Repent or Perish

‘Unless you repent, you will all perish’.  These are stark, strong words from Jesus, their importance underlined by their repetition twice in this passage.  And they are hardly the words that the crowd around him are expecting. They have come to Jesus with information about others, perhaps to probe his theology, perhaps with relief that unlike ‘those Galileans’ they had escaped Pilate’s wrath.  Yet whether they wanted metaphysical fireworks, or just straightforward comfort in the aftermath of a disaster, Jesus’s words must have fallen very flat.  His message is clear and uncompromising: ‘unless you repent, you will all perish’.

It is tempting to hear these words as a threat, as a warning of the fire and brimstone that will await all who fail to live up to perfect standards, as a reminder of God’s anger with our human flaws.  Certainly there are strands of Christianity which take such passages in this way, perhaps even enjoying the frisson or shiver of excitement that can come with imagining judgement upon others, or even on oneself. And maybe there were people in the crowd too who thought that Galileans had got what they deserved, that God was punishing them for wickedness and sin, people who saw in their own safety a vindication of their good standing before God.  But if we imagine God keeping a scorecard on human beings, then we really are in trouble, for Jesus is clear that all of us are in the red, no more righteous than those Galileans as we stand before God.

But Jesus is not only reminding us of what we probably already know, that we are flawed and imperfect, with an unhealthy tendency to look down on others and sometimes also ourselves.  For his words are spoken as a hopeful invitation, a promise of new life and relationship to those who are willing to learn what it might mean to be perishing, and what it might mean to repent.  If we do, he tells us, then we will see the true tragedy of those Galileans, of those who perished under the tower at Siloam, of all those whose lives are diminished by human resistance to God and to the power of love.  In those tragedies, terrible as they are, we will realise that God’s light and love still shines, that God’s promises still stand fast, and together we will learn another future.

When Luke gives us Jesus’s call to repentance, the word he uses is metanoete, whose noun metanoia might also be translated as a change of heart, or a turning back.  It is a word which emphasises not just a change of actions but a transformation of who we are, back into the people that God has created us to be. Jesus is seeking to draw us back into that true relationship with God and with each other, for it is through these relationships that we flourish and grow and live joyfully.  Outside of them, when we seek our own good or separate ourselves from God and from the lives of those around us, we wither, becoming anxious and cut off.  Jesus hears in the voices of those around him that separation from God and from the community which leads to worry, to criticism, to judgement of others, to a sense that somehow those Galileans are worse than us or maybe that God seems not to care.  In these moments Jesus hears people who are not living the fullness of life, people who are perishing.  And so he draws their hearts towards him, back towards God.

For the God that Jesus reveals to them is, as the parable tells us, like an enthusiastic gardener, someone so dedicated to their trees that they will not give up on them.  This is a gardener who does everything to help the tree grow and become fruitful, even if it might seem excessive and over the top.  The tree may be bare and barren now but still there is hope, if only it will receive the care and love that is given to it.  All it need do is accept what is given, and it will be strong enough for new figs, fruit that will in turn, be shared and enjoyed by others. 

Jesus then is shifting the attention of the people away from what they thought they knew about God, a critical judge or a distant autocrat.  He is telling them instead of the solidarity of God with the people, of God whose concern and care is not measured by justice or even good common sense, but by the infinite abundance of love.  He is pressing this on them not as an intellectual proposition, a neat metaphysical answer, but with the urgency of one who sees their need, their own suffering, sees the people perishing in their distance from God. When he tells them to repent or else they will perish, these are not words thundering down from an iron pulpit, but the invitation of one who truly loves.

This invitation to life is one that has been heard before, as God spoke to the people of Israel with words of comfort and kindness.  We hear it in the passage from Isaiah, where those who recognise their hunger and thirst are offered the food that satisfies, the drink that restores. Though the people are so easily distracted by the lure of idols, spending their energy and resources on a chase after riches or status, God stays faithful, the invitation stays open. Still they are welcomed back to God’s feast when they realise that nothing else will satisfy them, that they are created for love and relationship, for God and for each other.  In the words of Isaiah, the prophets and the scriptures, we find repeated this offer of life and abundance, held out by a God who refuses to force us, winning us instead with the power of love.  And as the gospel story continues to unfold, we will learn the depth and the faithfulness of that love, on the Cross and in the Easter garden. 

 For us here today, in this journey through Lent, our prayers and our attention are turned towards repentance and penitence as we ask forgiveness from God and each other.  Yet the words of Jesus and of Isaiah remind us that Lent is not about condemnation, whether of others or of ourselves.  For repentance does not mean languishing in destructive self-criticism, dwelling on the mistakes of our past, or trying to be someone we are not.    True repentance is about turning whole-heartedly to the one who creates and redeems us, knowing that in God we will always find mercy and compassion, and the grace that can heal and free our hearts.  It is about recognising that only through God’s light and love can we grow and flourish, only there can we find the joy of being our truest selves, of being God’s beloved children.  For Lent is the time to listen once more to Jesus’s invitation, and allow ourselves to be drawn towards him and towards life.