Fr. Gordon Byce was telling me about a book he is reading right now, entitled Blink (Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, 2005, Malcolm Gladwell). It is about what we are able to understand from quick impressions, what the author refers to as thin-slices of experience. What we take in, so to speak, in the blink of an eye.
In one experiment, a group of high school students were given lists of unconnected words, and from those lists, they were to pick four words and compose a sentence. This they did. But you know what caught the attention of the researchers. After the experiment, the students left the room together and were all observed as a group, walking slowly and lethargically down the hall.
Because scattered throughout the rows of words were specific words related to old-age: elderly, aged, creaking. Without knowing it, these old-age adjectives had slipped into their thoughts and they waddled down the hall like a geriatric gaggle of decrepit geese.
Fr. Gordon’s observation was - what power there is words and thought, even thoughts that seem merely to skim across our minds.
Along those lines, our passage from John is a remarkable one.
Repeatedly, and at crucial points in John’s Gospel, it comes back to this theme that following Jesus Christ we are entered into a deep and intimate relationship with him and, through him, with God. And that the blood which enlivens this relationship is the self-sacrificing love of Jesus Christ. And without this love, it all falls to the ground. Or, as the passage from last week would put it, like a lifeless vine, we whither and die separated from the love of God.
But it is a point made elsewhere about this commandment that caught my attention.
What makes Jesus’ command to love new?
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. (John 15:12)
Or, as it is put earlier in chapter 13,
I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:34-35)
And so, what makes it new?
It has been said that this love which Jesus commands is new because it is different from the love revealed in the Old Testament. It contrasts with the love described in the Old Testament.
That’s not quite so. The love of our neighbours is strongly emphasized in the law, as is the love of strangers and foreigners (Lev. 9.18, 34).
And John’s Gospel does not seem to have a contrast with the Old Testament in mind. In fact, quite the opposite may be the case.
In Matthew’s Gospel, there are places where a clear contrast is being made. Jesus says, “You have heard it said” - in reference to an instruction from the Old Testament law - and then says “but I say”, in order to emphasize what is new or unique or distinct from the Old Testament.
“You have heard it said, do not murder. But I say, do not even hate your enemy.”
This sharp contrast between Jesus and the Old Testament does not occur in John’s Gospel.
Instead, as the great New Testament scholar Raymond Brown puts it, the command of Jesus to love one another is new because in Jesus Christ the love of God reaches its climax.
In Christ, the love of God shows its full intensity.
In Christ, it demonstrates definitively God’s destiny for his people and the world.
And in Christ it is offered - the great love of God is offered - as an intimate and personal gift from Jesus to his disciples.
The command of Jesus is new because in Christ the intensity of God’s love is revealed. God’s love for the unlovable. The relentless, inexorable reach of God’s love, traveling that road to the cross, fully aware of the anguish and agony ahead. And not to put too fine a point on it, Jesus meant what he said: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (John 15:13). He gave his life, and across the generations Christians have simply and obediently followed the example he gave.
Secondly, and I think majestically, the love of which Jesus spoke is new because it fills full the hope of the prophet and the destiny for God’s people:
The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when. . . I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord (Jeremiah 31:31-34).
But finally, this love is new because it has been extended to us personally by Jesus Christ - who lived in this world, who breathed this air, who knew our joys and satisfactions, our sorrows, our disappointments and defeats. We are invited by Jesus into an intimate, deep and familiar relationship with him.
Later, St. Paul would say this very thing of the Corinthian Christians:
You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, to be known and read by all; and you show that you are a letter of Christ, prepared by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts. (2 Corinthians 3:2-3)
It is personal. We are invited to know our Lord: through his presence in our hearts; through the sacraments through which we reach for him week by week; and in the fellowship of his body, the church. It is new, because it is personal, and is offered to each one of us. The offer of God’s love coursing through our veins, enlivening our lives.
For the past few weeks I’ve been thinking about Haiti and Sri Lanka. For obvious reasons. A terrible and bloody civil war in Sri Lanka. Abject poverty in Haiti, put to us powerfully last weekend by Fr. Max Accime. And last Sunday evening at Evening Prayer, a direct question was put to Fr. Max: Haiti suffers from debilitating poverty, it has endured successive corrupt governments, and it sits in hurricane alley. “Where do you find the strength to get up each day,” Fr. Accime was asked. “Do you have any hope?”
To which Fr. Max answered simply, “One can always hope.”
But I’ve been thinking, what do Christian do when faced with these sorts of circumstances?
What does the church do, in Haiti, in Sri Lanka.
Well, what is the church in Haiti doing: praying, feeding, teaching.
I mentioned to you a while back that I had met Dr. Jebanesan, principal at the Theological College of Lanka in Pilimatalawa, Sri Lanka. I asked him how they were responding to the civil war.
“Well,” he said, “we teach our students the Gospel. And to help them with that,” he said, “we send the Tamil students into Sinhalese parishes and Sinhalese students into Tamil parishes.”
What does the church do? What does the body of Christ do in response? With the intensity of the love of Jesus, rising from the confidence of God’s redemptive purpose in the world, and with this great love coursing through our veins as our Lord has invited us to share, the church does what these Christian brothers and sisters are doing: praying, serving and teaching. Praying for peace. Feeding and sheltering those in need. Building schools where the young can be given the chance for better lives, better homes, better nations.
And it’s the serving and teaching that matters most, right? Well, that was when I blinked. Blinked over words that I kept using: impossible, hopeless, intractable.
Impossible problems. Hopeless communities. Intractable hatreds.
But then I ‘blinked’. Impossible, hopeless and intractable are not Christian words.
What does the Archangel Gabriel say to a young maiden, chosen by the Lord to bear the Savior in her unopened womb.
“Nothing,” he says, “is impossible with God.”
What does the apostle Paul say to a frightened and persecuted people living in the belly of the Roman beast in the great city of Rome?
Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them . . . No, “if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink . . . Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Romans 12:12-21)
And what does the Almighty say to a stuttering shepherd, commissioned with the deliverance of a brow-beaten people out of the hands of the great Pharoah of Egypt:
“This,” says the Lord to Moses, “is why I have let you live: to show you my power, and to make my name resound through all the earth” (Exodus 9:16).
