In Luke’s thirteenth chapter, Jesus had just wrapped up a lengthy message about fear, anxiety, hypocrisy, and Hell, when some of his listeners interjected.
Luke 13:1 – Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices.
This wasn’t just random small-talk: Jesus was Galilean, remember, as were most of his followers. Pontius Pilate, widely known for being the soft-hearted politician who saw no guilt in Jesus and washed his hands of the crucifixion, was actually a savage who was infamous for his brutality. It’s unclear how recently he had slaughtered Galilean worshipers in the Temple and mixed their blood with their animal sacrifices, but some of Jesus’ followers were still deeply traumatized by it.
That’s why they brought it to Jesus’ attention. They wanted to know how faithful believers are supposed to process something so awful. His response surely raised eyebrows:
Luke 13:2-5 – Jesus answered, “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.”
Why would Jesus respond to traumatized people this way? Not only did he tell grieving Galileans to repent, but he went on to remind them of another tragedy – the deadly collapse of the Siloam Tower – before doubling down on his call to repentance. At first glance, this seems like a rather harsh, or even heartless, response to a heartfelt concern.
But Jesus wasn’t being dismissive or unkind; on the contrary, his unusual response couldn’t have been more compassionate. But how? It’s a fair question. In one instance, innocent lives were taken by a murderous tyrant, while at Siloam, innocent lives were lost in an accident at a construction site. What could these two events possibly have to do with each other?
While the tragedies in question differed greatly, people apparently responded to both events in a very similar way. Notice how Jesus asked the same question about both catastrophes: Do you think that [those who died] were worse sinners (or more guilty) than others are? And twice he answered his own question: I tell you, no!
Whether we’re talking about first century Galileans or twenty-first century Americans, human beings have always had a bad habit of jumping to conclusions whenever tragedy strikes. We point fingers and pass judgment. Many people find some dark comfort in believing that those who are suffering did something to deserve it or somehow had it coming. And Jesus’ answer to humanity’s blame-game is simply, “I tell you, no! Repent or perish.”
Even after something as terrible and inexplicable as the Hill Country flood, many have foolishly jumped to judgment. I won’t share any links or screenshots of the kind of asinine animosity I’ve witnessed online because it makes my blood boil. If you haven’t seen what I’m talking about, please don’t go looking for it. Just trust me when I tell you that one of humankind’s worst impulses – the opportunistic rush to assign blame – reared its ugly head again over the past few days.
A few untoward comments from politicians and pundits wouldn’t pose a problem if it weren’t for the grim reality that, as of my writing, eighty people – including over thirty children – are confirmed dead, with over forty others still missing. It’s all so unspeakable that I can hardly type without trembling. It seems so senseless and random. Those kids were sleeping in their bunks at camp, and their counselors were spending their summer vacations pouring life and love into them. The videos and images we’ve seen over the past forty-eight hours will haunt us forever.
How can we possibly make sense of it?
Jesus’ answer to those traumatized Galileans and, I believe, to us is simple and sincere: You don’t have to make sense of it. It’s not your job to make sense of it. On this earth, in this life, there is no such thing as “making sense of it.”
That could seem callous and cold if it came from anyone other than Jesus. No one has ever suffered a more horrific and senseless tragedy than he did less than a year after his exchange with the Galileans in Luke 13. Over the past few days, many have described the children lost in this flood as “innocent”, and I don’t disagree, but no one has ever been as innocent as Jesus was when he died on the cross.
And yet, we know that God found a way to redeem the world’s darkest day. In fact, He redeemed all of us through the most horrific tragedy imaginable. And so, even as we rightly weep and mourn what’s happened in the Hill Country, we hold onto the hope we have in Christ Jesus, that even disaster and death must and shall give way to God’s plan to save us.
For this reason, followers of Christ are called to grieve differently than the world does. The Apostle Paul drove this point home in his second letter to Corinth. Read this carefully:
2 Corinthians 7:8-11 – Even if I caused you sorrow by my [prior] letter, I do not regret it… I am happy… because your sorrow led you to repentance. For you became sorrowful as God intended… Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death. See what this godly sorrow has produced in you: what earnestness, what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what alarm, what longing, what concern, what readiness to see justice done.
In other words, worldly sorrow is just feelings without conviction, but godly sorrow leads us to repentance. Worldly sorrow says, “I’m sorry, but…” while godly sorrow says, “I’m sorry enough to change the way I’m living.”
How should the events of the past few days lead us to repentance and inspire us to change the way we’re living? That’s for each one of us to discern, but as for me, I’ve been convicted about some of the things to which I devote my precious time and attention. I love baseball, for instance, and the Astros are having a great season, but who cares about sports when I have two teenage kids to love – especially when so many of my fellow Texans would give anything to hug their kids just one more time?
Who cares about political differences, car trouble, the stock market, or shopping when God has surrounded us with actual human beings – each one made in His image – who need a hug, or a text, or a prayer?
Lord, I repent of my false priorities. I repent of my empty idols. I repent of my selfish ambitions.
I repent… I repent… I repent…
That’s how godly sorrow works. And that’s how followers of Jesus are called to live, especially in trying times like these.
