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The Gospel of Luke 13:1-9

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I’ve always liked intellectual puzzles. And I’ve always been very intrigued by the biggest puzzle of all: The puzzle theologians call "The Problem of Evil." Simply put, the problem of evil is this: if God is a just God, and if God is a powerful God, then why do the wicked prosper, and why do the good and the innocent suffer? In other words, why is there evil? Why do bad things happen to good people?

Theologians call the study of this question "Theodicy." I took an entire course on it in seminary. But it is not an academic inquiry. Why bad things happen is not academic to those who have lost loved ones in accidents. It is not academic to those parents who must watch their children die of disease, or starvation. It is not academic to those who live in constant pain, or to those who cannot see anything in life but despair.

And it was not academic to young Elie Wiesel, a Jew in a German concentration camp who was forced to watch the hanging of a child. As the child was dangling in agony, the SS guard asked the Jewish prisoners, "Where is God now?" Wiesel answered, "Here he is. He is hanging on this gallows."

The problem of evil is one of the largest stumbling blocks to faith. There probably aren’t many of us, myself included, who have never faced some event so hurtful and seemingly random and senseless that it makes us question our faith.

I remember my friend Tom from college. He wanted desperately to believe in God, but after he visited a home for the profoundly mentally impaired, he came away saying that there simply could not be a God if there could also be such tragedy. His was the universal cry of agony from those who feel that they live in a universe controlled by pain, death, and devastation.

Christian theologians have been taking a shot at explaining the problem of Evil since the beginning, and no one has, to my way of thinking, ever given a completely satisfactory response. So here’s a real opportunity for Jesus. He talks about two disasters, one the cruel work of human hands, the other an accident. In the first one, Pilate has massacred some Galileans, probably Zionists, and the second disaster occurred when eighteen people were killed when the tower of Siloam fell. Lots of people thought that accident was God’s vengeance because Pilate was committing sacrilege by building the tower with funds designated for the Temple. For the families and friends of the dead, Jesus’ comments will not be academic. They wait with baited breath. And so do I.

But neither they nor I get what we are looking for. There’s no real explanation. Instead of explaining how God operates in a universe which seems to be controlled by random massacres and disasters—Jesus just dispels the popular myth, popular even today, that disaster means we’ve done something to offend God.

Jesus makes it clear that these victims did not die because they were worse than everybody else. The disaster which befell them was not some divine punishment. That’s not how it works. People still think it works like that, though, When I was a hospital chaplain, lots of people said things like, "I’m sick because I was bad in my youth." I hear that theology on TV when preachers say that AIDS is God’s punishment. That’s a theory based on bad facts and bad theology.

When faced with disasters, Jesus says plainly that these victims weren’t any worse than everybody else. So he’s just not looking at it from the convenient standpoint that disaster equals disfavor with God. That would solve our dilemma; that would answer the Problem of Evil; but it is not how Jesus says God works.

But that throws us right back into that universe of unexplained pain where we are so uncomfortable, where so many questions are raised. If Jesus isn’t going to tell us why these tragedies happen, what is he going to tell us?

He says, "Unless you repent, you will perish like they did." "Unless you repent, you will perish like they did." What’s that supposed to mean? It can’t mean that if you repent, you will not suffer physical death. We know that everyone dies. So what is Jesus talking about?

He is addressing the problem of evil as one of the major stumbling blocks to faith. He is addressing those, like Tom, who can’t believe because they focus on the terror of the random devastation that we see all around us, that our newspapers are full of.

I believe Jesus is saying, "Don’t let the terror run your life. Don’t lose faith because you let fear of evil be the focus of your existence. That is the darkness. And if you live your life with that kind of anxiety, that kind of paralysis that keeps you from believing, you are spiritually dead. Evil has become the controlling force in your life. You meditate on the darkness.

Instead, Jesus says that the response to the Problem of Evil is not to give an answer, but is to repent. Repent. Change direction. Turn around from the fear of bad things happening to good people. If we don’t repent, Jesus says, eventually we will have killed ourselves spiritually. We will not bear fruit, and we will find ourselves cut down. And God is very patient, giving us year after year, but Jesus’ message to my friend Tom is, "Repent."

Let’s change the scene; let’s go to the desert, where Moses, a fallen Prince of Egypt who is now wanted for murder, is hiding out, tending his father-in-law’s flock. We’re all familiar with the story: he sees a burning bush and turns aside to see what’s going on, only to hear the voice of God calling him. Moses says, "Here I am," and God proceeds to outline the most damn fool plan imaginable. God has heard the cry of Israel, a people enslaved in Egypt. Moses is to go back to Egypt, introduce himself to the Hebrews (who don’t know him since he grew up in the palace), then calmly go to Pharaoh, the most powerful man in the world who relies heavily on his Hebrew slaves, and say, "Let my people go!"

Well, Moses is no fool, so he tries to find an out: "Who am I to do this?" God says, "I’ll be with you." Moses says, "And who do I say you are?" God says, "My name is I AM WHO I AM, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob."

This story often focuses on the miracle of the burning bush. I think that is the lesser miracle. Moses knew that this was a ridiculous plan. Suppose you heard God telling you to go to Baghdad, make an appointment with Saddam Hussein, and demand that he grant autonomy to the Kurds? Ridiculous. March up to Pharaoh with no army, no support, no nothing, and say, "Let my people go?" Ridiculous. No wonder Moses tried to get out of it. This had disaster written all over it. Moses knows that if he goes, there will be pain, death, devastation (and he is right).

The greater miracle is not that that bush burns; the miracle is that Moses goes. The greater miracle is that in the face of this ridiculous plan, Moses repents of his fear of evil and disaster; he allows the light from the burning bush to extinguish the paralyzing darkness of fear. The greater miracle is not that the bush burns; it is that when told to go into the jaws of evil, Moses goes.

I’ve struggled with the Problem of Evil for years, and Jesus’ response—Repent!—reminds me that the real question is not "Why is there evil?" but is, "Where do we find meaning in the midst of all this chaos and heartache."

I think we can look to Moses’ story as an example. We can look to the burning bush and ask, "How is God calling me, and do I notice." We can listen to Moses’ response, "Here I am," and ask, "How do I respond?" And, when God says, "I hear my people’s cries," (and God’s people are crying all around us), we can know that we are called to be honest about who Pharaoh is that is enslaving us. Pharaoh might be something external, like the government, or poverty, or illness, or racism, or even the church. Or, Pharaoh might be within us, like alcoholism, or the grief we can’t let go of, or drug addiction, or shame, or illness, or the compulsive need to control others, or the belief that we are not worthy to be God’s children. When we are honest about who Pharaoh is, we are called to hear Jesus’ call to repent, repent of our paralyzing fear of evil, repent of our meditation on the darkness.

Then we can; knowing that God did not promise us that bad things, evil things, would not happen to us; we can, in the face of our fears, we can go to Pharaoh and say, "Let my people go." We can say, "Let my people go," knowing that our God will be present with us, even on the gallows, even on the cross.