no’s for things you shouldn’t do. Such as:
• No more than five chickens may be kept at any one parcel at any time, unless said parcel is over one acre, in which ten may be kept.
• No chickens may be allowed to range freely, but must be confined inside a chicken coop or fenced-in run at all times.
• No chicken should constitute a nuisance to the occupants of any adjacent property. (I can imagine two neighbors having a heated exchange over what exactly constitutes a “nuisance”!)
• No roosters are permitted! All chickens must be hens. If a permit holder inadvertently keeps a rooster (I’m not sure how that would happen!), then that rooster must be removed from the property within seven days of discovery.
• And finally: No chickens may be slaughtered within the City. Dead chickens must be removed immediately.
Apparently, chickens are a big issue for my hometown. Perhaps because some people just don’t like chickens. Especially if they live next door.
I don’t know about you, but when Jesus compares himself to a chicken in today’s Gospel lesson, it sounds a little strange, given its context. For Jesus is talking about his own death. King Herod has threatened his life. Jesus also knows that one day soon the Romans will sentence him to death on the cross. Jesus compares himself to previous prophets and visionaries killed in his beloved city.
Then Jesus laments, with words full of regret: “How often I’ve wanted to gather your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings….” Here Jesus feels distressed and worried, like a mother hen clucking and pecking and trying to gather her chicks around her when a threat is imminent. Whose little flock huddles under her wings for protection.
I find it interesting that this is one of the only places in the Gospels where Jesus uses a feminine image for himself. Which doesn’t fit the image most Christians have of Jesus. Many Christians use mostly masculine metaphors and titles for Jesus. Like: Jesus is the Son of God. Jesus is the king of kings. Jesus is our Good Shepherd (typically portrayed as male). Jesus is our master. Jesus is our Lord.
Even as a pastor, I have a hard time thinking of a feminine term commonly used for Jesus. I think many people subconsciously think about Jesus like a superman come to earth to save humanity. Or maybe a cool-looking surfer dude (you’ve probably seen modern paintings of Jesus like that.) Or a mighty warrior king who will defeat the devil’s evil forces on judgement day.
Many of us, deep in our hearts, want a savior and God who will protect you and me from disappointments and disease, and danger. We want to believe that being a Christian is some kind of insurance against tragedy and loss. But, by itself, that’s a theology of glory. A Christ without a cross.
Yet we know, if we are truly honest with ourselves and with one another, that life is not always a picnic. That sometimes we have to face serious illness, difficult relationships, and loss of loved ones. We Lutherans call that the theology of the cross. We believe God in Jesus is with us in the midst of our human pain and suffering. At times, like Jesus on the cross, we can honestly cry, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”
The central meaning of this season of Lent that we’re in right now is that God has joined us in our frail human life. That Jesus chose not to be an indestructible X-man—like Wolverine who can never die—but a human who suffers like us. On the cross, Jesus revealed the love of God. With arms wide open. Like a mother hen spreading her wings. A welcoming embrace for each of us helpless chicks.
This week, I read the story of a Ukrainian mom who works with an organization called SOS Children’s Villages. When the war started, Tatyana faced a very difficult ethical and personal decision: to stay in Ukraine with her own daughter and elderly mother; or leave them behind and flee to safety in Poland with her six foster children. Tatyana felt that leaving was the best choice. Tatyana’s biological daughter, who’s an adult, decided to remain to fight the Russians.
Originally, Tatyana became a foster mother because she had always wanted a big family. One of her girls has been with Tatyana since she was one year old. Now Tatyana’s biological and foster children are separated by a terrible war. Tatyana worries about how the war is affecting her children. Because they’ve experienced, in her words, “what explosions are,… what a bomb shelter is…. Some are even afraid to go the toilet now without their… mom,” she said.
Now Tatyana truly is the mother hen protecting her flock from danger and death. Like God, who also watches over them. A God who is always our protective mother hen.
