Sermon on John 12: 20-33
5 Lent, Year B
March 25, 2012
(Click here for an audio recording of the sermon)
Several of us here at Holy Communion are
taking part in the Bible 365 program. There’s a special Bible used in this
program in which each day’s readings are organized into supposedly chronological
order. Now, anyone who has ever made a New Year’s resolution knows how hard it
is to keep up with something every single day for an entire year. And I will be
the first to admit that there have been days I have gotten behind, but mostly,
I was doing pretty well -- until we got to the late February and early March.
Those readings were centered predominantly
upon the thousands of rules and regulations in the book of Leviticus. I mean to
tell you, that was a SLOG, even though I knew it was coming. All the orders to
use this specific color of thread and this specific kind of wood and avoid
eating any sort of creeping animals. All this discussion regarding the burning
of entrails! All these different animals getting sacrificed, and their blood
being sprinkled all over the altar, and then at the same time all the specific
rules about cleanliness, which if you think about it is somewhat contradictory.
It was just so mind- numbingly detailed. The endless lists! It was the part of
the Bible that could have been written by an… engineer. An engineer who likes
to play Modern Warfare 3, the gory Playstation game. But I’m being redundant.
Nevertheless, there are many reasons why we
need to be familiar with these readings in the Old Testament. The early Jewish Christians
understood Jesus as the one who had been foretold in the Law and the Prophets,
and through them we have that understanding as well. Those readings in the Old
Testament that we endured in February explain that the people need a lot of
guidance to live in community with each other and in community with God. Our
readings today build upon both that tradition and upon a presumption of our
familiarity with that background. Without that frame of reference, Jesus could
have been just another failed rebel against a corrupt regime who was born,
lived and died without much outside notice.
As Brooke discussed last week, the important
thing for understanding any story is context. Of the four gospels in the
Christian Bible, John’s is the most different, and many biblical scholars say
it is the most theological, which is why the author of the gospel of John--
whoever he was-- is often referred to as “the theologian.” In each Lenten
lectionary cycle, there is at least one reading
from John. In year B, the year we are currently in, four of the Lenten readings
are from Mark, and three are from John. This is interesting because these two
gospels are very different. Mark is the shortest of the gospels, and it
presents one of the bleakest pictures of Jesus’ passion story. It probably
originally ended on a note of despair: “They were afraid.” And who could blame
those beholding the empty tomb and the missing body of Jesus for being afraid?
But John’s gospel is different. Jesus’
suffering on the cross is downplayed, in favor of the concept of the cross
being a means of glorifying God. All through this gospel, Jesus is a heavenly
figure who comes to us to reveal to humanity the true way of faith, and hope,
and love, and then will ascend -- be lifted up-- bringing glory to God. In this
gospel, Jesus is very clear about his divine origins, so he doesn’t engage in a
lot of tap-dancing around his status as the Messiah. This view of Jesus is of
one who is in charge.
In our reading today, even when Jesus admits
that his soul is troubled, yet in the same breath he presses on in order to
fulfill his purpose and bring glory to God. Now, if that was the only part of
the story we had, we might walk away missing the fact that Jesus was also fully
human. We have had five weeks of Lent in particular to contemplate how God is
with us in trials and in suffering because Jesus is walking the way of
suffering and death on the cross. We will return to that contemplation through
Holy Week. But today we are called to remember that Jesus is a figure of
amazing power, God incarnate sharing our joys and suffering but also drawing
all people to the love of God. Death will be unable to keep down hope, and
faith, and love, even death on a cross.
How
do we (and John) understand the paradox that the cross is a symbol of victory
and power rather than dishonor and disgrace? A death which is a sign of torture
is instead a triumph. This was a scandalous idea at the time it was formulated,
as it also is for us. Crucifixion was the means of execution for rebels and for
murderers, and it was a terrible, lingering way to die.
But by casting back to the events of the history
of Israel, John sees that the saving power of the cross has already been hinted
at. Last week we heard the story of the people of Israel being saved by looking
upon a symbol raised up on a pole, and looking upon that sign saved them from
death. The reading from John’s gospel last week started off making explicit the
connection between this sign and the lifting up of Jesus on the cross. For
John, it is through the exaltation of the Son of Man on the cross that God,
through Jesus, is glorified.
