Sermon for Sunday, March 21, 2021
John 12:20-33; chapters 7 and 9 of Love Is the Way
You know, sometimes when we read Scripture,
it’s just as important to note what isn’t said as to note what is
said. I think that’s true about our
Gospel reading today in its very first sentence.
Let me set the stage. For us, today is the fifth Sunday of Lent,
and we’re beginning to anticipate Jesus’ riding into Jerusalem a week from now on
Palm Sunday, the start of Holy Week. But
in today’s Gospel reading, it is Palm Sunday, just after Jesus
has ridden into Jerusalem challenging the religious and political authorities. In fact, in the verse before today’s reading,
the Pharisees have looked around at the crowds and said, “You see, [we] can do
nothing. Look, the world has gone after
him!” (John 12:19).
And as proof, the scene shifts to “some
Greeks” who are also in Jerusalem for the Passover festival (John 12:20). Now, when the New Testament talks about “Greeks,”
it doesn’t just mean people from Greece.
It means outsiders – non-Jews, people who were part of the Hellenistic culture
of the Roman Empire. So, these outsiders
come to one of the disciples, and they say, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” (12:20).
Interestingly, the reading doesn’t
say the Greeks wanted answers to deep theological questions. Now, if we’d been there, we might have asked
any number of questions – maybe, “How does eternal life work?” or “Who gets
into heaven?” or “How good do I really have to be?” But answers aren’t what these outsiders wanted.
Instead, they wanted simply “to see Jesus”
– to talk with him, to experience him, to bask in God’s loving presence.
For the past several weeks, we’ve been
reading our presiding bishop’s book, Love Is the Way. In one of the chapters for today, Bishop
Curry describes an experience he had with an outsider, an outsider of the worst
kind – someone who was dealing drugs and dealing death in the church’s
neighborhood in Baltimore.
Bishop Curry and his congregation had done
great work to reach the people around them – inviting neighborhood kids to
breakfast and Sunday school, preaching on street corners, singing Christmas
carols to folks in the alleys. Well, one
of the “bad guys” in the neighborhood had heard them singing in the streets,
and he came to church wanting to talk to the priest.
Michael Curry did not share the young man’s
desire for a conversation. In fact, he was
angry with this young man, who represented all the problems afflicting the neighborhood. But the young man came to church, and Curry started
meeting with him. Eventually, the young
man said, “Tell me about Jesus.” Curry’s
anger turned to surprise and then to some shame for not having talked about
Jesus before, instead trying to come up with community resources to help the
young man deal with his problems. (I’m pretty
sure that’s exactly what I would have done, too.) But the young man was after more than social
services: “Tell me about Jesus,” he said. And several conversations later, Curry was baptizing
this young man into a life-changing commitment to “renounce Satan,” to renounce
“the evil powers of this world,” and instead “to follow and obey [Jesus] as
[his] Lord” (BCP 302-303).1
What would we do in a similar situation? How would we respond if someone we considered
an enemy wanted to sit down with us and find out about this Jesus we
worship?
As we try to wrap our heads around that
one, let’s shift the question so it strikes even closer to home: Bring to mind someone who’s on the opposite
side from you on nearly every issue – someone who thinks the political leader
you can’t stand is a witness for all that’s just and true. Now, what would you do if this person, someone
who’s “the other” in that way – what would you do if that person wanted to know
how you see God, how you see Jesus?
I think how we see Jesus underlies much of
our disagreement about social issues and public policy as Christians. On the one hand, some see Jesus witnessing against
those who wield power through unjust and oppressive social structures. On the other hand, some see Jesus reinforcing
American exceptionalism, proclaiming rugged individualism as the good news of freedom
for God’s children. Could those people
sit down together and talk about how they see Jesus? Could they have a conversation about how they
understand our society and our nation, and how their faith in Jesus Christ
might shape that?
In his book, Presiding Bishop Curry describes
a meeting of the primates of the Anglican Communion, the archbishops leading Anglican
Christians around the world. This meeting
took place just after the American Episcopal Church had changed its rules about
marriage. The same month in 2015 that
the Supreme Court decided all people have a right to marry the person they
love, The Episcopal Church’s General Convention voted to take gender-specific language
out of our rules and allow marriages of same-sex couples. Soon after that, Bishop Curry went to his
first meeting with the other leaders of the Anglican Communion, where he had to
defend this change to his colleagues, most of whom disagreed with him
vehemently.
