OF FALLING TOWERS AND WAYS TO DIE

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. 2 He asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? 3 No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish like them. 4 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? 5 No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish like them.’

To the question ‘does shit happen to sinners because they have sinned?’ Yeshua answers, No. There is no necessary connection between nasties that happen to us and the moral quality of our antecedent behaviour. That is already a huge thing to say. Because what it implies is that Shit Happens. Sometimes it’s an Act of Nature: a woman I knew was killed climbing in the Rockies when thaw dislodged a stone 1200 feet above which fell and cut her rope. Sometimes it’s somebody’s fault: that tower in Siloam may have had a fault in the foundation because of somebody’s negligence. But it is not the victim’s fault.

Moreover, Shit Happens, and when it does it is not God’s fault. This is much harder to conceive. God does not micromanage this or, we may assume, any other planet. God knows when every sparrow falls; but He does not stop its falling. Why not? Because, first, the whole life of the planet is based on mortality and replacement. We need to die to make room for our grandchildren. The tree bears seed so that a new tree can replace it. So why, then, not make mortality such that each human dies in a kindly and harmonious way? Because even when a loved person dies at the right moment, for those around, weeping, it is still a trauma, the moment is never right. And finally, we forget Satan at our peril. His presence – tempting us to sin and busily collecting our IOUs -- ensures that much that might have been harmonious will not be.  

Then Yeshua goes on to say, ‘but if you do not turn your mind around, you will perish like them.’ My daughter, in her sermon, elaborated that beautifully in saying that we need to turn from our pages and screens and news cycles to ‘bask in God’s love’ – which will necessarily make us pass on that love to others. But what also intrigues me is the ‘perishing like them.’ The point here, I think, is that we all die, whether peacefully in our beds, painfully in a hospital, horribly in a car crash or a fire, or among many in a natural disaster (see Leonard Cohen’s moving song ‘Who by Fire’, based on a Day of Atonement text). So why does He say ‘unless you turn around’? Will that exempt us from mortality? No – we know that. But if we have turned definitively to God – which means turning to the Anointed One – we will die, but not like them. We will die differently. We will die in the warmth of God’s love, and whatever awaits us on the other side will be a form of that. 

Photo: New York, September 11, 2001, by Detective Greg Semendinger, New York City Police Aviation Unit.  

"NOT A SAD TIME"

It’s been too long since I’ve written anything here. But now, at the beginning of another Lent, it may be useful to set down a few thoughts. 

CHEERFULNESS

In his Ash Wednesday sermon, our Franco-Algerian priest reminded us that Lent is not meant to be a time of sadness. Coming just after the Old Testament reading from the Book of Joel where we are told to rend our hearts (not our garments) and to proclaim a public fast and massive repentance in the faint hope that the Lord may spare us His chastisement, this might seem just a little bouncy. 

The Israel of Joel was a community, and religion was its raison d’être and what held it together. Communal, and even more so, national, repentance these days seems scarcely thinkable (except perhaps in the new idolatrous religion of Ecology). If modern communications have done anything, it has been to turn us into individualists, in religion as elsewhere. Our sins, we tend to think, are our own. Hence repentance, if repentance there be, is our own. And, mindful of Jesus’ warning against showing off while fasting or praying, we tend to keep quiet about it. And we are often not quite sure what to do about Lent. Unlike Muslims, who keep Ramadan with admirable consistency, we haver and dither: do we “give up” something, like chocolate, or alcohol, or binge-watching Netflix? And if we do, what relation does that have to our relation to God? 

The Church often tells us not to concentrate on Lent as an accomplishment: “making a good Lent” (which we usually fail at). It would be too much like New Year’s resolutions. In fact, listening to the Church may well help us. As Pope Francis reminds us, Lent is quite simply about three things: fasting, praying, and sharing. 

Real fasting is something very few of us do; traditionally the Church told us to give up meat (“carne vale”: goodbye, meat) and replace it with fish, seafood, or vegetarian meals. This is still one way to fulfil that particular obligation. And with moderation: if you are invited to dinner by unbelievers, you should not refuse to eat their pork roast, as that would be showing off. You can always compensate by skipping lunch next day. 

Prayer, though, is more important than fasting. It is in any case the key to a life of faith. Talk to God; argue with God; weep to God; listen to God; it’s all prayer, and it’s the breath of life. He may not always talk; but He always listens, and He always loves. You. 

And sharing is what used to be called almsgiving. Giving to those who need. Not just money, though some of that is always welcome. No, comfort; kindness; respect; a hug; a smile, even; they are all gifts, alms, sharing. 

To come back to our priest: as he said, Lent is the spring cleaning of the soul. You may sometimes find it onerous (incidentally, who still does spring cleaning in the old way, I wonder?); but you don’t do it grumbling, grouching, and kvetching. Housecleaning the soul should, like the other kind, be thorough – it’s when you finally get at those corners behind the stove and at those spiders’ webs in the corners of the ceiling – but cheerful, looking forward to the celebration of Easter. 

You begin with ashes: yes, we’re all headed for the dustheap. But no: it’s not final. You face up to the shit you have done, said, and been, because we all have, at some time. And you sincerely say, out loud if only to your Abba, your Father, that you’re sorry, that you wish you hadn’t, and that you need help not to do, say, and be that in future. 

And then you get out the mop, the broom, the pail, and get to work. Whistling.