A God whose wings representing a place of refuge and protection is not an imagery that began with Jesus, but preceded him among our Jewish friends. A mothering God who appears throughout Hebrew scriptures. Like the winged spirit in Genesis that hovered over the waters of creation, nesting on its earthly egg. Like the bird that flew away from Noah’s hand and brought back an olive branch to the ark with a promise of redemption from a destructive flood. Like a mother eagle protecting it nest, as found in the 32nd chapter of Deuteronomy (32:11).
When I stop to consider those images, I believe that’s the kind of saving God I want and need. Not a warrior king. Not a superhero. Even with the images of chickens I had as a child, today I can say that I want a Mother-hen God.
A God who welcomes all her children under her wings, no matter their gender identity or sexual orientation, no matter their religion or faith or spirituality, no matter their race or ethnicity or nationality, no matter what border they cross. A God who opens her heart of healing to each of us. Despite our personal failures and fears. Despite the dangers and risks and losses we face during our lives in this world.
A God whose holy wings are always spread over us. Protecting. Comforting. Sheltering each one of us as beloved children of God. Amen.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Gospel Reading: Luke 13:31-35
At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to [Jesus,] “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’”
Chickens were something my Uncle Walter raised. When we visited his farm on weekends, there were chickens everywhere. Back then, all chickens were free-range—long before anyone even used that term— which terrified me as a little kid.
Now almost all chicken farms have “broilers,” where chickens are kept in massive sheds in extremely confining cages or pens, with more than 100,000 birds under one roof. So crowded the chickens can barely move past one another. Today, there’s a movement to raise chickens the old-fashioned way. And not just on farms. But even in cities and towns.
Back when Charlie and I lived in north Minneapolis, one of our neighbors down the block built a chicken coop in her backyard. Every time I drove by her house, I wondered why anyone would want to have chickens and their smelly poop in a small yard like hers.
However, more and more municipalities are developing ordinances for chickens. Just seven years ago, my hometown of Dassel, Minnesota, first passed a law allowing people living in town to raise chickens. With some very rigid guidelines (perhaps not so unusual for a small-town government), including a lot of no’s for things you shouldn’t do. Such as:
• No more than five chickens may be kept at any one parcel at any time, unless said parcel is over one acre, in which ten may be kept.
• No chickens may be allowed to range freely, but must be confined inside a chicken coop or fenced-in run at all times.
• No chicken should constitute a nuisance to the occupants of any adjacent property. (I can imagine two neighbors having a heated exchange over what exactly constitutes a “nuisance”!)
• No roosters are permitted! All chickens must be hens. If a permit holder inadvertently keeps a rooster (I’m not sure how that would happen!), then that rooster must be removed from the property within seven days of discovery.
• And finally: No chickens may be slaughtered within the City. Dead chickens must be removed immediately.
Apparently, chickens are a big issue for my hometown. Perhaps because some people just don’t like chickens. Especially if they live next door.
I don’t know about you, but when Jesus compares himself to a chicken in today’s Gospel lesson, it sounds a little strange, given its context. For Jesus is talking about his own death. King Herod has threatened his life. Jesus also knows that one day soon the Romans will sentence him to death on the cross. Jesus compares himself to previous prophets and visionaries killed in his beloved city.
Then Jesus laments, with words full of regret: “How often I’ve wanted to gather your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings….” Here Jesus feels distressed and worried, like a mother hen clucking and pecking and trying to gather her chicks around her when a threat is imminent. Whose little flock huddles under her wings for protection.
I find it interesting that this is one of the only places in the Gospels where Jesus uses a feminine image for himself. Which doesn’t fit the image most Christians have of Jesus. Many Christians use mostly masculine metaphors and titles for Jesus. Like: Jesus is the Son of God. Jesus is the king of kings. Jesus is our Good Shepherd (typically portrayed as male). Jesus is our master. Jesus is our Lord.