As Christians, we serve and teach wherever we go, but our mission begins with prayer, because we “read, mark, learn and inwardly digest” the words of our faith, the hope of our lives, and the accomplishment of God in Jesus Christ. Prayer because in Christ the intensity of God’s great love is revealed. Prayer because in Christ we have the hope of this great love lifting God’s people and bathing the world. And prayer because from the loving wounds and outstretched hands of our Savior, we are given this love to course through our own hearts and lives for the sake of the world and the glory of God.
Let this prayer be our prayer today.
Sermons & Notes
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
"Past the Empty Tomb" - Easter Sunday, April 12, 2009
Last Sunday there were two fine sermons at St. Paul’s - one from our Bishop, Patrick Yu, and the other earlier in the day from Annette Brownlee.
And in them, two kinds of people described who have encountered Jesus who, for our benefit, the Gospel of Mark offers us in stark and plain terms.
The first is the Palm Sunday follower, with a palm branch in their hands, singing hymns at full voice, thrilled at the thought of what Jesus will do for them - and about to be bitterly disappointed.
It is worth a moment’s pause to consider the disappointment which Jesus Christ can bring.
The disappointment of the person who follows him thinking that a moral life, like one we imagine Jesus living, will lead to an orderly life, hopefully one of some success, at least one quiet and contented. But who discovers that following Jesus one is led into the centre of the storm.
It is the disappointment of the person who follows him thinking that a Christian life will always be happy and one of rich personal relationships. Away from the world's hatreds, into the company of Christians who will never betray or disappoint. Who discovers that following Jesus, one will face the darkness of the human heart. The darkness in our own. The darkness in others.
It is the disappointment of the person who says I want Jesus, I just don’t want anything to do with the church. I’m above institutions, and party spirit, bureaucracies, and blimpish traditions. I want nothing to do with superstition or hypocrisy. But who hears, in dismay, that it is in order to raise up a holy people, a nation of priests, that our Lord inhabits the church and gives his body into our shaking hands and offers his blood to our trembling lips.
And it is the disappointment, quite frankly, of the one who follows Jesus Christ thinking that they can get ahead by doing so.
“We want to be on your left and right,” James and John tell Jesus. But this is a King who serves - and expects his followers to do likewise. And who only once in Mark’s Gospel will be honored with company on his left and right - when two criminals are pinned to crosses beside him (15.27). It is not the glory they were hoping for. It is not the glory Jesus offers.
Jesus Christ loves us. He reaches out to us. He comforts us, heals us, protects us. He answers all sorts of simple, personal prayers upon which we can look with gratitude. But it is love given in order to enlarge our hearts. It is love given in order to draw us in and send us out. It is love with a back bone which simply won’t be manipulated by our narrow goals and prejudices. And every short-sighted Palm Sunday follower discovers this on Good Friday when they hear their hollow cheers descend into cries for crucifixion.
And there is another kind of follower who the Bishop described. It is Simon of Cyrene, the man on the road forced by the soldiers to carry the cross of Jesus to Golgotha.
And I liked the Bishop’s joke. Simon is the great ambassador for everyone who is here today at the insistence of their husband or wife. Simon represents all those who know that there’s a price to pay for Easter Dinner: “you gotta go to church.”
For a month in seminary, I was a student volunteer at a skid-row mission in Chicago. I met a man who bounced back and forth off the street. He was clean and sober when I knew him, was serving as a volunteer at the mission, and was simply a great friend to me.
One night we went out onto Madison Avenue for a tour of the neighbourhood. If any of you remember the TV show Hill Street Blues, that police precinct was not far away and was our first stop.
But the tour included a walk past several of the street missions, some with better reputations than others. “Had all my stuff stolen in that one,” he told me.
“And in that one,” he said, “chapel comes before dinner.”
“There I was born again, and again, and again. New converts get better lunch.”
Simon of Cyrene is the great ambassador for all those who say, “I am here because my grandmother told me. I am here because my father dragged me. I am here because I can’t stay home without making a scene. I am here in body, but don’t think for a moment you have my heart, or mind, or my soul.”
He is the ambassador for all those who have had Jesus thrust upon them. They weren’t looking. They aren’t interested. But they can’t get around him. They have a Roman spear in their back, and they discover - they truly discover - they can’t get around him.
I’ve mentioned before a man who I knew as a pastor in my home church and a chaplain to the local police. But as a teenager he was part of a street gang. One night there was some gun play and he made the national news because he was the nephew of the mayor.
In the gun fight he had tried to shoot his enemy but tripped and shot himself. Because of the injury, the police caught him, arrested him and sat outside his hospital room. And inside the room he was stuck with a kind, old man from our church, lying in the bed next to him. Determined to challenge him. Determined to love him. Determined to follow him to court and to prison. Determined that, whether he wanted it or not, this young man would see Jesus.
Mark’s Gospel is a stark one. It is one in which the mission of Jesus Christ is portrayed in dramatic, violent, agonizing terms. It is one in which the most reliable ending we have portrays everyone frightened and confused.
It is the Gospel in which only two people clearly understand who Jesus is. The devils who see the spiritual battle being waged. And a dusty old soldier, experienced in cruelty, who stands at the foot of the cross, and looks upon the dying Jesus in reverence and wonder.
It is a stark Gospel portrait. But echoing just beyond its border is the triumphant news of the resurrection, waiting for those who will make the trip past the empty tomb.
As Bishop Yu noted, the Gospel of Mark has this beautiful little tease. It says that Simon of Cyrene was the father of Rufus and Alexander (15.21), names which appear nowhere else in Mark’s Gospel. But which almost certainly mean that the sons of Simon would later become known to the Christians who read Mark’s Gospel. Simon and his sons were known because Simon who first followed Jesus by force, discovered the truest thing he’d ever known and would come to follow Jesus in love.
Pope Benedict says, what do we need in life?
We need fellowship. We need relationships that matter. We seek harmony and peace.
But before all that, we need the truth (Behold the Pierced One, Joseph Ratzinger, Ignatius Press, 1986, p. 125). And in the life of Jesus Christ, vindicated by his resurrection from the grave, heaven has shone down upon us, and we have seen the truth.
What did Simon discover? What would the frightened women discover? What would the betrayer Peter discover?
They went off to the grave, armed for the stench of death, and discovered life - life vindicating all which Jesus taught and did and the great mercy he displayed.
The mercy of God who chooses the least of all people to become a holy nation, a beacon of light in the world, who reveals himself in the master who will serve. In the king who will give his life for his enemy.
