Abiding, Take Two

Yesterday in John 15:1-8, we heard Jesus invite (command?) his disciples to abide in him. By abiding in him, they are enabled to bear much fruit. The bearing of fruit is the basis for judgment, but any who abide in him are the true disciples who, though pruned through hardship, bear much fruit. This coming Sunday, in John 15:9-17, we continue that theme and see how that abiding is lived out by Jesus' disciples. Easter 5 is an exploration of the abiding concept, but Easter 6 is an explication of abiding in practice.

Right at the beginning of Sunday's gospel lesson, we see how Jesus is going to transition from theory to application: "As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love." The key for disciples is to remain, dwell, linger, abide in love. More than abiding in Jesus, more than remaining connected to the vine, disciples are called to abide in Jesus' love. This, Jesus continues, is part of the reciprocal process of keeping his commandments: "If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love." Jesus has kept the Father's commandments by abiding in the Father and the Father's love, and the disciples are called to do likewise.

But there's more.

What does the keeping of Jesus' commandments look like? Narrowing all of his teaching down to one simple but incomprehensibly difficult commandment, Jesus says, "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends." There's that "lay down your life" commandment, again? Sound familiar? We've been exploring it for three weeks in the epistle lessons from 1 John.

God is love, John reminded us yesterday in 1 John 4. We are to love as we have been loved, he taught us two weeks ago in 1 John 3. And what does that look like? Back on 4 Easter, in 1 John 3:16-24, we heard John's words about this same thing: "We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us-- and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. How does God's love abide in anyone who has the world's goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?" Jesus command, therefore, that his disciples should lay down their lives for one another is not abstract or metaphorical. It is literal. We give up our lives--our identity, our possessions, our self-interest, perhaps even our ability to draw breath--for the sake of the other just as Jesus has. How is this possible? By abiding in the love that Jesus has for us, the love that the Father and Son share, and the love that animates the Church.

This is a tall order. Finally, I'm preaching again. For the last two weeks, I've been wishing I had the chance to preach on the love commandment, and now it's my turn. We are to love one another as Jesus has loved us. I know from experience that we can't do that without that divine love abiding in us. But how do you tell someone that following Jesus means laying down one's life for the sake of others without preaching a false gospel of effort--one clearly rejected by the readings from Acts and 1 John as well as the collect for this Sunday? Maybe it's a good thing I've had a few weeks to think about this. I'm going to need it.

Baptism? Why Not?

When I was in college, I was part of a fraternity. During my freshman year, after rush was over, I spent a few months of joyful misery as a pledge. Although I was never hit with a paddle or made to do exercise until I dropped, I was hazed—lovingly? sadistically?—until I was formally initiated and told the secrets of the fraternity. Since then, both I and the undergraduate fraternity system in general have discovered the stupidity, pointlessness, inhumanity, and danger of hazing. Still, it continues.

One way that Greek institutions have combatted the pernicious pattern of hazing is to initiate pledges at the beginning of their education about the traditions of their fraternity or sorority. Once you tell all of the secrets to the pledge, there’s no reason for him or her to hang around while older members abuse them. Imagine that: an almost instant full initiation that is followed by inculcation. Sound familiar?

In Sunday’s reading from Acts 8, the Holy Spirit is at work in powerful ways. The Ethiopian eunuch, a powerful and prominent servant of the Queen, is on his way back to Ethiopia from Jerusalem, where he had gone to worship the God of Israel. Led by the Spirit, Philip came up to the eunuch’s chariot and struck up a conversation. It just so happened (isn’t that how the Holy Spirit works?) that the eunuch was reading from the Hebrew Bible and was looking for someone to help him understand what he was reading. The passage he had been reading was from Isaiah: “Like a sheep, he was led to the slaughter, and, like a lamb silent before its shearer, so he opened not his mouth.” Philip proceeded to explain how this passage was connected with the saving life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Overcome by the Spirit, the eunuch looked beside the road and saw some water and asked, “What is to prevent me from becoming baptized?” The answer, of course, was nothing, and, after the caravan had halted, Philip led the eunuch into the water, baptized him, and then disappeared (went away hurriedly?) by the Spirit’s power.

