TEXT: John 15: 20–16: 4–15
Some of you may find the New Testament reading this morning somewhat perplexing. This lectionary text for Pentecost finds the disciples in a state of shock, confusion and disorientation. In truth, they were lost in the midst of deep grief.
Things were in a tremendous upheaval for the disciples. In the previous several weeks, they had undergone an emotional roller coaster of experiences with Jesus, the man who had been their leader, teacher and dear friend for the past three years. It seemed like only yesterday when he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey amidst waving palm branches and shouts of “Hosanna.” He had been hailed as a king coming to save his people. But in a matter of days, he was arrested, subjected to a mockery of a trial, and shamefully executed as a common criminal. Then, three days later, the disciples experienced a mystifying phenomenon which they came to understand as Jesus’ miraculous resurrection from the dead. This morning’s scripture lesson begins with the disciples trying to absorb and comprehend this confounding and perplexing series of events. Then Jesus informs them, much to their dismay, that he must now leave them, and go away; this time, permanently. So, the context of this morning’s scripture lesson is radical change. The disciples were, in fact, in the midst of a critical transition.
The disciples were overcome with grief, and understandably so. The scripture says their hearts were filled with sorrow, a perfectly normal and healthy response to losing someone so dear to you. Those of you who are visitors to the American Church in Paris this morning, may not be aware that our congregation is grieving as well. We have lost our Senior Pastor. Larry Kalajainen, who served this congregation and filled this pulpit splendidly for nine years, preached his final sermon here last Sunday. He was called to serve a church in the United States, in Brunswick, Maine. This is our first Sunday without him, and, like the disciples, we too are trying to figure out how we are going to make our way without our leader.
As you might imagine, to be the first preacher following Dr. Kalajainen’s departure is somewhat of a daunting assignment. Now, lest you raise your expectations, let me assure you that I was chosen for this task not for my homiletic genius or world renowned reputation as a preacher, but simply because I’m the only pastor on the staff who is left around here today. The others were smart enough to get out of town. So since I’m stuck with the task, and you’re stuck with me, let’s both try to make the best of it. Now, I figure it is my job to do the preaching, and yours to do the listening. And if you get finished with your job before I get done with mine, please feel free to nod off. Jet lag is endemic around here. And to add impetus to your liturgical lethargy, let me confess that after studying this text, I have only been able to come up with two points, instead of the traditional Trinitarian three. The first point is that Christianity is not a good idea. The second is that you’re better off without Jesus. There, now that you know where we’re headed, why not just settle back and contemplate the ethereal attributes of Parisian pastry?
Okay, just what do I mean when I suggest that Christianity is not a good idea? Well, many of us were raised with the mistaken notion that the Christian faith is a well thought out, ingeniously conceived and flawlessly constructed systematic theology. What this morning’s text suggests is that our faith is not a wonderful theosophical theory or a clever conception proposed by some wise, benevolent and articulate philosopher. Christianity is founded on individual epiphanies and collective recollections which witness to a reality that actually took place in human history. These experiences have been recorded and reviewed thousands upon thousands of times, in every land, in every culture and in every language. The testimonies of these witnesses have been chewed on and hashed over, interpreted and reinterpreted in countless different ways, in an attempt to unscrew the inscrutable, to understand that which is essentially unknown and unknowable; the mystery of the man of Galilee.
Jesus did not leave his disciples with a clear, concise, well integrated theological treatise, complete with a comprehensive and comprehensible doctrine of the trinity. It seems that the disciples weren’t ready to absorb all that he did have to say to them. Jesus tried to tell his disciples what would happen after he was reunited with God the Creator. When he attempted to explain the coming of the Advocate or Spirit of truth, it sounded almost like a consolation prize. The disciples seemed to be too much in shock to grasp what he was saying. Finally, as if in frustration or desperation, Jesus gives up and tells them, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.” So the Gospels end in the same way as the serial films I used to watch as a kid with my brother on Saturday mornings: to be continued.
Christianity is not a good idea. It is not a tidy tome of terse tenets to which one can subscribe, once and for all. It is neither a proscribed ethic nor a postulated world order. Christianity is a dynamic, growing, evolving faith. It’s not a static concept, but a living, developing community born of experience and revelation, to which Jesus was expecting his disciples to contribute. Christianity is a faith in which you and I are invited to share and to become full partners through our participation. It is a witness to the resurrection and a resulting way of life; a continual openness to the living Spirit which makes all things new. Christianity is not a “good idea;” it is a work in progress; a profound gift, an amazing invitation, and an overwhelming responsibility.
Jesus attempts to assure his disconsolate disciples that his work will continue without his presence. In fact, the continuing development of the faith through the Holy Spirit would not be possible unless he left. The future health of the church, indeed of humankind, required that he leave so that we would know, without a doubt, that the responsibility for the world and his legacy of love was left in our hands. Jesus tries to convince the disciples that they would actually benefit from his departure. “I tell you the truth,” he says, “it is to your advantage that I go away.” In other words, “You’ll be better off without me.” So there you have it. Our text this morning reveals two points. First, that Christianity is not a good idea. And second, that we’re better off without Jesus. If this wisdom had not come from the very lips of Jesus himself, we might have cause to be skeptical.
