John 17:6-19 - "Pray for Us, Lord Jesus"

            The Easter season is drawing to a close.  This is it.  Next Sunday, we will remember the glorious events of Pentecost.  The sanctuary will be decorated with 100 red geraniums, and you as the congregation will be awash in a sea of red shirts, dresses, ties, and perhaps even shoes.

            But until that time, we once again find ourselves in the Holy City of Jerusalem, where our scripture lesson has sprung from for the past several weeks.    There we are in that same upper room, having just finished the ancient Passover meal.  We are seated about the table with Jesus and his disciples.  Like them, we long for the sound of Jesus’ voice, long even more on this particular night to soak in his words of wisdom one last time.

            Jesus has been talking for a while now – in that quiet and gentle way of his. We have heard him speak of grapevines and those essential connections with God and with each other.  His words about love, about loving one another as He has loved us, still hang with a certain poignancy in the still air around us. All that Jesus says, of course, will one day be edited and codified and included as several chapters in the Gospel of John, and we will call this narrative in the upper room Jesus’ Farewell Discourses. 

Sitting there with the disciples in this quiet after dinner conversation time, we, like them, are frightened because we seem to sense that something awful is about to happen. Our world will be turned upside down, and our leader and rabbi and friend will leave us. 

We feel small and vulnerable and lost.  We sense that time is short, and we so much want to understand what Jesus is talking about because surely his message will be essential in negotiating the road ahead. 

It is growing late now.  The lit candles on our table cast their shadows of our meal.  The reflection of a half eaten loaf of bread and a cup of wine flickers and dances on the back wall of the house.  Darkness has set in. 

Jesus knows that he must go elsewhere now – and we know that too.  And so he ends the conversation – but not with a lengthy theological treatise and not even with a parable or a good old fashioned story.  He ends this time with us by saying a prayer. 

It is a heartfelt prayer, often called the High Priestly Prayer, and it is for us.  It is not a teaching moment, like so many others he has shared.  It is not about Good Samaritans or Prodigal Sons.  It is simply a prayer. 

Jesus prays for us. Jesus prays for the disciples who were his friends even though he knew, he knew that one would deny him, one had already betrayed him, some would doubt him, and all would abandon him.  But still he prays for them now.  And by extension, Jesus prays for the early Christian community to whom the writer of the Gospel of John directed his narrative. 

And in that same way, Jesus prays for us - for you and me – so many centuries later and worlds apart.  Imagine it!  Savor the reality of it!  As Fred Craddock wrote, we are like “a congregation overhearing a pastoral prayer. We are not directly addressed, but we are very much in the mind of the One who is praying."  This prayer, Jesus’ High Priestly Prayer, is for us.

We know that it is for us because it is not some high and lofty theological abstract.  Oh, the words might sound strange to us these centuries later, but they are simple words. 

We know that the prayer is for us because it is about the world in which we live where sometimes God’s saving love seems so far away.  It is a prayer for us because it is about how we live in this crazy world that is our home.   It is a prayer for you and me – a prayer for the Body of Christ.  It is a prayer for the church – a prayer or this holy agent of change with some much restorative and transformative power.

Did you know that in some Bible translations, the word, “world,” in this brief passage is used 13 times? Surely that must make it important, and, for the Gospel writer of John, it is important.  For him, the world is a dark and messed up place, but God loves it anyway.

There is darkness, and there is light – a frequent symbol and literary image in this Gospel – and the key question that rattles around in our heads as Jesus prays is this:  What is our relationship – the church’s relationship - supposed to look like in this dark, messed up world in which we live? 

And, in this High Priestly Prayer, Jesus answers that nagging question.  In the last coherent prayer that the disciples will hear him pray, in these final hours before his crucifixion, Jesus first admits the inevitable. "I am no longer in this world, but they are."  If the disciples had not already conceded this notion, it must have dizzied them with confusion, and the vulnerability those words left in their wake must have been terrifying. 

And so, for us, Jesus’ words underline a huge problem:  Jesus is no longer in the world, but we are.  Whatever are we to do with that?  Because we dare to call ourselves followers of Jesus, this is a most serious question! 

Maybe it would have been better if, as James Howell noted, “Jesus left his future presence down here in more capable hands than ours!  We're just not all that special. We feel no miraculous power coursing through our veins, our brains get blurry, we're tired, we're stressed, we're just so very...pedestrian, flat--footed, mortal...human.”