The
gospel reading for today is the hinge upon which the good news of the gospel of
John is proclaimed. This is the point at which, as Jesus says, “the hour has
come for the Son of Man to be glorified.” What caused this hour to finally come
at this particular point? The world—in the form of some “Greeks,” which means
us—has come to Jesus. And now—NOW--Jesus is going to be exalted—lifted up—on
the cross and beyond the cross, held up to bring all of the world to Go. Jesus
makes this clear when he says: “I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will
draw all people to myself.” In the gospel of John, this is the point where
Jesus moves from his ministry toward his exaltation-- when we come to Jesus. Victory can push through
to us at the darkest of times. For John, the crucifixion brings victory,
because the cross brings the world to God. We don’t usually think of it this
way, but the metaphor of the grain of wheat helps us remember this too. Jesus
speaks again in paradox. In order to live we must die. Those who die to
themselves will finally have a full life.
Today’s readings are a breath of hope in the
season of Lent. Our Old Testament reading comes from a section of Jeremiah
known as the “Little Book of Comfort,” and it was written at a time when many
in Israel felt that Israel was being punished yet again for its lack of faith.
Jeremiah promises that God will make a new covenant and wipe away the old
system of atonement for sin. God will write the Law upon our hearts by planting
the knowledge of God in our hearts. No longer will God’s people have to rely
upon a complex set of rules and sacrifices to maintain a correct relationship
with each other and with God. Our epistle makes it clear that Jesus is the
means for that old system of sacrifice and atonement to pass away. God has
given us an everlasting gift that can finally overcome our doubts and pettiness
that seem to always be getting us into trouble.
Just a week ago, the trees were bare, and
the ground was hard. I was sitting in my backyard working on what I would say
today, in the dead remains of a garden I planted last spring. It looked pretty brown
back there. The soil is very poor, and the summer had been very hot. I thought
I had probably wasted all of that effort, and that none of the plants I had
planted would return.
But as I spent hours there each day, and
really stilled myself to see, I looked around and things had changed right
before my eyes! I noticed the fiddleheads of ferns poking through the dead blanket
of needles from the pines. I saw a crocus I had planted years ago and
completely forgotten about push through the new sod. That delicate Japanese
hosta unfurled its first tentative leaves in the place along our back fence
where I was sure the daily deluge of urine from my neighbor’s moronic dog had
killed it!
And two days later—boom!! The redbuds waved
their millions of tiny blossoms from bare branches, and they were beautiful. They
are beautiful, but they are transitory. Those same blossoms must themselves fall
to the ground to make way for the heart-shaped leaves that will soon provide a
canopy of cool shade. Then, in November those leaves too will subside and drift
to the ground themselves.
So, also, the solitary grain of wheat must
fall to the ground and be buried before it can bring forth much fruit. Otherwise, it remains a single
grain—the original Greek here actually says, “Remains alone.” Jesus, through
his upcoming passion, will also be nailed on a cross, facing death and feeling
abandoned and alone. We know this will happen. But we also know that that cross
will then awaken the world to the greatest power on earth—the power of love
that does not hold our frailties and sins against us, but calls us to a new
life in love. We know that the
cross is not the end for Jesus, but just the beginning of victory.
So the image of the grain of wheat says
something first of all about Jesus as the Christ, but second of all it says
something about us. Christ transforms death through his own death on the cross,
and then rises again to bring light and hope into this divided world. We become
faithful by dying to our own divisions and fears and embracing love as Jesus
spread his arms of love on the cross.
This is what all of the Bible has been
trying to get through our thick skulls all along. Our faith doesn’t tell us how
to die. It tells us how to live. It doesn’t tell us what to give up. It tells
us what we will gain. It doesn’t tell us that the world is broken. It tells us
how to make the world better.
How
should we respond to this? It is made clear to us in the gospel, that we who
claim to serve Jesus have to be willing to allow our old lives spent living for
ourselves, spent surrounded by our individual concerns and cares, to pass away.
We are asked to allow the bitter, jealous parts of ourselves to die, and empty
our grasping hands and our fearful hearts so that there will be room for
something better to be planted and burst into bloom. When our hearts are full
of fear, there is no room for love to take root. There is no room to truly love
God and glory in the ability of God to love us. We have to be willing to let go
of the junk the world tells us to value in order to be able to grasp the gift
of God’s incredible love and mercy that never fades and never dies.
