Homily – 3^rd Sunday in Lent, Year C

Fr. Timothy W. Castor

During this holy season of Lent many different themes and concepts vie for our attention. There are of course the themes of penance, fasting and almsgiving. But also there is the theme of preparation, both mentally and spiritually, for the great feast of our Lord’s resurrection. We are reminded of those who prepare in a special way as Catechumens, as well as those who will be received into full communion in the Catholic Church. But there are still more themes. There is the theme of temptation as we accompany our Lord into the desert and seek his strength to overcome our temptations. There are the themes of sorrow and death as we suppress expressions of joy and ponder our own mortality. Nevertheless, joy is not entirely absent from our Lenten journey, and indeed becomes another theme as we recall, week by week, the joy of the resurrection which awaits us at the end of our forty-days pilgrimage.

In today’s Gospel we’re confronted with three more Lenten concepts: the themes of sin, suffering, and repentance. And, although I mention them last, they are certainly not the least in importance.

So these are a few of our Lenten themes. But how do we make sense of so many different ideas? Is there a single unifying theme to draw all of this together? If not, then it will be so easy for our Lenten observance to become fragmented, mechanical, haphazard. And in the end, Lent will be for us a burden rather than a joy. I would like to suggest that there is a unifying theme of Lent; and that this theme is nothing less and nothing more than the love of God. Now this may seem trite and superficial at first, but let’s pursue this idea a little further and see if it doesn’t help us on our journey through Lent.

When we think of Lent as a time of preparation, its easy to see how God, in his love, draws us toward the Cross and the empty tomb where his Son died and rose again for our salvation. We recognize that Christ suffered temptation, torture and death—why?—out of love for us; and our little acts of self-denial, fasting and abstinence are done to enter more fully into Christ’s sufferings by way of compassion (a word that literally means, "to suffer with"). Thus, the various things we do during Lent should be our response in love to God’s love for us.

But when we consider the raw, hard fact of suffering itself, how do we reconcile this with the love of God? Why is there suffering and pain to begin with? The answer in one word is "sin". There would be no suffering were it not for sin, and there is sin because of our gift of free will. From Adam and Eve down to the present day, we can choose to obey God or disobey. When we disobey, punishment must follow, and with punishment comes suffering. This is justice; and God is supremely just.

The mentality of the Jewish people at the time of Christ was formed by this concept of strict justice: If someone suffered a terrible calamity, it was because he committed a terrible sin. God punishes the evildoer. At the beginning of today’s Gospel, the people bring to Jesus what they feel is irrefutable proof of this principle: The Galileans who were put to death by Pilate along with their sacrifices. You see, according to Jewish law, it was forbidden to offer sacrifice anywhere but in Jerusalem, at the Temple of the Lord. These people had apparently offered sacrifice in Galilee, far from Jerusalem—a terrible sin—tantamount to idolatry. And so (according to  the logical thinking of the day) these people were rightly punished by God, who used the Roman authority as his instrument.

But is the connection between sin and suffering always so simple, so direct? Jesus doesn’t seem to think so. And to prove this, he mentions another current event: a disaster in a neighborhood of Jerusalem where a tower collapsed and killed eighteen people. What was their sin? Why were they being punished? The point Jesus is trying to make is that we all of us are guilty; all of us deserve punishment; and that unless we repent, we will come to the same end as those seemingly guilty Galileans and the seemingly innocent people in Jerusalem.

And so, while the connection between sin and suffering is a very real one, the line between the two is not always so easy to draw. Let’s not be so hasty in judging others, but be conscious of the need for repentance in our own lives.

Now we must return to our earlier question: Where is God’s love in all this? We seem to be speaking only of his justice. The answer to this is found in the parable at the end of today’s Gospel. A man owns a vineyard and in it is a fig tree which bears no fruit. He demands that it be cut down because it is only taking up space. The man who looks after the vineyard asks that it be given another chance. He promises to cultivate it and fertilize it—giving it everything it needs to become fruitful. If it fails to bear fruit after all of this, then it can be cut down.

How should we understand this parable? You and I are the fig tree. Both of the men in the story represent God: the owner is God’s justice, the one who tends the vineyard is God’s love. If we fail to produce the fruits of repentance, we deserve to be punished for our sins. And yet look at the tenderness and patience with which God treats us: He gives us everything we need to turn from sin and obey the Gospel. We need only to be open to his grace and to cooperate with it.

As we look toward Holy Week and the Paschal Triduum, we are reminded that the Cross is the most perfect and most complete manifestation of God’s love; and yet the Cross is also the greatest abyss of human suffering because here the Son of God suffered interiorly and exteriorly for the sins of the whole world, and he did this out of love for you and for me. At the Cross, love and suffering meet, and suffering becomes meaningful because it becomes redemptive. So you see, suffering is connected not only with sin, but with love as well—a love great enough to take away all our sin. That great sacrifice of love is about to be renewed on our altar. Let us receive the fruits of that sacrifice so that we too may bear fruit in love for God and neighbor.

Listen once again to these words from today’s responsorial Psalm:

The Lord is compassion and love,
slow to anger and rich in mercy.
For as the heavens are high above the earth
so strong is his love for those who fear him.

© 2004, The Rev. Timothy W. Castor