Gospel according to Saint Luke 13:1-9:

Some people told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with the blood of their sacrifices. Jesus said to them in reply, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were greater sinners than all other Galileans? By no means! But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did! Or those eighteen people who were killed when the tower at Siloam fell on them, do you think they were more guilty than everyone else who lived in Jerusalem? By no means! But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did!”
And he told them this parable: “There once was a person who had a fig tree planted in his orchard, and when he came in search of fruit on it but found none, he said to the gardener, ‘For three years now I have come in search of fruit on this fig tree but have found none. [So] cut it down. Why should it exhaust the soil?’ He said to him in reply, ‘Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future. If not you can cut it down.’”

Merciful Father and tireless Vine-dresser

Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries

Rome, March 23, 2025 | III Sunday of Lent

Ex 3: 1-8a.13-15; 1Cor 10: 1-6.10-12; Lk 13: 1-9

In today’s gospel text, Jesus is informed of a tragic event. A ruthless murder of some Galileans by Pilate’s soldiers while they were in the middle of their sacrifices in the temple. The victims were probably political agitators.

The other one is recalled by Christ himself; it was the work accident that occurred near the temple during the construction of an aqueduct. Apparently, it was a project hated by the Jews because Pilate stole funds from the temple to finance it. So, no doubt, they concluded that these people were great sinners because they had suffered such a misfortune and God punished them.

But even the Jews of the Old Testament found it difficult to accept the common belief that tragedies come from God. They saw bad people prospering and good people suffering all kinds of afflictions. We all know public sinners who enjoy everything life has to offer to the full. Or, on the contrary, they knew the case of Jacob, who was a good man but suffered and faced countless tragedies in his life.

Instead of blaming someone or something, the Master immediately turns all this into an opportunity to call his audience to deeper reflection. The essential question is not Pilate’s guilt or that of those victims, but the lesson each of us must learn when we witness a tragedy and experience the fragility of human life.

So why does Christ conclude by saying: If you do not repent, you will all perish like them? It is not about the threat of divine punishment. He is warning us that, by letting ourselves be carried away by our ambitions, great or small, sooner or later we will realize that we are losing or have lost ourlives. Sometimes death will be responsible for making us understand (like the Galilean revolutionaries) the futility of our efforts; other times, the damage we do to others (like Pilate) will bring to light the misery of our personal pretensions, which lead to sterility or harm to others, like the 18 workers who were crushed to death.

Death, impotence and pain reach everyone sooner or later, but what is truly hard and irreversible is the result of our arrogance. And no one is free from it, not even when we feel strong and generous.

During the American Civil War, the heroic General Sedgwick was inspecting his troops during a difficult battle. There was a sandbar that the troops had built to protect themselves from enemy fire, but the general continued to walk with his head held high over that protective bank, which dominated the enemy position. His officers suggested that this was not safe and that he should crouch down as he crossed the sandbar. “Nonsense,” replied the general. “They couldn’t hit an elephant at this distance.” No sooner had he finished the sentence than he fell to the ground, mortally wounded by a bullet from an enemy sniper.

It is not easy to exaggerate the power and prevalence of self-confidence in us, in all human beings. In a survey conducted on several occasions, it was found that 90% of drivers consider themselves better than the average motorist… something is wrong with the maths… or with our perception of ourselves. Several psychologists have described overconfidence -or arrogance- as the most powerful of cognitive biases. This is how St. Paul ends today’s Second Reading: Therefore, let him who thinks he is standing take heed lest he fall.

Excessive self-confidence in spiritual matters is even more tragic. In the Second Reading, St. Paul gives us a clue as to what can happen to us, using the example of the people of Israel. It goes like this: all the Israelites believed in Moses and followed him. They crossed the Red Sea, they were under the cloud, they ate manna and drank the water that came out of the rock; but, because of their unfaithfulness, none of them entered the Promised Land.

Even the faithful and impetuous Moses, sure of being a just man, killed an Egyptian with the supposed intention of helping a Hebrew. That is precisely why he was in the Sinai desert (Ex 2:11-15). Even so, he received Yahweh’s forgiveness, that form of forgiveness that is not like the way we do it: he was given a mission of great responsibility: to free the Jewish people from slavery.