There are several remarkable things at work in this passage. For starters, there’s the Spirit-led connection between Philip and the eunuch and Isaiah and the water. It all falls together quite nicely. Beneath that, however, is the even more remarkable truth that an Ethiopian eunuch—an emasculated man of presumably non-Jewish ancestry whose gender-identity and race would count as two strikes against him in the Mosaic Law—was baptized into the body of Christ. As we read the passage, that may not stick out to us as much as the more-than-coincidental nature of the encounter, but, in the judgment of that day, it is only the Spirit-led connection that makes it clear to us that this is, indeed, the right course of action. There’s another post—perhaps tomorrow—and a sermon or two about the inclusion of gender-ambiguous or non-conforming people in the life of the church, but, today, I want to focus on the surprising nature of the baptism itself—unprepared, unscheduled, isolated from the Christian community, yet perfect.

I remember the first time a colleague asked me in a derisive tone why we were performing a baptism in church at a time other than one of the big five occasions encouraged in the rubrics of the prayer book (1 Epiphany, Easter Vigil, Pentecost, All Saints’, and the bishop’s visitation). I was stunned. What do you mean? I asked with an equally derisive tone. Those big dates are fine, I told him, but sometimes a family and a church want to celebrate baptism in the middle of July because that’s when they can all get together for it. I understand that those days in the church year are “especially appropriate” for baptism, and I love it when it works out that we would have a baptism on those days. I also understand and share the deep desire for celebrating baptism at a time when the congregation can be present, which is to say not in a private baptism after church or on a weekday. If baptism is the full inclusion of a child of God in the body of Christ, then it makes sense that as many members of the body of Christ would be present to see it. Yes, there are probably more people in church at Pentecost or All Saints’ than on the Second Sunday of Easter, but there’s nothing wrong with the congregation coming together to celebrate a baptism on the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost. And, maybe, given the circumstances outlined in this reading from Acts, having a Saturday-afternoon baptism, before the out-of-town family of the baptismal candidate have left to go back home, isn’t entirely a bad idea either.

I also note with joy the rather impromptu nature of the eunuch’s baptism. Yes, he was familiar with the story of Israel. As one who had travelled to Jerusalem to worship, he was in some way already educated in the story of salvation revealed to God’s people. Nowadays, however, we are far more likely to ask an adult inquirer to come to a series of classes and jump through our appointed hoops before we bring her or him to the waters of baptism. A few years ago, on one of the big baptismal days, I preached a sermon about an “open font” and how, despite not being fond of altar calls, the Episcopal Church sees baptism (or reaffirmation of baptismal vows) as an opportunity for someone to commit (or recommit) her or his life to Christ. Before the service started, I prepared the font for a baptism even though one had not been scheduled. At the announcements, I asked if anyone wanted to be baptized. I showed the congregation that we were ready and that we would stop the service and celebrate a baptism if anyone felt so moved. Would there be appropriate catechetical instruction? Some might say now, but, given this story from Acts, were hearing the lessons and the sermon not enough?

What is to prevent someone from being baptized? That is the question the church must ask. If we believe that the work of transformation being enacted in a person, in the church, and in the world is God’s work, who are we to stand in the way? Baptism is not an opportunity for people to earn their salvation. It is a chance for us to proclaim the fullness of God’s transforming love in Jesus Christ. We cannot proclaim a commitment to God’s grace if the ministers of God’s church have made the process for initiation into that church burdensome. Let’s have an open font. Let’s preach gospel transformation. Let’s celebrate baptisms whenever and wherever and however the Spirit makes an opportunity for it. What happens if someone is initiated before she or he is fully inculcated into the faith? What happens if we reveal to someone all of the mysteries of our faith before we have hazed him or her? Good things.

First John, Four, Seven and Eight!