Even as a pastor, I have a hard time thinking of a feminine term commonly used for Jesus. I think many people subconsciously think about Jesus like a superman come to earth to save humanity. Or maybe a cool-looking surfer dude (you’ve probably seen modern paintings of Jesus like that.) Or a mighty warrior king who will defeat the devil’s evil forces on judgement day.
Many of us, deep in our hearts, want a savior and God who will protect you and me from disappointments and disease, and danger. We want to believe that being a Christian is some kind of insurance against tragedy and loss. But, by itself, that’s a theology of glory. A Christ without a cross.
Yet we know, if we are truly honest with ourselves and with one another, that life is not always a picnic. That sometimes we have to face serious illness, difficult relationships, and loss of loved ones. We Lutherans call that the theology of the cross. We believe God in Jesus is with us in the midst of our human pain and suffering. At times, like Jesus on the cross, we can honestly cry, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”
The central meaning of this season of Lent that we’re in right now is that God has joined us in our frail human life. That Jesus chose not to be an indestructible X-man—like Wolverine who can never die—but a human who suffers like us. On the cross, Jesus revealed the love of God. With arms wide open. Like a mother hen spreading her wings. A welcoming embrace for each of us helpless chicks.
This week, I read the story of a Ukrainian mom who works with an organization called SOS Children’s Villages. When the war started, Tatyana faced a very difficult ethical and personal decision: to stay in Ukraine with her own daughter and elderly mother; or leave them behind and flee to safety in Poland with her six foster children. Tatyana felt that leaving was the best choice. Tatyana’s biological daughter, who’s an adult, decided to remain to fight the Russians.
Originally, Tatyana became a foster mother because she had always wanted a big family. One of her girls has been with Tatyana since she was one year old. Now Tatyana’s biological and foster children are separated by a terrible war. Tatyana worries about how the war is affecting her children. Because they’ve experienced, in her words, “what explosions are,… what a bomb shelter is…. Some are even afraid to go the toilet now without their… mom,” she said.
Now Tatyana truly is the mother hen protecting her flock from danger and death. Like God, who also watches over them. A God who is always our protective mother hen.
A God whose wings representing a place of refuge and protection is not an imagery that began with Jesus, but preceded him among our Jewish friends. A mothering God who appears throughout Hebrew scriptures. Like the winged spirit in Genesis that hovered over the waters of creation, nesting on its earthly egg. Like the bird that flew away from Noah’s hand and brought back an olive branch to the ark with a promise of redemption from a destructive flood. Like a mother eagle protecting it nest, as found in the 32nd chapter of Deuteronomy (32:11).
When I stop to consider those images, I believe that’s the kind of saving God I want and need. Not a warrior king. Not a superhero. Even with the images of chickens I had as a child, today I can say that I want a Mother-hen God.
A God who welcomes all her children under her wings, no matter their gender identity or sexual orientation, no matter their religion or faith or spirituality, no matter their race or ethnicity or nationality, no matter what border they cross. A God who opens her heart of healing to each of us. Despite our personal failures and fears. Despite the dangers and risks and losses we face during our lives in this world.
A God whose holy wings are always spread over us. Protecting. Comforting. Sheltering each one of us as beloved children of God. Amen.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Gospel Reading: Luke 13:31-35
At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to [Jesus,] “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’”
"The Gardener"
Third Sunday in Lent; based on Luke 13:1-9 (texts at end of post)
March 20, 2022
This week I had a vivid dream. I dreamed that I was working in a garden. Digging up bright red lilies from my front yard and transplanting them in my backyard. Many of you know that gardening is something I’ve enjoyed doing throughout my life. But in my dream, there was a weird space-time distortion—where the backyard was at the home where I live now, but the front yard was the house where I grew up. The place where my love of gardening began.
Back in high school, I got interested in growing things. And decided to dig up a patch of sod on the side of our house to create a flowerbed. I didn’t know much about gardening back then. I didn’t know about magical fertilizers like Miracle-Gro. I didn’t know about adding compost to improve old dirt.