The mercy of God who clings to these humble people, in their rebellion and disobedience, because of an unrelenting pursuit and a promise he will not give up on to redeem the world.
And the mercy of God with power to reach into the core of this world, grabbing death and sin, and pulling it inside out into light and life.
Those unlikely people, with Jesus thrust upon them, discover the new life of the risen Lord vindicating the great mercy he had displayed among them. They discover life, and mercy and know it to be true. The truest thing in heaven and earth.
“Let the same mind be in you,” says St. Paul, “that was in Christ Jesus.”
. . . who emptied himself, taking the form of a slave . . . And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of . . . death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name . . . in heaven and on earth and under the earth. (Phil. 2:5-11)
And because of him, says Paul, I have come to regard everything as loss . . . “because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord . . . I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings. (Philippians 3:7-11)
Pope Benedict concludes the matter perfectly:
[Jesus] Christ summons us to find heaven in him, to discover him in others and thus to be heaven to each other. He calls us to let heaven shine into this world, to build heaven here. Jesus stretches out his hand to us in his Easter message, in the mystery of the sacraments, so that Easter may be now, so that the light of heaven may shine forth in this world and the doors may be opened. Let us take his hand! (p. 128.)
And in them, two kinds of people described who have encountered Jesus who, for our benefit, the Gospel of Mark offers us in stark and plain terms.
The first is the Palm Sunday follower, with a palm branch in their hands, singing hymns at full voice, thrilled at the thought of what Jesus will do for them - and about to be bitterly disappointed.
It is worth a moment’s pause to consider the disappointment which Jesus Christ can bring.
The disappointment of the person who follows him thinking that a moral life, like one we imagine Jesus living, will lead to an orderly life, hopefully one of some success, at least one quiet and contented. But who discovers that following Jesus one is led into the centre of the storm.
It is the disappointment of the person who follows him thinking that a Christian life will always be happy and one of rich personal relationships. Away from the world's hatreds, into the company of Christians who will never betray or disappoint. Who discovers that following Jesus, one will face the darkness of the human heart. The darkness in our own. The darkness in others.
It is the disappointment of the person who says I want Jesus, I just don’t want anything to do with the church. I’m above institutions, and party spirit, bureaucracies, and blimpish traditions. I want nothing to do with superstition or hypocrisy. But who hears, in dismay, that it is in order to raise up a holy people, a nation of priests, that our Lord inhabits the church and gives his body into our shaking hands and offers his blood to our trembling lips.
And it is the disappointment, quite frankly, of the one who follows Jesus Christ thinking that they can get ahead by doing so.
“We want to be on your left and right,” James and John tell Jesus. But this is a King who serves - and expects his followers to do likewise. And who only once in Mark’s Gospel will be honored with company on his left and right - when two criminals are pinned to crosses beside him (15.27). It is not the glory they were hoping for. It is not the glory Jesus offers.
Jesus Christ loves us. He reaches out to us. He comforts us, heals us, protects us. He answers all sorts of simple, personal prayers upon which we can look with gratitude. But it is love given in order to enlarge our hearts. It is love given in order to draw us in and send us out. It is love with a back bone which simply won’t be manipulated by our narrow goals and prejudices. And every short-sighted Palm Sunday follower discovers this on Good Friday when they hear their hollow cheers descend into cries for crucifixion.
And there is another kind of follower who the Bishop described. It is Simon of Cyrene, the man on the road forced by the soldiers to carry the cross of Jesus to Golgotha.
And I liked the Bishop’s joke. Simon is the great ambassador for everyone who is here today at the insistence of their husband or wife. Simon represents all those who know that there’s a price to pay for Easter Dinner: “you gotta go to church.”
For a month in seminary, I was a student volunteer at a skid-row mission in Chicago. I met a man who bounced back and forth off the street. He was clean and sober when I knew him, was serving as a volunteer at the mission, and was simply a great friend to me.
One night we went out onto Madison Avenue for a tour of the neighbourhood. If any of you remember the TV show Hill Street Blues, that police precinct was not far away and was our first stop.
But the tour included a walk past several of the street missions, some with better reputations than others. “Had all my stuff stolen in that one,” he told me.
“And in that one,” he said, “chapel comes before dinner.”
“There I was born again, and again, and again. New converts get better lunch.”
Simon of Cyrene is the great ambassador for all those who say, “I am here because my grandmother told me. I am here because my father dragged me. I am here because I can’t stay home without making a scene. I am here in body, but don’t think for a moment you have my heart, or mind, or my soul.”
He is the ambassador for all those who have had Jesus thrust upon them. They weren’t looking. They aren’t interested. But they can’t get around him. They have a Roman spear in their back, and they discover - they truly discover - they can’t get around him.
I’ve mentioned before a man who I knew as a pastor in my home church and a chaplain to the local police. But as a teenager he was part of a street gang. One night there was some gun play and he made the national news because he was the nephew of the mayor.
In the gun fight he had tried to shoot his enemy but tripped and shot himself. Because of the injury, the police caught him, arrested him and sat outside his hospital room. And inside the room he was stuck with a kind, old man from our church, lying in the bed next to him. Determined to challenge him. Determined to love him. Determined to follow him to court and to prison. Determined that, whether he wanted it or not, this young man would see Jesus.
Mark’s Gospel is a stark one. It is one in which the mission of Jesus Christ is portrayed in dramatic, violent, agonizing terms. It is one in which the most reliable ending we have portrays everyone frightened and confused.
It is the Gospel in which only two people clearly understand who Jesus is. The devils who see the spiritual battle being waged. And a dusty old soldier, experienced in cruelty, who stands at the foot of the cross, and looks upon the dying Jesus in reverence and wonder.
It is a stark Gospel portrait. But echoing just beyond its border is the triumphant news of the resurrection, waiting for those who will make the trip past the empty tomb.
As Bishop Yu noted, the Gospel of Mark has this beautiful little tease. It says that Simon of Cyrene was the father of Rufus and Alexander (15.21), names which appear nowhere else in Mark’s Gospel. But which almost certainly mean that the sons of Simon would later become known to the Christians who read Mark’s Gospel. Simon and his sons were known because Simon who first followed Jesus by force, discovered the truest thing he’d ever known and would come to follow Jesus in love.
Pope Benedict says, what do we need in life?