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who like to sing first thing in the morning and those who want to kill the kind of people who like to sing first thing in the morning. I am of the former group. Most of the members of my family belong to the latter. So far, I have managed to duck, dodge, and otherwise escape their murderous attempts, living to sing another day. This morning, while my daughter was eating breakfast, I read the lessons for this upcoming Sunday, and, when I got to the reading from 1 John 4, I couldn't help but sing:

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God, and everyone who loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He who loveth not [clap, clap, clap] knoweth not of God for God is love. Beloved, let us love one another. First John, four, seven and eight. 

I remember singing that as a child. I remember the words, which are the KJV of the first two verses of Sunday's lesson. Many kids songs went right over my head. I could remember the words and sing the notes, but the significance of it was lost on me. Not this song. I can not only remember singing the song but also how it felt to consider that God IS love and that anyone who doesn't love doesn't know who God is because God is love. I can remember how wonderfully tidy and logical and clear that felt. It still feels that way today.

"Beloved, let us love one another." John starts this idea--this exhortation to love--with an identification of love. By calling his readers beloved, he is inviting them to begin from a position of belovedness, which is where love ALWAYS begins. We love because we were first loved.

Why ought we love one another? Because love comes from God. Everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. But what kind of love is this? It's the kind of love we heard about last week in 1 John 3, where the author told us that, just as Jesus laid down his life for us, we must lay down our lives for each other. Let that sink in. (And that's something I didn't get when I was a kid.) The ones whom John describes as "born of God" are not those who love their sweetie or those who love chocolate ice cream or those who love the company of friends. The kind of love that those who are born of God and know God show is the kind of love God shows for us--the kind of self-sacrificing, care-for-the-other, agape love.

Those who don't love like that--those who don't have agape in their lives and relationships--don't know God. You can't know God and not have that love. This isn't a test for Christians; it's a fact of the Christian life. To belong to God means unconditional love. It means loving "in truth and action" and "not just in word or speech." John isn't trying to convince someone how to become a Christian. He's trying to convince Christians how to live as Christians.

For the second week in a row, I am not preaching. And, for the second week in a row, if I were preaching, I would be preaching on 1 John. Our congregation is full of Christians. We are not on the front lines of evangelism. Instead, we are guarding the back door to make sure the flock doesn't fall away. These are the words John would say to them: "Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us." All of us are looking for God. We want a deeper relationship with God. John reminds us that we find it--and God--by loving one another as we have been loved.

Believe or Abide?

"All you have to do is believe in Jesus. If you believe in him, you'll go to heaven."

That's what Christianity sounded like to me for my childhood and adolescence. I don't think I'd put it quite like that now, but it's not too different from the faith I hold. I do believe that faith in Jesus is how we are saved. I don't think people go to heaven because they're good, because they live by the golden rule, or because they try hard to make God happy. Effort and actions don't get us to heaven. Our faith in Jesus does. But what do we mean by that?

Sunday's gospel lesson (John 15:1-8) gives us a very different way of getting to heaven. Jesus said to his disciples, "Abide in me as I abide in you." I think we underemphasize the importance of abiding in Jesus. In these words, spoken during Jesus' last meal with his followers, Jesus encouraged them to remain connected to, grounded in, and nourished by him. Jesus used the image of a vine, branches, and fruit to drive this point home. What does it mean to abide in Jesus? "Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me." It is our abiding in Jesus that enables us to bear fruit--live lives--that are worthy of our calling. And bearing fruit is the basis for God's judgment of us and our lives.

Jesus said, "Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned." Although I don't think the fire where the discarded branches are burned is supposed to be an image of the fires of hell, Jesus makes it clear that those branches (people) who don't bear fruit are deemed empty and fruitless and set aside by God. On the other hand, and this is where the emphasis belongs, those who remain grafted in Jesus are those who bear much fruit.