Yet, stop for a moment and try to imagine what might have happened if Jesus had hung around eternally in his resurrected form. I suppose that now it would be actually appropriate to echo that oft-heard question, “What would Jesus do?” What would he do? Well, I believe he would probably continue to preach profound ideas and perform miraculous healings that would confound even today’s most brilliant minds. I suppose he might hold huge revivals or organize massive crusades. Perhaps he’d have a special spot on CNN every night, right after the weather. Or maybe he’d decide to raise money for the poor by endorsing Nike sandals. He might be chosen to be permanent president of the United Nations. Or, it could be that he’d be elected Pope. Nah, probably not. I’m sure he’d decide to be a Presbyterian. But whatever Jesus did, I have a strong hunch that you and I would mostly stand around with our hands in our collective pockets, being awed by what he said, and waiting for him to tell us what we should do.
And therein lies the problem. Christianity from the beginning has never been a spectators’ sport. Believe it or not, our faith requires that we respond to the testimony handed down to us through the generations, by risking our very lives; by deciding just how we will spend the precious gift of life each of us has been given. I believe Jesus intended that everyone who encountered his teachings would be called to participate in his vision, not for God’s sake, not as a means of punishment or penance, but for our own sake. Because that is who we were created to be. Because that is how we are designed. We are better off without Jesus because, inspired by the Holy Spirit, you and I become the church, the very body of Christ, the active, healing, reconciling and loving presence of God in the world today. That is who we are. We are no longer innocent bystanders, merely card carrying members of a club. We are ambassadors for Christ and co-creators of the universe.
Jesus’ disciples were grieving because the world as they knew it, was falling apart. The only thing that they could experience at this time was their loss. They were unable to see that they were on a threshold. They were riding the cusp of continuing creation. They were living through a crucial transition.
Transitions are seams, places where the edges of two different entities come together. My spouse, Betsy, and I have a small cottage back in the U.S. on the Oregon coast. When we walk along the shore there, where the edge of the land meets the edge of the sea, I am continually reminded of both the inevitability of death and the fecundity of life. This particular stretch of beach lies between two estuaries. Estuaries are places of extraordinary transition. Estuaries occur where the fresh water of a river or stream pours into the salt of the ocean. Then, as the tide rises, the salt water pushes its way back into the fresh, forming, over time, a shallow tidal basin. Estuaries are in constant transition, changing with the winds and the rains, the seasons and the tides. Life there must adjust to the continuing fluctuations of temperature, salinity and current: sometimes flowing in, sometimes out; sometimes strong, sometimes slack. Yet with all this change, estuaries team with life. They are the liveliest and the most fertile places on earth. Life is defined by change, and change, it seems, gives birth to life.
Transitions are times of the soul. They are cosmic syncopations, those pregnant pauses between times which throw us delightfully off balance as we attempt to anticipate the beat of the future. Transitions are disorienting, for we cannot know what is yet to come. But transitions may also give birth to transformation, if we are willing to let go of the past and be open to an entirely new future. Transitions challenge us to release what is familiar in order to embrace the unknown. Like a trapeze artist, we can never grasp the next bar until we let go of the one we are holding. Transitions always involve risk, and real life rarely sports a safety net. Danger always lurks in the shadows of the unknown. Transitions are both fraught with peril and pregnant with possibility. The transition from one calendar year to another is often depicted by two symbols. On the one hand, death with its scythe and skull, and on the other, a plump and plucky child, brimming with potential, heading into the future.
In order for change to be fertile, and not overwhelm or defeat us, we must become flexible and adaptive. Transitions require us to reexamine our values and to hold fast to that which is true. They are opportunities and obligations for us to discern God’s will and to honor our heart’s desire. The stakes which are unveiled by transitions help us to realize that we must be very careful in choosing which causes we are willing to devote our precious life to. We must become clear about who it is that we want to become, then commit ourselves to that destiny. Finally, we must take the first step in that new direction. It is astonishing how many doors will open once that commitment is made. For some, transformation is unconscious and intrinsic, like the unfolding of a bud into flower. For others, transformation is painfully intentional; born of courageous decision-making and forged by the strength and perseverance of one’s own will. But whether calculated or serendipitous, transitions provide rich possibilities for transformation.
Transitions become transformational because the Holy Spirit is sent to us. They are times when the Spirit hovers over the face of the deep, bringing creative energy into being. That is how God works in us now that Jesus Christ has ascended. That is how love and peace, justice and righteous are born in a weary wounded world of avarice and greed, conflict and strife.
Are you haunted by dreams of the ways things could be different in your life? Do you have visions of who you might become? Can you hear a voice deep inside you inviting you to a new challenge? Do you feel your fist being slowly unclenched, releasing a past which has held you back for so long? Can you sense the Spirit at work within you here this morning? Is there a warmth within your soul? Do you feel the breath of God upon your cheek? Perhaps this very moment is the beginning of your transformation. Today is Pentecost, the traditional celebration of the birthday of the church. Possibly it will become a pivotal day for you as well. Perhaps Sunday, June 8, 2003 will mark the day that you made the commitment to change your life to become the person you have been longing to be. The decision is yours. With God, all things are possible.
Friends, the good news is this: in Christ we have already become new creations. The old has passed away; behold the new has come. Thanks be to God. AMEN.
No comments:
Post a Comment