We need fellowship. We need relationships that matter. We seek harmony and peace.
But before all that, we need the truth (Behold the Pierced One, Joseph Ratzinger, Ignatius Press, 1986, p. 125). And in the life of Jesus Christ, vindicated by his resurrection from the grave, heaven has shone down upon us, and we have seen the truth.
What did Simon discover? What would the frightened women discover? What would the betrayer Peter discover?
They went off to the grave, armed for the stench of death, and discovered life - life vindicating all which Jesus taught and did and the great mercy he displayed.
The mercy of God who chooses the least of all people to become a holy nation, a beacon of light in the world, who reveals himself in the master who will serve. In the king who will give his life for his enemy.
The mercy of God who clings to these humble people, in their rebellion and disobedience, because of an unrelenting pursuit and a promise he will not give up on to redeem the world.
And the mercy of God with power to reach into the core of this world, grabbing death and sin, and pulling it inside out into light and life.
Those unlikely people, with Jesus thrust upon them, discover the new life of the risen Lord vindicating the great mercy he had displayed among them. They discover life, and mercy and know it to be true. The truest thing in heaven and earth.
“Let the same mind be in you,” says St. Paul, “that was in Christ Jesus.”
. . . who emptied himself, taking the form of a slave . . . And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of . . . death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name . . . in heaven and on earth and under the earth. (Phil. 2:5-11)
And because of him, says Paul, I have come to regard everything as loss . . . “because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord . . . I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings. (Philippians 3:7-11)
Pope Benedict concludes the matter perfectly:
[Jesus] Christ summons us to find heaven in him, to discover him in others and thus to be heaven to each other. He calls us to let heaven shine into this world, to build heaven here. Jesus stretches out his hand to us in his Easter message, in the mystery of the sacraments, so that Easter may be now, so that the light of heaven may shine forth in this world and the doors may be opened. Let us take his hand! (p. 128.)
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Sermon - "The Great Love" - Mark 1.9-15
St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, Lent 1, March 1, 2009
As we follow Jesus into the Lenten wilderness through these few, brief and dense verses, Annette Brownlee’s words from last week must surely be kept in mind. Week by week we gather as the church to be shaped and formed by the word of God.
But before entering the wilderness, we must begin where it began for Jesus, the voice from heaven declaring: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” (Mark 1:11)
Bishop Tom Wright asks the right question here: what, for instance, is the effect on those when the fatherly voice they first knew as a child was a voice of rejection, callousness, harshness, or neglect. What is the effect of a father’s voice which is cold, critical and distant?
And what, by contrast, is the effect on Jesus of this voice, heralding the great love of God? What is the effect for us - that God loves us with a love beyond all measure? And where, exactly, can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
Well, as Mark’s Gospel explains, and as Jesus demonstrates, first of all you can go into the wilderness to be tested and to persevere.
Where is the wilderness?
Well, it’s not that hard to understand. Like the wilderness into which the children of Israel were led. That long desert walk where, with only enough food for one day at a time, the people were being taught to take the next step, to do the right thing, and to trust God.
The wilderness we’ve all known. Of all those seasons where it all seems flat, dusty and hard and we’re still expected to do the right thing.
Every season in life has those wilderness walks. When the only thing clearly before us are the responsibilities of the day - at school, or work, or family life. When we are expected to be faithful, and righteous and true, but what we feel, simply, is stuck.
You know what I like about this description in Mark? It’s the verb. It says that Jesus was ‘driven out’ into the wilderness. It’s a strong word. The effect would be even stronger if we could hear all the times the single Greek word used in Mark’s Gospel. Demons are driven out of ravaged lives. Death is driven out of a little girl. Money changers are driven out of the temple.
At the very least, we know that this was no easy matter for Jesus, either. For the Spirit comes upon him with great force, driving him into the wilderness.
But where Israel failed, where the church has failed, where you and I have failed - on those long, dry desert walks, with only the next step in our sight, Jesus took each step and persevered.
Where can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
Well, you can go into the wilderness, face the tests, and persevere.
And secondly, you can go to the Lord and answer His call.
I’ve mentioned before the simple solution C. S. Lewis offers to those who are having trouble hearing God speak. “Be quiet”, he says. You can’t listen if you can’t hear.
It’s a good place to begin in Lent. Listen. Turn off the radio, TV and Ipod.
Listen.
And in the wilderness, Jesus listened and answered the call of the Lord.
Here is where this brief passage is simply packed.
For when Jesus hears the heavenly voice, in the background a deep echo resounds.
An echo of the second psalm of David where the Lord declares his love for the King who will rule his people:
“You are my son; today I have begotten you” (Ps 2.7).
An echo of the suffering servant, who would bear his people’s sorrows, and take onto himself the wounds of their iniquity:
“Here is my servant [in whom I am well pleased],” says the Lord through the prophet Isaiah (42.1). "By his bruises we are healed (53:5).
An echo the people of Israel yearned to hear in their time. But what no one anticipated was that the king and the servant would arrive in one person. That their king would be enthroned on the cross, forgiving his executioners who spit on him from below.
You know, there’s another passage that may echo here, not as well known, coming from the apocryphal book of Wisdom. Ominously, it anticipates how the servant of the Lord would stand out and be recognized.
“Let us lie in wait for the righteous man,” [the wicked say to themselves], “because he is inconvenient to us and opposes our actions . . . Let us see if his words are true, and let us test what will happen at the end of his life; for if the righteous man is God’s child, [God] will help him, and will deliver him from the hand of his adversaries. Let us test him with insult and torture, so that we may find out how gentle he is, and make trial of his forbearance. Let us condemn him to a shameful death, for, according to what he says, he will be protected.” (Wisdom of Solomon 2:12-20)
The heavenly voice issues a stunning declaration, and with the deep echo of Scripture in the background, Jesus goes into the wilderness to hear the Lord and answer his call.
The call of Israel’s Messiah and King who will lead by a great, suffering love, whose integrity will rise and shine out of insult and crucifixion.
Why is our life so noisy and distracting? Why is the TV always on and the radio always playing. One reason is here. One reason is that we don’t want it quiet. Because if we could hear, we might hear the Lord - calling us to mercy instead of revenge; sacrifice instead of indulgence; service instead of self-promotion.
Where can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
As Jesus has shown us, you can go to the Lord and answer His call.