Jesus did not say to his disciples, "Those who believe in me bear much fruit." Nor did he say, "Anyone who agrees with my teachings will go to heaven." The emphasis is on abiding, and maybe that's where we should place our emphasis, too. What does it mean to believe in Jesus in the life-changing, go-to-heaven sense? It means believing that Jesus is the Son of God, that God the Father has made him Lord of all, including our lives, and that the death and resurrection of Jesus are the only means by which we are set free from sin and death and reconciled to God so that we can participate fully in the reign of God here on earth. That's a lot more than "All you have to do is believe in Jesus." While it's true that all one must do is believe, that sense of believing is deeper than deciding in one's mind that Jesus is a pretty cool dude. It means believing that one's true hope belongs to him.

You can't get to heaven by bearing fruit, but believing in Jesus in the sense of abiding in him always leads to fruit-bearing. Yesterday's reading from 1 John 3 reminded us that we, too, should lay down our lives in love for one another, caring for one another and meeting one another's needs. One cannot belong to God in Jesus Christ without showing that love in outward ways. There's a careful balance here that the preacher needs to walk. We aren't preaching works-righteousness, but we are proclaiming a faith--a belief--that is more than a mental exercise. It is a life spent grounded in Jesus. It is abiding in him.

What Is Love?

In 1993, Haddaway asked a question that is still asked in dance clubs all over the world. What is love? This Sunday, in 1 John 3, we hear some of the answer.

What is love? John writes, "We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us..." That is how we know love and what love is. Jesus' offering of himself for us is the defining demonstration. But that's not all. John isn't interested in simply telling us what love is. In face, he never uses that grammatical approach. Instead of defining love, he tells us what it means to love.

John writes, "We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for one another." What does that mean? Does John mean that we should all die for each other? Maybe. But John goes on to show us what he has in mind: "How does God's love abide in anyone who has the world's goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?" Love is sacrifice for the sake of the other--not just on the cross but in our daily life.

John exhorts us to love "not only in word or speech but in truth and action." Not only. In premarital counseling, I ask couples to consider their "love languages." I ask, "When you are filled to overflowing with love for your beloved, how do you express that love to him or her?" There are five defined love languages: words, actions, gifts, time, and touch. I want each of them to name the way that they most naturally express love. Similarly, I want them to name the way in which they most effectively and profoundly receive love. More important than the specific love language, I want them to recognize when their preferences are different. If one spouse pours his heart out with loving words over and over, but the other spouse needs loving gifts like flowers or candy to feel it, it might help to recognize that--at least the concept--going into a long-term relationship. John captures some of that in his letter. Don't love ONLY with word or speech but also in truth and action. If we are truly filled with love, we will give of ourselves to another--not just our marital spouse but everyone whom we love in Jesus' name.

Toward the end of Sunday's reading, John takes it a step further: "And this is his commandment, that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us." Notice that "commandment" is in the singular, but the content of that one commandment is dual. Jesus has given us one commandment: to believe in him and love one another. That's the same thing. If you believe in him you love one another. They go together. They are inseparable. What it means to be a Christian, what it means to be a follower of Jesus, is to believe and love. "How can God's love abide in anyone who has the world's goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses to help?" It can't.

In many Christian traditions, 95% of the emphasis is placed on belief and 5% is placed on everything else. "Do you really, really, really believe unwaveringly and undoubtedly in Jesus?" they seem to ask without any mention of how that belief manifests itself in love. Maybe there are better ways to test our faith. We can't be good to others and earn our way to heaven. But we aren't a part of God's kingdom if love for others is not manifest in our hearts. How do you know that you believe in Jesus? Instead of unwavering intellectual assent, it looks like unwavering charitable service. I suspect that John and the other first Christians would be confused if they heard the way we talk about faith without also talking about love. I suspect that Jesus would wonder how so many of his followers have forgotten what following him really means.

Dirty Job: A Shepherd

I've heard several sermons about sheep--how sheep are dumb animals, how sheep know the voice of their shepherd, how sheep will wander off unless they are tended. The point of the sermon seems to be that we, like sheep, get lost and need a shepherd to save us. But I can't remember hearing a sermon about shepherds. If I were preaching this Sunday on John 10:11-18, a text that is super-familiar to us, I think I might talk about shepherds.