That we are!  However, we are in the world – hook, line, and sinker.  Such is our lot, and there is no getting around it.  And therein lies the tension for us.  As his followers, as the Body of Christ, as the church, we are called to believe from the bottom of our souls the message of compassion and reconciliation that Jesus preaches.  Yet all around us we see war and poverty and environmental degradation.  But we trust – it is the core of our faith – that it does not have to be that way, that the world can be transformed, nay, that it will be restored.

However, Jesus realizes this profound tension, and so he prays to God on our behalf:  "I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one,” from everyone and everything that tells us we are crazy, that the world as it is now is the best it is going to get.

Let all be well, Jesus prays.  Let all be well.  Even though Jesus is not here to protect us in body, the Holy Spirit, sometimes aptly called the Comforter, will surround us, and all will be well.  Remember those words in this High Priestly Prayer when being in the world seems darker and more ominous than you think you can handle, when you need encouragement, when the marriage is unraveling, when the cancer diagnosis is real, when everything around you is falling apart.

Jesus prays that all will be well as we go forth in his name.  Oh, we may wish that Jesus was here in body, but in a way, Jesus’ body is very much here – in us.  Teresa of Avila said "Christ has no body on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours; yours are the eyes through which the compassion of Christ looks out on a hurting world, yours are the feet with which he goes about doing good; yours are the hands with which he is to bless now."

It will not be an easy road.  Jesus understands that, but he prays that, come what may, we will have joy.  He prays that we will experience joy in finding others in a community like this one who will work beside us in the world – through mission and outreach, through being an integral part of this small town in Maine.  He prays that we will find joy even in the midst of our pain as we reach out to hold one another in love.

Jesus prays that because of such singleness of purpose, such commitment to his message, we will discover that there is more to bind us together than should ever drive us apart.  He prays that the threads of the tapestry of love that he has created will be strong enough and tightly woven enough to keep us together in the tough and potentially divisive times.  He prays that because of his message, we will all be one.

And Jesus prays that we will be sanctified, that we will be purified, that, if we cannot be made holy, at least we can love – and surely love is holy enough.  That will make us a sacred community, a community set apart, he reminds us in his prayer.  That will make us truly the church, in the world as it is but grounded in something firmer, stronger, restorative, transformative, grounded in the Gospel message. 

So pray for us, Jesus.  Intercede for us.   And may your prayers for us never cease.   God knows, you know, we need all the help we can get.  Next week, O Jesus, we will celebrate that we are born again as the church, born in the mighty wind and the tongues of fire of the Holy Spirit, advocate, guide, and comforter. 

Show us how, as the church, as your Body, to live in this dark and messed up world.  Show us how to bring your light to all who dwell in the shadows.

Pray for us, O Jesus, that we will find joy in the midst of all the discouragement and despair that we experience.  Pray that we will be made holy, pure, sanctified – as people of love, as people of your Gospel message.  Pray for us, Lord Jesus.  Amen. 

John 15:1-8 - "To Be A Branch"

            Did you ever wonder what happened after Jesus broke bread and shared wine and prayer and a hymn with his disciples for the last time (the event, of course, which we will remember this morning when we share in communion together) – after that special meal and before Jesus was arrested by Roman soldiers with spite-filled Pharisees looking on? 

            Did Jesus and his friends leave the Upper Room in Jerusalem silently, each one with his own private thoughts too precious and perhaps too awful to share?  Was there a certain dread foremost in their minds as they walked toward the Garden of Gethsemane filled with its evening primroses, moonflowers, and Casablanca lilies, the twilight dew already moistening their toes?

            Not according to the Gospel writer of John!  No - they were not a bunch of introspective individuals, alone in their thoughts.  Jesus did not allow them to be that.  They were a community, and so Jesus kept on talking to them. 

            He continued his Farewell Discourses as they were later called and went on teaching until the very end.  For it is in these final “in between” moments on the way to the garden that, according to the Gospel writer of John, Jesus spoke his seventh and final “I am” saying, one of the most beautiful and moving passages in all of Scripture. 

            “I am the Vine, and you are the branches” Jesus told his soon-to-be faithless followers.  “Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can't bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can't bear fruit unless you are joined with me.  When you're joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant.”

            Now, I do not know much about grapes and vineyards.  However, I do know that when we moved to our farm in Naples, there was an old and overgrown Concord grape arbor in the side yard.  All it consisted of was a tangle of scraggly vines looping aimlessly over, under, and around one another.  Vines trailed on the ground too, sending out their own shoots and suckers. There was certainly not an abundance of fruit to be had.