But finally, you can go into the fray and bring peace.
This is what I noticed first, and I’m sure it’s only a small thing. But all week I kept thinking about the beasts.
I grew up on a farm. We had cattle, chickens, pigs, turkeys, sheep, goats, dogs, cats, mice and rats. From the time we could walk, we walked among the animals. But we were also taught to be careful, especially of wild animals. The foxes mad with rabies. The mother cows, never to be fooled with when protecting newborn calves. Wolves and wild dogs, unpredictable and dangerous.
Usually once a year I try to get home to visit. One of the treats I look forward to is to go out in the cool of the night for a walk. But I don’t like it as I used to. Growing up our home was at the north end of our property and in the midst of the grain land. But for the past 20 years, my parents have lived in a new home they built, placed picturesquely in the pasture land. It is a glorious setting. But alone, outside in the dark, forming a ring around the pasture where the cattle rest, you can hear the coyotes, clearly and close enough to know that they are only a few hundred yards away.
Jesus goes into the wilderness with the devil and the beasts.
We don’t have to think too long, or hard about this, either. He goes into the wilderness and there he faces the danger of the wild animals. There he faces the subtler, but more infinitely more dangerous lures of the devil. And there the angels minister to him. There, in the midst of great danger, the greater love of God upholds him.
And when his time in the wilderness ends, the power that drove him into the wilderness will become the power by which he drives death and devils from the people they ravage. By the end of his time in the wilderness, the wild beasts have done him no harm, and a sign of the future, which God intends, is before us:
The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid . . . and a little child shall lead them. (Isaiah 11:6-9)
Where can you go when this great love upholds you? You can go into the fray and make peace.
The first pastor under whom I served was approaching retirement when we met. For many years he had been a faithful pastor in Hong Kong and China. In an intense period during the Vietnam War he was the Director for the Christian Children’s Fund in southeast Asia, responsible for the lives of 25,000 children orphaned by the conflict. I remember him telling me about hard experiences, including the rescue of a young girl who had been kidnaped.
And at the height of it all, he and his wife endured the sudden and unexpected death of their daughter, a bright, young Christian college student struck down by a vicious and fatal virus.
He is the one I think of who faced the tests and remained faithful over the long walk. Who answered the call to unselfish Christian ministry. Who entered the fray and made peace. And maybe because of his work with orphans, maybe because of the loss of his daughter, maybe very simply because of the great love upholding him, his favorite verse was from Psalm 27: “If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up” (27.10).
For all those wilderness times in our lives, when the next step and the right thing is hard to do;
For all those summons from the Lord we’ve drowned out, that voice from God telling us that our lives are meant to offer his mercy in the world;
And for all the dangers in the world, all the dangers in our hearts, which paralyze our steps;
For all those times - we have Jesus - who remained faithful, who answered the call, who entered the conflict and made peace, and whose life is offered to us, a light shining in the darkness.
In this Lenten season, let us take the time to listen, pray and reflect. Let us follow Jesus Christ - our Saviour and Lord.
As we follow Jesus into the Lenten wilderness through these few, brief and dense verses, Annette Brownlee’s words from last week must surely be kept in mind. Week by week we gather as the church to be shaped and formed by the word of God.
But before entering the wilderness, we must begin where it began for Jesus, the voice from heaven declaring: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” (Mark 1:11)
Bishop Tom Wright asks the right question here: what, for instance, is the effect on those when the fatherly voice they first knew as a child was a voice of rejection, callousness, harshness, or neglect. What is the effect of a father’s voice which is cold, critical and distant?
And what, by contrast, is the effect on Jesus of this voice, heralding the great love of God? What is the effect for us - that God loves us with a love beyond all measure? And where, exactly, can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
Well, as Mark’s Gospel explains, and as Jesus demonstrates, first of all you can go into the wilderness to be tested and to persevere.
Where is the wilderness?
Well, it’s not that hard to understand. Like the wilderness into which the children of Israel were led. That long desert walk where, with only enough food for one day at a time, the people were being taught to take the next step, to do the right thing, and to trust God.
The wilderness we’ve all known. Of all those seasons where it all seems flat, dusty and hard and we’re still expected to do the right thing.
Every season in life has those wilderness walks. When the only thing clearly before us are the responsibilities of the day - at school, or work, or family life. When we are expected to be faithful, and righteous and true, but what we feel, simply, is stuck.
You know what I like about this description in Mark? It’s the verb. It says that Jesus was ‘driven out’ into the wilderness. It’s a strong word. The effect would be even stronger if we could hear all the times the single Greek word used in Mark’s Gospel. Demons are driven out of ravaged lives. Death is driven out of a little girl. Money changers are driven out of the temple.
At the very least, we know that this was no easy matter for Jesus, either. For the Spirit comes upon him with great force, driving him into the wilderness.
But where Israel failed, where the church has failed, where you and I have failed - on those long, dry desert walks, with only the next step in our sight, Jesus took each step and persevered.
Where can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
Well, you can go into the wilderness, face the tests, and persevere.
And secondly, you can go to the Lord and answer His call.
I’ve mentioned before the simple solution C. S. Lewis offers to those who are having trouble hearing God speak. “Be quiet”, he says. You can’t listen if you can’t hear.
It’s a good place to begin in Lent. Listen. Turn off the radio, TV and Ipod.
Listen.
And in the wilderness, Jesus listened and answered the call of the Lord.
Here is where this brief passage is simply packed.
For when Jesus hears the heavenly voice, in the background a deep echo resounds.
An echo of the second psalm of David where the Lord declares his love for the King who will rule his people:
“You are my son; today I have begotten you” (Ps 2.7).
An echo of the suffering servant, who would bear his people’s sorrows, and take onto himself the wounds of their iniquity:
“Here is my servant [in whom I am well pleased],” says the Lord through the prophet Isaiah (42.1). "By his bruises we are healed (53:5).
An echo the people of Israel yearned to hear in their time. But what no one anticipated was that the king and the servant would arrive in one person. That their king would be enthroned on the cross, forgiving his executioners who spit on him from below.
You know, there’s another passage that may echo here, not as well known, coming from the apocryphal book of Wisdom. Ominously, it anticipates how the servant of the Lord would stand out and be recognized.
