A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
16th March 2025
Luke 13.1-9, 31-35
The news is relentless.
The humanitarian crisis continues in Gaza,
and the images of bombed-out homes and grieving families fill our screens.
In Ukraine, civilians continue to suffer as the conflict drags on.
Across the world, disasters unfold—wildfires rage through once-thriving communities,
floods displace millions,
and here in the UK, families are struggling to put food on the table,
relying on food banks just to survive.
And with each tragedy, the question arises: Why?
It’s a question as old as humanity itself.
When we hear of terrible suffering,
our instinct is often to ask: Whose fault is this?
Did the victims do something wrong?
Is this some kind of punishment?
Or, if we are feeling especially introspective, we might ask:
What does this mean for me? Could this happen to me?
This is precisely the kind of question that people brought to Jesus in Luke 13.
Some Galileans had been slaughtered by Pilate,
their blood mingled with their temple sacrifices—a brutal act of oppression.
Others had died in a tragic accident
when a tower in Siloam collapsed.
The people wanted answers.
They wanted Jesus to explain why these things had happened.
It is a very human impulse. When we see suffering,
we want to believe there is some reason, some logic to it.
If we can find an explanation—They must have done something to deserve it—
then we can protect ourselves from the uncomfortable truth
that suffering is unpredictable, that it could happen to any of us.
But Jesus refuses to give them the answer they are looking for.
He does not tell them that these people suffered
because they were particularly sinful.
Instead, he turns the question back on them:
“Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”
It’s a startling response.
Jesus does not allow them to remain detached observers
of other people’s suffering.
He refuses to let them believe
that they are somehow exempt from tragedy.
Instead, he calls them—and us—to repentance.
But not a repentance rooted in fear or guilt.
Rather, a repentance that calls us to transformation, to justice,
to bearing fruit in our lives and in the world.
So today, as we reflect on this passage, we must ask:
How do we respond to the suffering around us?
Do we seek to justify ourselves
and distance ourselves from the pain of others?
Or do we allow the call of Jesus to shake us
out of complacency and into action?
Because, as we will see, Jesus’ call to repentance
is not about avoiding punishment—it is about stepping into life.
2. The Question of Blame: Jesus’ Response to Tragedy (Luke 13:1-5)
So the people come to Jesus with news of a massacre.
Pilate, the Roman governor, has killed a group of Galilean worshippers.
It’s a horrifying act of brutality, a stark reminder of Rome’s power and cruelty.
The crowd expects Jesus to respond, perhaps with outrage or condemnation.
Maybe they hope he will blame the victims
—suggest that these Galileans had somehow provoked Rome’s wrath.
Or maybe they expect him to name Pilate as an enemy of God,
calling for vengeance.
But Jesus does neither.
Instead, he responds with a question:
“Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way
they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?”
And before they can answer, he gives his own response:
“No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”
And then, as if to reinforce the point, he brings up another recent tragedy.
Eighteen people had died when a tower collapsed in Siloam.
This was not political violence, but an accident—an unpredictable disaster.
Once again, Jesus asks:
“Do you think that they were worse offenders
than all the others living in Jerusalem?”
Again, his answer is the same:
“No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
It’s a response that unsettles us,
As Jesus refuses to engage in the game of blame.
He won’t say that these deaths were divine punishment.
He won’t say that those who died were any more sinful than anyone else.
But nor does he allow his listeners to remain neutral observers,
standing at a distance from the suffering of others.
Instead, he turns the question back on them:
What about you?
The tragedies of others are not opportunities for theological speculation.
They are a wake-up call, a moment for reflection, a summons to change.
We still see the same dynamics today.
When disaster strikes, when innocent lives are lost, people look for explanations
—often to reassure themselves that they are safe.
But Jesus’ response warns us against this.
The real question is not “Did they deserve this?” but “How do we respond?”
Innocent civilians suffer in Gaza, Ukraine, and Sudan.
Some people look for political justifications,
seeking to frame one side or another as responsible.
But Jesus’ call is not to point fingers—it is to ask,
What can we do for those who are suffering?
Families in the UK are struggling under the weight of rent increases,
food insecurity, and rising energy costs.
It is easy to dismiss this suffering by blaming individuals
—assuming that people must have made poor choices.
But Jesus warns us against this kind of thinking.
The real question is not, What did they do wrong?
but What must we do to build a just society?
Wildfires, floods, and extreme weather are destroying homes and livelihoods.
Some want to explain these events away as natural occurrences,
avoiding any personal responsibility.
But Jesus’ call to repentance challenges us:
Are we willing to change our ways to protect our planet
and those most vulnerable to climate catastrophe?
We hear of desperate people perishing at sea,
trying to reach safety in overcrowded boats.
Some justify harsh policies,
claiming that migrants should not have come in the first place.
But Jesus does not allow us to dismiss the suffering of others so easily.
He demands that we see their humanity and ask,
How can we be a people of welcome, rather than rejection?
Jesus refuses to let us respond to suffering with detachment.
His words press upon us with urgency:
Repent. Change direction. Bear fruit. Step into the life God calls you to.
Because the question is never simply about them.