            However, Joe and I decided it was worth a shot to try to revive the old vines.  Now my husband is a much more ruthless pruner that I am, so there was not much left when he was done.  However, you could see clearly the two or three ancient and thick trunks to which the smaller branches that he left were clearly attached and from which they would receive their sustenance, so that in future years they might bear their fruit abundantly. 

            Now this passage in the Gospel of John that we just read, well, it probably would have made more sense to me if Jesus had talked about an old gnarled New England apple tree laden down with fruit aplenty to feed the hungry – or even good old Iowa corn or maybe even Southern cotton.  However (and it should not come as a surprise), Jesus crafted words and images that made sense to first century Jews and not 20^th century Americans – though sometimes we forget that fact.

            And so when Jesus spoke about vineyards, the people of Judea knew what he was talking about. Viniculture (making wine) was an important industry that had been around for centuries. Vineyards were critical to the economy.  Grapes were a cash crop, you see, in contrast to grain, which was raised only for consumption. 

            In one article I read this week, I found out that grapes “ are a very rugged crop in a way and in another sense (the grape) is a very delicate fruit and requires being treated with kid gloves. A young vine is not permitted to bear fruit for the first three years. It is therefore drastically pruned in December and January to preserve its energy.

            The particular branches that do not bear fruit are cut out to further conserve the energy of the plant. If this constant cutting back was not done, the result would be a crop that was not up to its full potential.” 

            So when Jesus spoke about vineyards certainly the people could identify with that metaphor… It didn't make any difference whether or not you were in that business.  You had grown up around it enough that you would still be familiar with it.”  (www.sermons.com)

            So – what was Jesus trying to help his followers understand in those final moments before his arrest?  What was so important to get across to them that he would use one more image of something so familiar to them all  - perhaps in a last ditch hope that they would, for once, get it – and therefore get what it was that he had been all about all along?

            At its root, no pun intended, this passage concerning ancient grape arbors is about connections – connections that we have with God and with one another.  It is about the energy that is generated because of such sacred connections.  It is about what flows so freely by way of those connections. 

            Like so many of Jesus’ stories and parables and sayings, this passage is certainly a source of enormous comfort.  However, if we are to realize the breadth and depth of its power, we must also embrace its profound challenge as well.

            This passage invites us into a personal and even intimate relationship with God – and therein lies the source of its comfort.  We who dare to call ourselves Christian are connected to God through Jesus as branches are connected to the central vine.  We are invited to abide in God as God abides in us, to live in the Almighty as the Holy One lives in us. 

            This image is about foundational relationship, and by that I mean that it is about far more than a superficial connection you might have with Jesus simply because you come to church every Sunday – or most Sundays. 

            The connection that the Gospel writer of John is talking about is like the difference between social media and face-to-face contact. In this passage, Jesus is talking about something far more precious than a virtual chat room or simply “liking” someone on Facebook, a connection unlikely to be sustaining through difficult and painful times.  No matter who we are or where we are on our life’s journey, God accepts us and remains with us.  That is the connection that this passage imagines. 

            For we who call ourselves Christian, it is through Jesus that we experience this deep and sustaining relationship with God.  God welcomes us as a branch, prunes us every now and then, but that is to be expected. 

            And just as a branch receives life-giving nutrients through the vine, so it can flourish, so when we are so connected with God through Jesus, we receive something life-giving as well.  God’s love flows into us and by doing so creates in us the capacity for deep and profound acts of compassion.  Love’s energy and power flows in and through us.  It is part of us.  Love is who we are meant to be.

            However, this passage is not only about our personal connection with God through Jesus.  That would be far too individualistic – and Jesus was all about community.  And so this passage is also about our connection with one another – and therein lies its challenge.  As G.K. Chesterton wrote, one " can no more possess a private religion than he can possess a private sun or moon." 

            Did you know that those giant sequoia trees, which can measure hundreds of feet in height and 10 or more feet in girth and thousands of years in age, have very shallow root systems? The way they withstand the winds and stress of so many years is they intertwine their roots with others, thus drawing their strength from each other. (Wiley Stephens)

            Methodist pastor, Wiley Stephens tells a story entitled "The Rabbi's Gift." A monastery had fallen on hard times, with only five monks left. In desperation, the Abbot went to a neighboring rabbi for advice.

            The rabbi said, "I have no advice to give you really. The only thing I can say is that one of you could well be the Messiah."

            The abbot brought this thought back, but he said he really didn't know what to make of it.  And in the months that followed, they pondered the thought. Without realizing it, they also began to treat each other differently. There was a new sense of love and respect. Others were attracted to their order. The monastery took on new life. It makes a difference in our relationship with others…when we see that (God) abides in them as within us.