It’s a great story, as the presiding bishop
tells it. But to cut to the chase, here’s
what the Anglican leaders did: They chose
to hang in there with each other. They
spent time getting to know each other and built relationships. Eventually, they compromised on some
sanctions the American Church would have to endure. And finally, most important, they decided to
keep “walking together” as followers of Jesus. They didn’t deny the distance that separated
them as they kept to opposite sides of a common path, but they chose to keep
walking together in the same direction.2 For people who like clear rulings and decisive
action, this might seem pretty lame. But
I think it was brilliant – and, by the way, holy.
I believe “walking together” is a great metaphor
for what we need to do in our parish, in our Episcopal Church, and in our
nation – bravely choosing to be on the same path despite the distance between
us, choosing to value each other even when we don’t understand each other. You know, as it turned out, the Greeks who
came to see Jesus didn’t end up understanding him just the same way as his
Jewish followers did. Christianity morphed
as it spread through the Empire, as Greek philosophy and Roman culture bled
into the witness of Palestinian Jews … and that was OK. It created a movement that was stronger because
of its breadth but that still held Christ as its core. For us now, regardless of how we each see
Jesus, we share the core of his Great Commandment: Because God is love, we are called to love –
to love God, and neighbor, and one another.
Everything else is theological reflection on that truth.
Here’s something else we have in common,
regardless of the differences that put distance between us. Not a one of us walked the dusty roads of
Palestine 2,000 years ago. We’re all
Greeks. We’re all outsiders. We’re all still asking to see Jesus so we,
too, can glimpse the heart of God.
That truth came out in a webinar I saw last week about “people of faith building bridges from polarization to reconciliation.” It featured someone I admire very much – former Missouri Sen. John Danforth. As many of you know, Jack Danforth served in the U.S. Senate for 18 years and, after his retirement, was ambassador to the United Nations and a special envoy to Sudan. Jack Danforth is also an Episcopal priest, and his faith and discipleship have undergirded all his service. The webinar was a conversation between the senator and Fr. Matt Malone, a Roman Catholic Jesuit priest, writer, and editor of America magazine. I want to share with you a snippet of Sen. Danforth’s comments – a brief theological reflection on the truth that unites us:
One thing we have to say is … truth, from the standpoint of Christianity, … is not an ideology; it’s certainly not a political ideology. Truth is a person, and the person is Christ, whom we meet in love and through whom we meet others in love. A second point is to understand that our political opponent, somebody who totally disagrees with us, is made in the image of God. This is a child of God we’re talking about; it’s not a thing. It’s not a political position. This is a human being created in the image of God.3
And
walking alongside that human being created in the image of God, we step closer
and closer toward seeing the truth that is Jesus Christ.
Similarly, in his book, Bishop Curry recalls
working with the Archbishop of Canterbury as they prepared for the Royal Wedding. A reporter asked them how they could
work together when they didn’t see eye to eye on marriage equality for LGBTQ
people. So Bishop Curry pointed to the archbishop
and said, “This is my brother, [and] we follow Jesus. [Jesus] teaches us the way of love; he didn’t
teach us the way of agreement. That love
dominates our relationship, not our agreements or disagreements.”4
So, if you’re still looking for a little spiritual practice here at the end of this Lenten season, here’s a challenge to try out. In our common walk to see Jesus, when you encounter a potential enemy, acknowledge the distance between you on the path. But instead of politely easing away from this person you might see as “the other,” take a step or two closer. Choose conversation over polite silence. Listen for the passion that brings this child of God to walk the same road you’re walking. Don’t agree to disagree. Instead, agree to love in disagreement. And when you do, you’ll see Jesus just that much more clearly.
1.
Curry,
Michael. Love Is the Way: Holding on
to Hope in Troubling Times. New York:
Avery, 2020. 155-159.
2.
Curry,
194-204.
3.
John C. Danforth Center on Religion and Politics. “Interpersonal Relations Across Political
Divides: People of Faith Building Bridges from Polarization to Reconciliation. John
C. Danforth and Matt Malone in Conversation.”
Available at: https://rap.wustl.edu/events/interpersonal-relations-across-political-divides/. Specific clip
is 35:43 to 36:42, beginning at https://youtu.be/On--7MF8lfc?t=2142. Accessed March 19, 2021.
4.
Curry,
205.