But I did know that I wanted to grow something colorful. So I went to the hardware store in my hometown and purchased seed packets for zinnias and marigolds and morning glories. Then I planted them in my new garden. I watered them and waited. And watched as they sprouted and grew into plants. And one day bloomed. With gorgeous colors and delicate flowers. A natural miracle.
That fall, I gathered seeds from the blooms and put them in paper bags to dry over the winter (the way people used to do.) And the following Spring, I did it all over again—one more time. Because I was hooked. A simple project became a lifelong hobby.
Of course, today I don’t do everything I did back then. Today, I take shortcuts. Today, I go to the garden store and buy plants that are already blooming. Today I’ve lost my patience for starting everything from seeds.
Kind of like the man in the story that Jesus tells in our Gospel reading. This story, however, is not about a garden—it’s an orchard/vineyard. Yet like me, the owner in this parable has lost his patience. It’s been three years, and the fig tree his gardener planted still has not produced any fruit. The gardener, who’s really a tenant farmer, isn’t making a profit for the owner. And the tree is taking up valuable space. So why not just cut it down?
But the gardener wants to give the tree just one more chance. Just a little more cultivation. Just a bit more fertilizer. Just one more year. Just one more time.
For we gardeners are terribly stubborn optimists, who believe growth can happen, no matter what. Even in the hard clay soil we have here. Even after a long cold winter, like this one. Even under the remaining snow we still have outside, we believe there are plants ready to sprout new life. And flowers that will bloom this spring. One more time.
And so it is for all of us. During this liturgical season of “Lent”—which comes from an old English word for this season of “Spring,” Jesus, God's gardener, offers each of us the grace of one more chance. Of new growth after a season of death we’ve all lived through the past couple years—one more time.
Jesus, the gardener of our souls, challenges us to open our hearts and respond to people in our lives who make mistakes or fail our expectations not with judgement, but with kind compassion—one more time. And to learn to view homeless people and immigrants not how they appear to others in our culture but through the eyes of the One who created them in the divine image—one more time.
And to begin to see the current events of this world not with only the disappointment and despair that come out of the war we see happening in Ukraine, but also with the persistent hope that our leaders and the people of the world will find a way to peace—one more time.
And to see again that despite everything in our society that screams for our attention—from cell phones, to TikTok videos, to the busy-ness of daily work, to our American focus on consumable goods—that the center of all life really is God. Echoing the words of the prophet Isaiah from our first lesson: “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?”
Perhaps that is exactly what Jesus is trying to tell us: that the place we find God not in all the things we work and strive and long for in our modern culture. Things that often don’t bring meaning to life.
This season of Lent offers the opportunity for each of us to hit the pause button of our hectic lives. To stop and be present in the moment. To listen to the sounds of nature’s garden. To hear the blowing wind and chirping birds. To enjoy the laughter of children’s voices and beautiful music.
I believe that God is most present—one more time—in things that bring meaning to our lives: in family and friends, and people helping one another. That Jesus becomes the gardener of our souls when we take time to reflect on God’s grace. And how that grace can sustain us even during difficult days.
A number of years ago, when I was working at The Aliveness Project in Minneapolis, I was having lunch in our dining room with one of our HIV-positive members, whom I will call “Jeff.” Jeff shared with me that recently he had been dealing with a lot of personal issues.
A few months before, his doctor had diagnosed a serious health condition as a complication of his HIV disease. Shortly after that, Jeff was forced to move out of the house where he had lived for several years into a much smaller apartment. Which meant getting rid of many personal belongings and mementos of his past. As a result of those changes, Jeff began struggling with depression. He felt like his life was falling apart.