“Let us lie in wait for the righteous man,” [the wicked say to themselves], “because he is inconvenient to us and opposes our actions . . . Let us see if his words are true, and let us test what will happen at the end of his life; for if the righteous man is God’s child, [God] will help him, and will deliver him from the hand of his adversaries. Let us test him with insult and torture, so that we may find out how gentle he is, and make trial of his forbearance. Let us condemn him to a shameful death, for, according to what he says, he will be protected.” (Wisdom of Solomon 2:12-20)
The heavenly voice issues a stunning declaration, and with the deep echo of Scripture in the background, Jesus goes into the wilderness to hear the Lord and answer his call.
The call of Israel’s Messiah and King who will lead by a great, suffering love, whose integrity will rise and shine out of insult and crucifixion.
Why is our life so noisy and distracting? Why is the TV always on and the radio always playing. One reason is here. One reason is that we don’t want it quiet. Because if we could hear, we might hear the Lord - calling us to mercy instead of revenge; sacrifice instead of indulgence; service instead of self-promotion.
Where can you go when the great love of God upholds you?
As Jesus has shown us, you can go to the Lord and answer His call.
But finally, you can go into the fray and bring peace.
This is what I noticed first, and I’m sure it’s only a small thing. But all week I kept thinking about the beasts.
I grew up on a farm. We had cattle, chickens, pigs, turkeys, sheep, goats, dogs, cats, mice and rats. From the time we could walk, we walked among the animals. But we were also taught to be careful, especially of wild animals. The foxes mad with rabies. The mother cows, never to be fooled with when protecting newborn calves. Wolves and wild dogs, unpredictable and dangerous.
Usually once a year I try to get home to visit. One of the treats I look forward to is to go out in the cool of the night for a walk. But I don’t like it as I used to. Growing up our home was at the north end of our property and in the midst of the grain land. But for the past 20 years, my parents have lived in a new home they built, placed picturesquely in the pasture land. It is a glorious setting. But alone, outside in the dark, forming a ring around the pasture where the cattle rest, you can hear the coyotes, clearly and close enough to know that they are only a few hundred yards away.
Jesus goes into the wilderness with the devil and the beasts.
We don’t have to think too long, or hard about this, either. He goes into the wilderness and there he faces the danger of the wild animals. There he faces the subtler, but more infinitely more dangerous lures of the devil. And there the angels minister to him. There, in the midst of great danger, the greater love of God upholds him.
And when his time in the wilderness ends, the power that drove him into the wilderness will become the power by which he drives death and devils from the people they ravage. By the end of his time in the wilderness, the wild beasts have done him no harm, and a sign of the future, which God intends, is before us:
The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid . . . and a little child shall lead them. (Isaiah 11:6-9)
Where can you go when this great love upholds you? You can go into the fray and make peace.
The first pastor under whom I served was approaching retirement when we met. For many years he had been a faithful pastor in Hong Kong and China. In an intense period during the Vietnam War he was the Director for the Christian Children’s Fund in southeast Asia, responsible for the lives of 25,000 children orphaned by the conflict. I remember him telling me about hard experiences, including the rescue of a young girl who had been kidnaped.
And at the height of it all, he and his wife endured the sudden and unexpected death of their daughter, a bright, young Christian college student struck down by a vicious and fatal virus.
He is the one I think of who faced the tests and remained faithful over the long walk. Who answered the call to unselfish Christian ministry. Who entered the fray and made peace. And maybe because of his work with orphans, maybe because of the loss of his daughter, maybe very simply because of the great love upholding him, his favorite verse was from Psalm 27: “If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up” (27.10).
For all those wilderness times in our lives, when the next step and the right thing is hard to do;
For all those summons from the Lord we’ve drowned out, that voice from God telling us that our lives are meant to offer his mercy in the world;
And for all the dangers in the world, all the dangers in our hearts, which paralyze our steps;
For all those times - we have Jesus - who remained faithful, who answered the call, who entered the conflict and made peace, and whose life is offered to us, a light shining in the darkness.
In this Lenten season, let us take the time to listen, pray and reflect. Let us follow Jesus Christ - our Saviour and Lord.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sermon: "Sight" - John 1.43-51
Epiphany II, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, January 17, 2009
This may not have a lot to do with anything, but it strikes me that our friends to the south, in the “land of the free and home of the brave” are being blessed with a season of grace.
With a remarkable opening act on Thursday as a brave and skilled pilot, flying a damaged passenger plane over New York City, instinctively steered it away from the homes of innocent people, and skillfully landed it on water where, with only minutes to spare, a breathless nation gave thanks for the lives of 155 people who were saved rather than lost.
In some respects it is surely and only a coincidence, but what a dramatic opening to this historic week as the first President of African-American descent will be sworn into office. And for a second time in a short period a great nation, and by historical standards, a great and young nation, will rally around a second of its greatest aspirations: the freedom of all people to live in peace and to be judged by the content of their character, rather than the colour of their skin.
It might be coincidence. I think it’s a season of grace. And now is a time to thank God and to pray for President Barak Obama and the people of the United States.
It was the second year of college when I decided to test a calling to ordained ministry. But when I left high school two years earlier, I was probably more inclined to apply for law school. But the summer I entered college I met someone who caught my eye and turned my head.
And I’ll never forget it. It was a late afternoon on our farm. I had just finished carrying out a dozen buckets of ground wheat and oats to the cattle and was walking down from the barnyard to the house for supper, and there in the driveway sat a magnificent red convertible - I think it was a Datsun 240Z.
And all the way to the house - as I ran all the way to the house - my mind was racing: did one of my friends win the lottery? Did one of my sisters hook a big fish? Who in the world did my parents know who drove a Datsun 240Z?
And as I walked into the house, to my utter shock and amazement, mom introduced me to the new pastor of our Methodist Church. Better yet, a week later, he and his wife, with their little boy, invited me to their home for dinner and a visit. And in his living room - the living room of our new pastor - was the biggest, most beautiful stereo I had ever seen or heard. That evening I listened to jazz for the first time, Chuck Mangione to be specific. And I didn’t just hear Chuck on the trumpet. Over speakers that were crystal clear, I could hear Chuck breathe.
And about a week later I was ready to sign up to be a preacher. “I’ll learn the Creed, I’ll promise to study the Bible, and I’d really like one of those red cars.”