It is always also about us.
3. The Call to Fruitfulness: The Parable of the Fig Tree (Luke 13:6-9)
Jesus follows his response to tragedy with a parable about a fig tree in a vineyard.
At first glance, this may seem like a story of judgment
—an image of a barren tree about to be cut down.
But at its heart, this parable is about grace.
The tree has not yet borne fruit, but it is not beyond hope.
The gardener pleads for more time, more care, more nourishment.
He does not give up on the tree but tends to it,
believing that transformation is still possible.
This is how God works with us.
There is urgency in Jesus’ words
—change is necessary, and time is not unlimited.
But there is also mercy.
God does not demand instant perfection.
Instead, God patiently calls us to repentance,
to transformation, to a life that bears fruit.
So the parable of the fig tree is not just a lesson in divine patience
—it is a challenge.
The world does not need passive observers
but active agents of change.
The tree is expected to bear fruit, not simply exist.
Jesus calls us to the same
—our lives, our churches, and our societies
must reflect the justice and mercy of God.
The parable of the fig tree tells us that change is possible. that there is still time.
But time is not infinite.
If we do not bear fruit—if we do not act for justice, mercy, and transformation—
then what good is our faith?
Jesus’ call is clear:
Repentance is not about guilt, but about action.
It is about turning away from complacency
and stepping into the work of God’s kingdom.
The world does not need more unfruitful trees.
It needs people, churches, and communities
who bear the fruit of justice, peace, and love.
4. Jesus’ Lament Over Jerusalem (Luke 13:31-35): Compassion and Warning
As Jesus continues his journey toward Jerusalem,
some Pharisees warn him that Herod wants to kill him.
It would have been easy for Jesus to turn back,
to seek safety, to avoid the coming conflict.
But he refuses to be intimidated, to be swayed by fear or threats.
He is determined that his mission will continue
He will go to Jerusalem,
knowing full well that the city will reject him.
He will not take up the sword against Rome,
nor will he seek to avoid suffering.
Instead, he will bear witness to the kingdom of God
—the kingdom of peace, justice, and mercy—
even as the powers of the world close in on him.
And then, in one of the most tender and heartbreaking images in the Gospels,
Jesus laments over the city:
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets
and stones those who are sent to it!
How often have I desired to gather your children together
as a hen gathers her brood under her wings,
and you were not willing!" (Luke 13:34)
This is not the cry of an angry judge but of a grieving parent.
Jesus longs to protect his people, to draw them close,
to shield them from what is coming.
But they refuse. They will not walk the way of peace.
And so, the consequences will come
—not as an act of divine vengeance,
but as the natural result of rejecting God’s way.
Jerusalem’s fate is sealed because its leaders choose violence over peace,
power over justice, self-preservation over repentance.
Within a few decades, the city will fall,
destroyed by the very empire it sought to resist through armed rebellion.
The tragedy is not that God desires their destruction,
but that they refuse the path that could have saved them.
Contemporary Application: A World That Rejects the Way of Peace
Jesus’ lament is not just for Jerusalem of the first century
—it is for our world today.
So many still reject the way of justice and peace:
We know of politicians who exploit fear,
scapegoating migrants, minorities, or the poor to maintain power.
We live in economies that put profit above people,
driving up rents, suppressing wages, and leaving millions in poverty.
And we see nations that pursue war and military dominance
rather than seeking peace and reconciliation.
And what is the role of the church in the face of this?
We are called not to be silent, not to turn away,
but to lament, to challenge, and to embody another way.
Such lament is not passive grief—it is a prophetic act.
To lament is to refuse to accept the world as it is,
to cry out against injustice,
to grieve the ways that human sin has corrupted God’s good creation.
It is to stand where Jesus stood,
weeping over the suffering of the world
while still proclaiming that another way is possible.
Jesus’ grief over Jerusalem
reflects God's heartbreak over our world.
The question is: Will we respond? Will we repent?
Or will we continue down the same path,
refusing the way of peace until destruction is inevitable?
5. Conclusion: Repentance as Transformation
Jesus’ call to repentance is not about fear or guilt
—it is about transformation.
Repentance is not just feeling sorry.
It is a radical reorientation of life,
a turning toward justice, mercy, and action.
So the question remains: How will we bear fruit?
Will we be courageous in challenging systems of injustice,
calling out the lies that justify oppression.
Will we commit to not just feeling sympathy,
but actively working to relieve suffering and restore dignity.
Will we see the pain of the world not as something far away,
but as something that calls us to action.
Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem is both a warning and an invitation.
Judgment is real, but so is grace.
The door is not yet closed.
There is still time to change, still time to live differently,
still time to bear the fruit that God desires.
But time is not unlimited.
The gardener pleads for one more year,
but eventually, the tree must bear fruit.
Spare us from forests of unfruitful trees.
The world needs people, churches, and communities
who embody the kingdom of God
in ways that are transformative, life-giving, and peace-making.
Jesus stands before us today
with the same call he made to those first hearers:
Repent. Turn. Live differently.
Walk the way of peace. Bear the fruit of the kingdom.
And the choice is ours.
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