We can see that mission with the same clarity with which Moses contemplated the burning bush, with the same certainty with which the Good Samaritan felt he could not abandon the victim of the robbers.

Just as Moses was forced to remove his sandals as a sign of respect and veneration in the presence of God, so you and I must also accept it with gratitude and attentive obedience: Your word in my heart becomes a fire that burns in the depths of my bones. I struggle to contain it, but I cannot (Jer 20:9).

—ooOoo—

We can learn from the ancient Latin phrase Memento mori (“Remember that you must die”), which was used by the Stoic philosophers to live more fully in the present moment and also by numerous saints, such as St. Ignatius of Loyola, as a reminder not to stray from God. So says Sirach (7:36) Whatever you do, remember the end of your life, and then you will never sin.

Of course, Christ wants to take us even further when he speaks in today’s Gospel of the fig tree that does not bear fruit in its season. He reminds us of divine mercy so that what happened to Moses may be fulfilled in each one of us: We receive a unique mission, for this moment and that no one else has to carry out.

I can say that the most frequent (and saddest) mistake in my Recollection is to assume that at this moment God expects nothing from me.

If I truly trust that Providence is asking something of me right now, then I don’t need to fight against my lack of self-esteem or my arrogance. It is not a question of a middle ground between the two, but of the awareness that the owner of the vineyard is at my side, asking me for a gesture of mercy. It can be to give thanks, to forgive, to listen… Pope Francis expresses it in an expressive and energetic way in Evangelii Gaudium:

The mission in people’s hearts is not a part of my life, or a badge I can take off; it is not an appendage or just another moment in life. It is something I cannot uproot from my being without destroying my very self. I am a mission on this earth, and for this reason I am in this world. We must recognize ourselves as branded by that mission to illuminate, to bless, to vivify, to lift up, to heal, to liberate.

In addition to what we have just said, it is true that our time is limited and that, even with divine mercy and forgiveness, it can happen to us as it did to the thief who was next to Christ, who realized too late the emptiness of his life.

With the analogy of the fig tree, Christ uses a traditional image from the Old Testament. This plant that, twice a year, in spring and autumn, bears very sweet fruit. In ancient times, it was the symbol of prosperity and peace. In the Sinai desert, the Israelites dreamed of a land with abundant water sources, fields of wheat, vines and fig trees….

The teaching of the parable is clear: from those who have heard the message of the Gospel, God expects delicious and abundant fruits. He does not want external religious practices, he is not satisfied with appearances (in spring, the fig tree bears fruit even before it has leaves), but looks for works of love.

The vinedresser’s “three years” of patience is symbolic of Christ’s three years of ministry in Israel. And the extension of “another year” is Christ’s final struggle on the cross when he entered Jerusalem to die, symbolized by the digging and the mulching of the tree. Because of Christ’s death, we always have another chance, granted again and again through the Holy Spirit. God’s patience is immeasurable, but the moment of final judgment will also come: “then they will be able to cut down that fig tree”. This is an urgent call to repentance.

—ooOoo—

On one occasion, a Protestant pastor recalled the following story about a friend of his:

It was about a businessman who was a faithful and observant Christian, who was often visited by a salesman who sold him some items for his shop. One day, this businessman had this soliloquy:

I have dealt with this person for ten years and hardly a day has gone by that we have not seen each other. He has brought me his goods and I have paid him for them; but I have never tried to do him any good. I think this is not right. Providence has brought him into my path and I must at least ask him if he knows Christ.

But the next time the salesman came, the good businessman’s spirits had dropped and he didn’t think it appropriate to start a spiritual conversation. The salesman never returned: the next batch of goods was taken by his son.

What happened? the merchant asked him.

Dad died, the boy replied.

Shortly afterwards, the merchant, a good friend of the pastor, told him: I could never forgive myself. I couldn’t stay in the shop that day; I felt I was responsible for that man’s blood. I hadn’t thought about it before. How can I free myself from that guilt when I think that my foolish shyness kept me silent?