The image of Jesus as a shepherd, more specifically the Good Shepherd, isn't surprising to us, and it wouldn't have been surprising to first-century Christians. David, the shepherd-become-king, was legendary. The gospel tradition makes the connection between Jesus and David as more than a casual association. In its identification of Jesus, there is a direct genealogical link. Jesus is David's son yet, as the riddle Jesus puts to the Pharisees in Matthew 22 implies, David would call him "Lord." By calling him the Good Shepherd, we not only identify Jesus as one who cares for the flock but also as one who follows (and perfects) the Davidic tradition.

David was king of Israel at a time when Israel's political, economic, and military might were at their zenith. Because of that, it was easy to remember David as the king whose heart unwaveringly belonged to God. But how did he get there? How did David become the greatest king in Israel's history? He started as a shepherd. Samuel came to Jesse's house in Bethlehem to anoint Saul's rival-successor, and all of Jesse's sons passed in front of him, but the Lord let Samuel know that none of them was the right one. Finally, David, the youngest, is brought in from the field, where he was keeping the sheep, and the Lord, who looks upon the heart, identified him as the next king of God's people. It was from the pasture that David went to the field of battle. He was too young and inexperienced to join his brothers in war, but, when he arrived with a care-package from his parents, he stepped into the role of soldier and killed Goliath. This is more than a story about a shepherd who becomes king. David's legacy is that of the unlikeliest individual becoming God's chosen leader. Isn't that part of what we say when we proclaim Jesus as the Good Shepherd?

The irony behind king-as-shepherd or messiah-as-shepherd has faded just as the stable-birth and manger-bed of Jesus have become commonplace. "Where else would Israel's true king be born except among livestock in the little town of Bethlehem?" we ask. But shepherds aren't heroes. They're outcasts. No one wants to spend time with a shepherd. They have lice. They stink. They are uncouth. Their table manners are abysmal. With only sheep to keep them company, their conversation skills are deeply lacking. This is the king of kings? Well, sort of.

When Jesus describes himself as the good shepherd in John 10, he is borrowing from the David story, but he's also challenging us to see how God is at work. God's power is not revealed in palaces but in pastures. God's plan is not revealed by authorized prophets but by renegade rabbis. When we call Jesus the Good Shepherd, the words should sound funny coming from our mouth--true but bizarre. How can it be that our savior would be a peasant? Given the story of salvation that stretches from creation through today, how could it be anyone else?

The Peace That Puts The Pieces Together

April 15, 2018 – Easter 3B

Acts 3:12-19; 1 John 3:1-7; Luke 24:36b-48

© 2018 Evan D. Garner

Audio of this sermon can be heard here.

“The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God…” We say those words at the end of the service as part of the blessing that is pronounced before we all go out into the world. They are beautiful words, comforting words, powerful words. Some preachers like to make up their own words to accompany the blessing, but I’ve always found the words in the prayer book to be more than sufficient. But I’ve also found them a little confusing—at least the order of those words.

Have you ever noticed the sequence of nouns in the blessing: “…keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God?” Notice the order: hearts and minds…knowledge and love. I remember when I was a newly ordained priest, trying to commit those words to memory, and I remember struggling because those pairs of words seemed to be out of order: hearts and minds…knowledge and love. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t hearts and love go together while minds and knowledge get paired up? Or maybe they are all jumbled together on purpose, and the point of the blessing is that the peace of God is what holds together heart and mind and knowledge and love in a way that transcends simple grammar, simple parallelism, and simple logic. Maybe salvation is something we experience less like a linear progression and more like a multi-layered transformation of understanding and experience.