Yet one day it occurred to Jeff that, despite all those troubles, he had somehow managed to maintain his sobriety. Jeff told me that 15 years before—if faced with the same situation, he would have started drinking. But this time felt different. Jeff attributed the change to God, his higher power. And to the people who supported him in his 12- step program and his friends at Aliveness. Even during a time of disappointment and pain, God had given him the grace of not drinking. Something Jeff couldn’t do by himself. The presence of a higher power in his life helped Jeff through a difficult period. With a strength he didn’t even know was there.
Like Jeff, we may face personal problems that can shake up the foundations of our lives. A job comes is lost. A home is damaged in a storm or fire. Relationships change and sometimes end. Health deteriorates. Loved ones pass away. But through it all, the grace of God dwells in our hearts like a seed ready to sprout. Even when your heart feels cold and dead. Even when we see the evil in the world around us.
During World War II, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran pastor and theologian who showed great courage in living out his faith. Bonhoeffer joined other Christians in working together against the Nazi dictatorship. They spoke publicly against Hitler's invasion of Poland and other countries, and his persecution of Jews. Finally, Bonhoeffer participated in a plot to assassinate Hitler. Because of that, Bonhoeffer was arrested by the Gestapo and executed in the Spring of 1943. Today, most Lutherans view Bonhoeffer as a modern martyr. His feast day is April 9.
Yet even Bonhoeffer had doubts about himself and what he viewed as his calling. For me, he stands as a very human saint. A model for those of us seeking to live out the Gospel in our lives today. I’d like to close with a prayer Bonhoeffer wrote:
[O God,] “In me there is darkness, but with you there is light. I am lonely, but you do not leave me. I am feeble in heart, but with you there is help. I am restless, but with you there is peace. In me there is bitterness, but with you there is patience. I do not understand your ways, but you know the way for me.”
May that prayer give you strength and comfort—no matter what you face this week. As together during this Lent we follow Jesus, the gardener of our souls, along a garden path that leads to the cross. A tree of death with a promise of new life. Amen.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Gospel Reading: 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. [Jesus] 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 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.” 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?’ 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.’”
Back in high school, I got interested in growing things. And decided to dig up a patch of sod on the side of our house to create a flowerbed. I didn’t know much about gardening back then. I didn’t know about magical fertilizers like Miracle-Gro. I didn’t know about adding compost to improve old dirt.
But I did know that I wanted to grow something colorful. So I went to the hardware store in my hometown and purchased seed packets for zinnias and marigolds and morning glories. Then I planted them in my new garden. I watered them and waited. And watched as they sprouted and grew into plants. And one day bloomed. With gorgeous colors and delicate flowers. A natural miracle.
That fall, I gathered seeds from the blooms and put them in paper bags to dry over the winter (the way people used to do.) And the following Spring, I did it all over again—one more time. Because I was hooked. A simple project became a lifelong hobby.
Of course, today I don’t do everything I did back then. Today, I take shortcuts. Today, I go to the garden store and buy plants that are already blooming. Today I’ve lost my patience for starting everything from seeds.
Kind of like the man in the story that Jesus tells in our Gospel reading. This story, however, is not about a garden—it’s an orchard/vineyard. Yet like me, the owner in this parable has lost his patience. It’s been three years, and the fig tree his gardener planted still has not produced any fruit. The gardener, who’s really a tenant farmer, isn’t making a profit for the owner. And the tree is taking up valuable space. So why not just cut it down?
But the gardener wants to give the tree just one more chance. Just a little more cultivation. Just a bit more fertilizer. Just one more year. Just one more time.
For we gardeners are terribly stubborn optimists, who believe growth can happen, no matter what. Even in the hard clay soil we have here. Even after a long cold winter, like this one. Even under the remaining snow we still have outside, we believe there are plants ready to sprout new life. And flowers that will bloom this spring. One more time.
And so it is for all of us. During this liturgical season of “Lent”—which comes from an old English word for this season of “Spring,” Jesus, God's gardener, offers each of us the grace of one more chance. Of new growth after a season of death we’ve all lived through the past couple years—one more time.