            Because we are branches attached to a common vine, we are thereby linked to one another.  The love which flows from God to you also flows from God to me – and in turn that love in you and in me continues to flow outward, connecting us one to another until we are all connected  - African to American, Christian to Muslim, gay to straight, the 1% to the 99%. 

            That is what it means to make your home in Jesus, to be connected to the vine.  That is what it means to love like God’s love is really flowing in your veins.  You do not make your home in Jesus only with people who are like you. 

            Being connected to the vine means moving beyond racism and homophobia.  It means moving toward economic justice and religious acceptance.  It means actively making a commitment to swallow the fear that cuts us off from the ones who are different than we are – but in whom God’s love abides just the same. 

            And so there is challenge in this passage about an ancient grape arbor as well as profound comfort.  There is the comfort in trusting in that connection to the Holy One and abiding in the love that such a connection generates. 

            However, there is also the challenge of recognizing the love of God in others and working – working hard – to strengthen one another because we are all branches and it will be through us that the vineyard will become the Kingdom of God. 

            And if we don’t?  If we take only the comfort - and not the challenge?  Then, as Jesus reminds us in this passage, we are little more than deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church

www.rvccme.org

Luke 24:36b-48 - "Fry Up An Egg"

            A bunch of terrified disciples, holed up together somewhere in the back alleyways of Jerusalem.  Jesus appearing out of nowhere and speaking those precious words of freedom, “Peace be with you,” even as he showed off his scarred hands and wounded feet. 

            Isn’t this where we were last Sunday – same story, different Gospel?  Today’s reading has a couple of added details, of course – and they are really marvelous ones – definitely worth noting. 

            It is in this version of an appearance story that the disciples, in their doubt, confusion, and disbelief, wondered whether this “whatever it was” that had crashed their hideaway – at breakfast no less - and claimed to be the Risen Christ was in reality only a ghost, just an apparition. 

            The rational side of the disciples attempted to explain away the mysterious encounter - rather like Ebeneezer Scrooge did in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.  Perhaps, like Mr. Scrooge initially thought on that fateful Christmas Eve, the dinner gravy had been too rich, or a morsel of meat just did not agree with them.            

            As Presbyterian pastor, Mark Roberts writes, “You just gotta love those disciples! Even after the resurrection, they still had the hardest time getting things right. Though they had heard that Jesus had risen from the dead, and though Jesus Himself had predicted this, when He appeared among them, they freaked out.”

            However, once again, instead of being angry at their ignorance or just downright belittling concerning their lack of faith, Jesus graciously offered them proof – and not just his hands and feet this time.  In a delightful addition that only the Gospel writer of Luke conveys, Jesus asks for a piece of fish.  Before their very eyes, he wolfs it down and then simply asks, “Hey, could a ghost do that?”   How much more down to earth can you get?

            The Gospel writer so wants us to believe that Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed.  The Gospel writer so wants us to affirm that the love of God was profound enough and deep enough to overcome the chains of death itself.  The Gospel writer so wants us to recognize that Jesus continues to this very day to maintain a unique relationship with his followers and those who call him Lord – this in spite of any folly, confusion, and doubt. For the Gospel writer, Jesus truly lives – not as a resuscitated corpse like Lazarus, but as a new, albeit mysterious and confounding, transformed being.

            It is a nice story.  I am sure we can all agree on that.  However, come on, Easter Sunday was two weeks ago now.  How much longer do we need to deal with this resurrection business?  When do we move on?  How many times do we need to be told that Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed?  

            How many different ways do we need to be reminded that, in the words of South African activist and retired Anglican bishop, Desmond Tutu, “goodness is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate, light is stronger than darkness, and life is stronger than death?”  How many times do we need to recall that “victory is ours, victory is ours, through the God who loves us?”

            A noted pastor named R.W. Dale had preached scores of Easter sermons. Then, one year, something different happened. Dale was completely overwhelmed by the confession, "He is risen." Never before had the truth dawned so forcefully.  The pastor was transformed. Subsequently, he instituted a policy calling for the congregation to sing an Easter hymn every single Sunday of the year.

             The answer to our question about how long, how long do we dwell on the empty tomb and the fact of the Risen Christ is encompassed in that policy.  The answer is that we never stop dwelling on it. 

            In fact, every Sunday is a “little Easter.”  Every Sunday when we come here to worship, through our songs and our prayers and our words, we ought to be reminded of the Risen Living Christ – every Sunday, not just on Easter. 