In fact, while the Datsun turned my head, what kept my head turned, more than anything else, was the kindness, humanity and seriousness of our new pastor. We didn’t just listen to jazz. We talked about the Scriptures, and living the Christian life, and most of the things that weighed heavily on my mind as a young man. And, in the weeks that followed, he took me under his wing and invited me along in his work as a preacher and a pastor to the people of our congregation.
His Datsun turned my head. His kindness, and the world he opened up for me, turned my heart.
I had not noticed this before, but there’s something of a joke being told on Nathaniel. When his brother Philip comes up to him and says that he should come quickly in order to meet Jesus, Nathaniel is the one who famously says, “What good could possibly come out of Nazareth?”
But then when Jesus meets him, saying that he saw Nathaniel from a distance under a fig tree, Nathaniel is so impressed by Jesus’ sight and insight that in an instant, he makes a complete reversal in his judgement about Jesus, hailing him as the Son of God and King of Israel. Talk about an impressive first impression.
But an impression to which Jesus replies, in so many words, “I know what has caught your eye and turned your head, Nathaniel. And, in fact, I intend to strengthen your sight, too. But if you stay with me, prepare yourself to see a great deal more.”
At which point, in his remarks about the angels ascending and descending, we are taken back, many years earlier, to a rugged scene in the wilderness and to a man named Jacob racing for his life. Jacob is a thief and a scoundrel running for his life from the brother he has cheated and robbed.
What did Jacob first see? He saw a fortune. The inheritance of land and property of his brother.
He saw honour - however cunningly gained - the birthright from his father Isaac, given to him by his father Abraham, given to him by the Lord. Jacob saw honour and fortune and it turned Jacob’s head. And it churned in Jacob’s heart rottenness and scheming.
But in its own way, a joke is told on Jacob. And the tumult which follows Jacob’s theft of his brother’s birthright and inheritance and is entirely appropriate to the inheritance he had taken by deceit. Because while the Lord was more than happy to have caught the eye of Jacob, was Jacob prepared to see what God sees.
A world created in love which the Lord looked down upon and saw that it allwas good.
A world gone wrong, by the disobedience of its people - leading to the saddest verse in all the Bible in chapter six of Genesis, when the Lord looked down upon the earth and regretted his creation of it (Gn. 6.7).
A world which, in his mercy, God vowed he would not destroy, but would rebuild from the ground up, among the simplest, and humblest - with a fair share of scoundrels thrown in - in order to demonstrate his love.
A world reunited with its Creator through a people formed by God in the wilderness. “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev. 19:1-2), the Lord thundered to them.
And the creation of a people. Not like any people. The people of the Lord, a nation of priests, a light in the world, a vessel of God’s mercy.
Was Jacob prepared to see this? The angels ascending and descending, heaven’s doors opened, and the constitutions of heaven and earth reunited again.
The property of the promise caught Jacob’s eye. But the weight of God’s glory and mercy fell upon him.
And it is a violent reaction, a terrific struggle, as this cunning man is haunted and hunted by the God of Israel. And Jacob’s own great struggle is a perfect representation for the struggle of many of us, haunted and hunted down by the mercy of God. And yet, what beauty the great struggle produced when after a battle in the night an angel, humbled Jacob limps away from it battered and bruised, but with one victory to his credit - new eyes! The first sight through them coming only hours later at the reunion with brother Esau; Esau he had robbed and humiliated; Esau, who welcomed him home in mercy. And it says, Jacob looked up at Esau and saw in his brother's face the face of God.
The same joke is being played on Nathaniel.
I know what you see, says Jesus to Nathaniel. But are you prepared to see what I want you to see?
A woman of ill-repute waiting to be restored.
A man born blind longing for sight.
Proud disciples with dirty feet served by their master.
The risen Jesus forgiving a treacherous friend.
And an angry world answered by the tears of the Saviour who offered his life on the cross for us all.
What do you see when you look at Jesus? Is it a display of power or a promise of relief that catches your eye? But rising from our passage, what are you prepared to see? And are you prepared to offer the Lord your eyes so that he might transform them and help you to see what he sees.
What does all this mean for us?
Well, I thought Annette put it beautifully last Sunday. It means opening ourselves to the love of God, revealed and offered to us in Jesus Christ - the love we dive into at baptism. The love we reach for each Sunday at the table. It means this love flooding our lives from head to foot. It means new eyes looking out into the world through this love, transformed to see what Jesus sees.
It means, as the prayerbook collect for the week past puts so beautifully and modestly: that true to our Lord, we might “perceive”, to know what things we ought to do and may also have the “grace and power faithfully to fulfil the same” (Epiphany 1, BCP).
It means what St. Paul prayed for the people of Ephesus: “that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge (3.18-19)”. To look out upon the world from the vantage point of this great love:
. . . seeing through the anger of a neighbour to the child of God who might be served;
. . . seeing through the obstinancy of a son or daughter to the young man and young woman who is and can be raised to be wise, patient and kind;
. . . seeing a sick and desperate friend and offering them the hope of our Saviour whose hand reaches across the gaping mouth of the grave.
It is a joke played on Nathaniel. A man impressed by the powerful sight of Jesus, who himself is offered new eyes to see. Angels descending and the light of heaven shining through. And through the mercy of God, to see what Jesus saw. To love as Jesus loved. To share the great love of our Saviour in the world. Amen.
This may not have a lot to do with anything, but it strikes me that our friends to the south, in the “land of the free and home of the brave” are being blessed with a season of grace.
With a remarkable opening act on Thursday as a brave and skilled pilot, flying a damaged passenger plane over New York City, instinctively steered it away from the homes of innocent people, and skillfully landed it on water where, with only minutes to spare, a breathless nation gave thanks for the lives of 155 people who were saved rather than lost.
In some respects it is surely and only a coincidence, but what a dramatic opening to this historic week as the first President of African-American descent will be sworn into office. And for a second time in a short period a great nation, and by historical standards, a great and young nation, will rally around a second of its greatest aspirations: the freedom of all people to live in peace and to be judged by the content of their character, rather than the colour of their skin.
It might be coincidence. I think it’s a season of grace. And now is a time to thank God and to pray for President Barak Obama and the people of the United States.
**********
It was the second year of college when I decided to test a calling to ordained ministry. But when I left high school two years earlier, I was probably more inclined to apply for law school. But the summer I entered college I met someone who caught my eye and turned my head.