We ourselves have to let go of fear, and
place our faith in the power of love just as Jesus did as he prepared for his
glorification. When we allow ourselves to be reborn to love, as we are called
to be as servants of Christ, we will receive back not a life filled with poverty
of spirit. We will be given a life of abundance instead.
And yet, our old life dies hard. Our
suspicion that we will somehow lose out by realigning our lives with love has
to be overcome. How do we do this? We have to prepare the fields of our hearts
for the seed to be able to take root and grow.
Lent
is a season of preparation. But for what are we to be preparing? We began Lent
being reminded that we are dust, and to dust we will return. Some despair when
contemplating this very true statement. Some find this statement to be a frightening
reminder of how short our lives are, in the general scheme of things. But we
will not have much of a life if we spend it distracted by fear from the things
that really matter. We are called to live lives that have meaning, and today’s
gospel reminds us that that meaning is found in serving God, which is another
way of saying that we must serve the cause of each other as God’s people.
Our lives began in love, and our lives are
exalted by love, and must be spent serving the cause of love-- the love that
gives itself up for friends, the love that is willing to see beyond the tomb,
just as Jesus did, to being fully within the glory of God.
In her book of Lenten spirituality entitled A Practical Christianity, the Very Rev. Jane
Shaw, dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, writes: “Faith in the God of
love draws us back to a path of preparation: it calls us to the expression of love
in all that we do, by which we might reflect the love of God and become most
fully who we are called to be. This forces us to look outward, to love neighbor
and love God. And it prepares us to look inward with confidence, to see
ourselves as received and loved—wholly and completely—by the God who created
us….”
We are given that love through the love of
Christ that manifested itself through his laying down his life for us. We are approaching
Jerusalem this week, turning our faces toward home, toward the raising up of
the cross-shaped banner of Love. We are approaching the hour when God’s love
will be made manifest to us, when, in a few short days, we will pass through
the darkness of the passion. It is for this moment that Jesus lived—it is for
this moment that we are called to allow the love we receive to transform us
into the people of God here on earth.
The signs of God’s love are all around us
everywhere, and today we are reminded that Jesus is the beacon that calls us to
open our eyes and our hearts. “Sir, we wish to see Jesus,” the Greeks asked
Philip and Andrew. But as anyone who has read scripture knows, even physical
sight of Jesus was not enough for most people. The kind of sight we need is the
recognition that we ourselves are nothing without love, and we see that when we
behold just what Jesus is willing to do out of love for us. Last week we were
reminded that God so loved the world that God’s only Son was given so that all
would have true life. All of us. No exceptions. No dividing lines. No “us”
versus “them.”
Jesus is right before us, always. We already
have the love of God written in our hearts. In a few short weeks we will be
able to proclaim this beautiful hymn, written by e. e. cummings in 1950:
i thank You God
for most this amazing
day:for the
leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true
dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural
which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died
am alive again today,
and this is the
sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and
of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening
illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
How
could we doubt unimaginable God and the love that lifts us up? We have the sign
of that love right in front of us and indeed all around us. In the gospel today
Jesus says, “Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates
their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” The way we have
twisted our own lives in this world is the way of struggle, the way of strife,
the way of tearing apart the fabric of the community in the name of
self-glorification. Why fear letting that way of life die and be blown away
like so many dead leaves?
Without the love of God transforming our
lives, we are the walking dead. We are dead to beauty. We are dead to truth.
But by giving up this self-centered life, we do not lose but gain. We become
aware of the transcendent power of God to heal our wounded souls, to illumine
our lives even at their darkest moments, to make clear the millions of ways
every day that God sustains us and loves us.
We begin and we end with Jesus calling all
people to himself. This is the sign of the exalted one. This is the sign of
perfect love, love that knows no boundaries or admits any defeat, even at the
foot of the cross. This is the hour that Jesus is glorified, the hour when we can
finally let go and allow ourselves to be drawn to him. The Son of Man lifted up
on the cross publishes and proclaims the love of God in the world, a love that
is present for us at all times in all places. Let us allow ourselves to let
that Love take root within us, now and forever. Amen.