Jesus, the gardener of our souls, challenges us to open our hearts and respond to people in our lives who make mistakes or fail our expectations not with judgement, but with kind compassion—one more time. And to learn to view homeless people and immigrants not how they appear to others in our culture but through the eyes of the One who created them in the divine image—one more time.
And to begin to see the current events of this world not with only the disappointment and despair that come out of the war we see happening in Ukraine, but also with the persistent hope that our leaders and the people of the world will find a way to peace—one more time.
And to see again that despite everything in our society that screams for our attention—from cell phones, to TikTok videos, to the busy-ness of daily work, to our American focus on consumable goods—that the center of all life really is God. Echoing the words of the prophet Isaiah from our first lesson: “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?”
Perhaps that is exactly what Jesus is trying to tell us: that the place we find God not in all the things we work and strive and long for in our modern culture. Things that often don’t bring meaning to life.
This season of Lent offers the opportunity for each of us to hit the pause button of our hectic lives. To stop and be present in the moment. To listen to the sounds of nature’s garden. To hear the blowing wind and chirping birds. To enjoy the laughter of children’s voices and beautiful music.
I believe that God is most present—one more time—in things that bring meaning to our lives: in family and friends, and people helping one another. That Jesus becomes the gardener of our souls when we take time to reflect on God’s grace. And how that grace can sustain us even during difficult days.
A number of years ago, when I was working at The Aliveness Project in Minneapolis, I was having lunch in our dining room with one of our HIV-positive members, whom I will call “Jeff.” Jeff shared with me that recently he had been dealing with a lot of personal issues.
A few months before, his doctor had diagnosed a serious health condition as a complication of his HIV disease. Shortly after that, Jeff was forced to move out of the house where he had lived for several years into a much smaller apartment. Which meant getting rid of many personal belongings and mementos of his past. As a result of those changes, Jeff began struggling with depression. He felt like his life was falling apart.
Yet one day it occurred to Jeff that, despite all those troubles, he had somehow managed to maintain his sobriety. Jeff told me that 15 years before—if faced with the same situation, he would have started drinking. But this time felt different. Jeff attributed the change to God, his higher power. And to the people who supported him in his 12- step program and his friends at Aliveness. Even during a time of disappointment and pain, God had given him the grace of not drinking. Something Jeff couldn’t do by himself. The presence of a higher power in his life helped Jeff through a difficult period. With a strength he didn’t even know was there.
Like Jeff, we may face personal problems that can shake up the foundations of our lives. A job comes is lost. A home is damaged in a storm or fire. Relationships change and sometimes end. Health deteriorates. Loved ones pass away. But through it all, the grace of God dwells in our hearts like a seed ready to sprout. Even when your heart feels cold and dead. Even when we see the evil in the world around us.
During World War II, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran pastor and theologian who showed great courage in living out his faith. Bonhoeffer joined other Christians in working together against the Nazi dictatorship. They spoke publicly against Hitler's invasion of Poland and other countries, and his persecution of Jews. Finally, Bonhoeffer participated in a plot to assassinate Hitler. Because of that, Bonhoeffer was arrested by the Gestapo and executed in the Spring of 1943. Today, most Lutherans view Bonhoeffer as a modern martyr. His feast day is April 9.
Yet even Bonhoeffer had doubts about himself and what he viewed as his calling. For me, he stands as a very human saint. A model for those of us seeking to live out the Gospel in our lives today. I’d like to close with a prayer Bonhoeffer wrote:
[O God,] “In me there is darkness, but with you there is light. I am lonely, but you do not leave me. I am feeble in heart, but with you there is help. I am restless, but with you there is peace. In me there is bitterness, but with you there is patience. I do not understand your ways, but you know the way for me.”
May that prayer give you strength and comfort—no matter what you face this week. As together during this Lent we follow Jesus, the gardener of our souls, along a garden path that leads to the cross. A tree of death with a promise of new life. Amen.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Gospel Reading: 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. [Jesus] 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 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.” 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?’ 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.’”