And I’ll never forget it. It was a late afternoon on our farm. I had just finished carrying out a dozen buckets of ground wheat and oats to the cattle and was walking down from the barnyard to the house for supper, and there in the driveway sat a magnificent red convertible - I think it was a Datsun 240Z.
And all the way to the house - as I ran all the way to the house - my mind was racing: did one of my friends win the lottery? Did one of my sisters hook a big fish? Who in the world did my parents know who drove a Datsun 240Z?
And as I walked into the house, to my utter shock and amazement, mom introduced me to the new pastor of our Methodist Church. Better yet, a week later, he and his wife, with their little boy, invited me to their home for dinner and a visit. And in his living room - the living room of our new pastor - was the biggest, most beautiful stereo I had ever seen or heard. That evening I listened to jazz for the first time, Chuck Mangione to be specific. And I didn’t just hear Chuck on the trumpet. Over speakers that were crystal clear, I could hear Chuck breathe.
And about a week later I was ready to sign up to be a preacher. “I’ll learn the Creed, I’ll promise to study the Bible, and I’d really like one of those red cars.”
In fact, while the Datsun turned my head, what kept my head turned, more than anything else, was the kindness, humanity and seriousness of our new pastor. We didn’t just listen to jazz. We talked about the Scriptures, and living the Christian life, and most of the things that weighed heavily on my mind as a young man. And, in the weeks that followed, he took me under his wing and invited me along in his work as a preacher and a pastor to the people of our congregation.
His Datsun turned my head. His kindness, and the world he opened up for me, turned my heart.
I had not noticed this before, but there’s something of a joke being told on Nathaniel. When his brother Philip comes up to him and says that he should come quickly in order to meet Jesus, Nathaniel is the one who famously says, “What good could possibly come out of Nazareth?”
But then when Jesus meets him, saying that he saw Nathaniel from a distance under a fig tree, Nathaniel is so impressed by Jesus’ sight and insight that in an instant, he makes a complete reversal in his judgement about Jesus, hailing him as the Son of God and King of Israel. Talk about an impressive first impression.
But an impression to which Jesus replies, in so many words, “I know what has caught your eye and turned your head, Nathaniel. And, in fact, I intend to strengthen your sight, too. But if you stay with me, prepare yourself to see a great deal more.”
At which point, in his remarks about the angels ascending and descending, we are taken back, many years earlier, to a rugged scene in the wilderness and to a man named Jacob racing for his life. Jacob is a thief and a scoundrel running for his life from the brother he has cheated and robbed.
What did Jacob first see? He saw a fortune. The inheritance of land and property of his brother.
He saw honour - however cunningly gained - the birthright from his father Isaac, given to him by his father Abraham, given to him by the Lord. Jacob saw honour and fortune and it turned Jacob’s head. And it churned in Jacob’s heart rottenness and scheming.
But in its own way, a joke is told on Jacob. And the tumult which follows Jacob’s theft of his brother’s birthright and inheritance and is entirely appropriate to the inheritance he had taken by deceit. Because while the Lord was more than happy to have caught the eye of Jacob, was Jacob prepared to see what God sees.
A world created in love which the Lord looked down upon and saw that it allwas good.
A world gone wrong, by the disobedience of its people - leading to the saddest verse in all the Bible in chapter six of Genesis, when the Lord looked down upon the earth and regretted his creation of it (Gn. 6.7).
A world which, in his mercy, God vowed he would not destroy, but would rebuild from the ground up, among the simplest, and humblest - with a fair share of scoundrels thrown in - in order to demonstrate his love.
A world reunited with its Creator through a people formed by God in the wilderness. “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev. 19:1-2), the Lord thundered to them.
And the creation of a people. Not like any people. The people of the Lord, a nation of priests, a light in the world, a vessel of God’s mercy.
Was Jacob prepared to see this? The angels ascending and descending, heaven’s doors opened, and the constitutions of heaven and earth reunited again.
The property of the promise caught Jacob’s eye. But the weight of God’s glory and mercy fell upon him.
And it is a violent reaction, a terrific struggle, as this cunning man is haunted and hunted by the God of Israel. And Jacob’s own great struggle is a perfect representation for the struggle of many of us, haunted and hunted down by the mercy of God. And yet, what beauty the great struggle produced when after a battle in the night an angel, humbled Jacob limps away from it battered and bruised, but with one victory to his credit - new eyes! The first sight through them coming only hours later at the reunion with brother Esau; Esau he had robbed and humiliated; Esau, who welcomed him home in mercy. And it says, Jacob looked up at Esau and saw in his brother's face the face of God.
The same joke is being played on Nathaniel.
I know what you see, says Jesus to Nathaniel. But are you prepared to see what I want you to see?
A woman of ill-repute waiting to be restored.
A man born blind longing for sight.
Proud disciples with dirty feet served by their master.
The risen Jesus forgiving a treacherous friend.
And an angry world answered by the tears of the Saviour who offered his life on the cross for us all.
What do you see when you look at Jesus? Is it a display of power or a promise of relief that catches your eye? But rising from our passage, what are you prepared to see? And are you prepared to offer the Lord your eyes so that he might transform them and help you to see what he sees.
What does all this mean for us?
Well, I thought Annette put it beautifully last Sunday. It means opening ourselves to the love of God, revealed and offered to us in Jesus Christ - the love we dive into at baptism. The love we reach for each Sunday at the table. It means this love flooding our lives from head to foot. It means new eyes looking out into the world through this love, transformed to see what Jesus sees.
It means, as the prayerbook collect for the week past puts so beautifully and modestly: that true to our Lord, we might “perceive”, to know what things we ought to do and may also have the “grace and power faithfully to fulfil the same” (Epiphany 1, BCP).
It means what St. Paul prayed for the people of Ephesus: “that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge (3.18-19)”. To look out upon the world from the vantage point of this great love:
. . . seeing through the anger of a neighbour to the child of God who might be served;
. . . seeing through the obstinancy of a son or daughter to the young man and young woman who is and can be raised to be wise, patient and kind;
. . . seeing a sick and desperate friend and offering them the hope of our Saviour whose hand reaches across the gaping mouth of the grave.
It is a joke played on Nathaniel. A man impressed by the powerful sight of Jesus, who himself is offered new eyes to see. Angels descending and the light of heaven shining through. And through the mercy of God, to see what Jesus saw. To love as Jesus loved. To share the great love of our Saviour in the world. Amen.
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