Today’s gospel lesson from Luke 24 shows us how jumbled together salvation can be. We have switched gospel accounts again, so let me remind you how Luke tells the story of Easter. On the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb and found that the stone had been rolled away and that Jesus’ body was gone. Two men in dazzling clothes appeared to them and reminded the women how Jesus had foretold his death and resurrection. Then, they left the tomb, found the eleven apostles, and told them what had happened. Simon Peter got up, went to the tomb, and saw it for himself. Later that same afternoon, two disciples were walking to Emmaus, and the risen Jesus came among them and opened the scriptures to them, explaining why the Messiah had to suffer, die, and be raised from the dead. Their eyes were kept from recognizing him until he sat down at the table with them, took bread, and blessed and broke it, and then he vanished. As soon as they realized who it had been, they raced back to Jerusalem to find the other disciples, who were also celebrating that, in an unrecorded encounter, Jesus had shown himself to Peter. Finally, in the midst of that celebration, we come to today’s gospel lesson. Jesus came and stood among all of the disciples and said, “Peace be with you,” and they were…terrified.

Actually, Luke tells us that they were “startled and terrified and thought that they were seeing a ghost.” Empty tomb, men dressed in dazzling white, walk to Emmaus, appearance to Simon, and the disciples still thought that they were seeing a ghost? We might expect Jesus to be frustrated, if not exasperated, by their reluctance to believe, but, instead, he patiently offered reassurance to his scared and bewildered followers. “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?” he asked them. “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see, for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” If they needed proof, Jesus would give them proof.

My favorite line in this story is what Luke tells us next: “While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’” What a beautiful collision of conflicting thoughts and emotions! Full of joy yet still in a state of disbelief and, at the same time, wondering with hope, the disciples stared at their risen master and tried to comprehend what it was that had happened, how it could be that the crucified one was standing before them. That’s what salvation feels like: a messy, beautiful jumble of joy and confusion, of faith and doubt, until finally everything comes together. Into that moment of hopeful uncertainty, Jesus offered yet another confirmation of his bodily resurrection, saying to them, “I’m hungry. Do y’all have any fish?” Dead men and ghosts, after all, don’t eat fish.

As they caught their breath and their heartrates began to return to normal, the disciples listened to Jesus explain yet again how his death and resurrection were the fulfillment of God’s long-promised plan of salvation. Citing the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms, Jesus opened the disciples’ minds to understand what they had seen with their eyes and felt in their hearts, linking their experience of the risen Jesus with the ancestral story of their people.

Isn’t that how salvation really works? Isn’t that how we come to understand who God is and what God is doing for us—not by reading the Bible or listening to a sermon or hearing a compelling testimony or even experiencing a moment of God’s power but by all of those things, coming together? We can’t grasp the fullness of salvation in a tiny glimpse. Even an encounter with the risen Christ isn’t enough. We need to see and hear and touch and know how all of the pieces of God’s salvation come together in our lives. We need to discover for ourselves that our story is a part of God’s great story. And that is what Jesus gives us.

That’s what Jesus means when he says, “Peace be with you.” That’s what we mean by “the peace of God that passes all understanding.” In Hebrew, the word “peace” is “shalom,” which means more than the absence of hostility or a tranquility of the mind. It means wholeness, completeness, perfection. In Greek, the language of the New Testament, the word “peace” is “eirene,” which has its roots in a Greek verb that means “to join or tie together into a whole.” In other words, the peace that Jesus offers us, the peace that God wills for us, the peace that we pray will guard our hearts and minds, is God’s gift of wholeness. And that is where we find salvation.

Have you ever received a piece of news that was so good that you couldn’t believe it? Have you ever encountered a love so pure and selfless that you couldn’t accept that it was meant for you? Salvation is the teenager who never expected her parents to love her in the midst of a terrible crisis. Salvation is the spouse who never thought his wife could love him once his deepest faults came to light. Salvation is the disciple who never thought that God’s love could shine once the Author of life had been killed on the cross. Salvation is the sinner who never thought that God would make a place for her at God’s banquet table. Love like that can’t be read or heard or seen. It’s too big to grasp all at once. It takes time with Jesus, and that’s why we are here. God’s saving love finally becomes real to us when all the pieces God’s story and our story are brought together and made one beautiful whole through the peace of God. That’s what Jesus gave the disciples when he came and met them. And that’s what he offers us as he meets us here today.