            One day a teacher asked the children in her fourth grade class to name the person whom they considered the greatest human being alive in the world today.  The responses were quick and varied.

            A little boy spoke up and said, "I think it's Tiger Woods. He's the greatest golfer in the world, ever"

            A little girl answered, "I think it's the Pope because he cares for people and doesn't get paid for it at all."

            Another little boy proclaimed, "I think it's my mom because she takes care of me and my brother." Over and over again, kids cited one celebrity after another.

            Finally another child spoke up, and he replied, " I think it’s Jesus Christ because he loves everybody and is always ready to help them."

            The teacher smiled and replied, "Well I certainly like your answer because I also admire Jesus. But there's one thing that's wrong. I said the greatest living person, and of course Jesus lived and died over two thousand years ago. Do you have another name in mind?"

            However, the child did not miss a beat when he responded, "Oh no, that's not right at all. Jesus Christ is alive!”  The child patted his chest where his heart would be and said, “He lives in me right now!" Sounds like a Will or Emily answer to me – simple yet deeply profound.

            Every Sunday, here in worship, we ought to be reminded that Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed.  Every Sunday, we ought to be reminded of the nature of reconciliation and the power of love that lies at the heart of the story of Jesus.  Every Sunday, we ought to be reminded that the Risen Christ indeed lives within us.  Every Sunday, we ought to be reminded of the challenge that such an intimate relationship presents to us.  Every Sunday is an Easter Sunday, and so in a sense we are never finished with this resurrection business.  Easter is inside us now.  It is part of us.  We are – and always will be – Easter people.           

            So, then, whatever does that mean for us – and for the way we live outside of these four walls of worship?   How can we make this message of Easter that we affirm every Sunday morning live vibrantly in us day by day by day?  Can we learn anything from this experience of the disciples that the Gospel writer of Luke chose to include in his narrative?

            Well, first off, perhaps like me you can take great comfort in an observation of Mark Roberts (whom I quoted earlier):  “Now I don't know about you, (he said) but this (the disciples’ reaction to the appearance of Jesus) gives me lots of hope. It means that I don't have to be a paragon of faith to be a disciple of Jesus. It means I can have my doubts, my fears, and my confusions, and still be the kind of person Jesus accepts, no, the kind of person Jesus chooses, to be one of His disciples. If you're someone who struggles with faith, if you find yourself doubting and confused, you should be mightily encouraged by this story. You're just the sort of person Jesus wants.”

            And second, perhaps like me you can derive great hope for the world in the fact that Jesus believed enough in a bunch of frightened, confused defeatists who could not see past the four walls of their locked upper room, believed in them enough to give them a mission –

and that mission, according to this Gospel writer, was to be witnesses, witnesses to all that God had done in their lives. 

            Now, whether you can rationally fathom it or not, Jesus believes in us in the same way.  We are not off the hook just because of the millennia that lie between the Gospel writer’s frame of reference and ours.  Jesus gives us the same mission that he gave to Peter, James, John, and the others.  We too are called to be witnesses – witnesses to all that God has done in our lives and in the world – and because we call ourselves Christians – done through and in the Risen Christ. 

            Because we are Easter people, we must also be witnesses.  As William Loader, a pastor of the Uniting Church of Australia, wrote: “For Luke, to fulfill the hope of the resurrection is to tell the story of Jesus.”

            Now I know that in a mainline Protestant church such as ours, the idea of witnessing is enough to make one’s hair curl.  I am sure that even now as I speak images of revival tents, altar calls, and knocking on doors like Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses are flooding your brains.  However, I am here to tell you that witnessing does not have to be that way.  It does not have to make your hands clammy or boost your blood pressure.

            Lutheran seminary professor, David Lose, puts it this way.  “I actually think we… witness all the time…What I mean is that we bear witness to things that are important to us (every day).  We bear witness to the great movies or television programs we've seen and want others to enjoy. (Hey, I got Donna watching “The Middle” and “Modern Family”) We bear witness to the accomplishments (or failures) of our sports teams. (Look at Lori around Super Bowl time – or Muriel when the Red Sox are in the play offs.)

            We bear witness to the important events in our family or work lives. (Which one of us has not bragged about a child or grandchild?)

            We bear witness -- that is, tell someone about -- the things that matter to us all the time.
It's not really all that different when it comes to the faith.

            Witnessing does not mean shoving our faith down someone's throat or threatening them with eternal hellfire if they don't believe like we do. It's simply telling others where we sensed God at work -- at home or work, at church or school, through a stranger or a friend, a doctor or teacher or neighbor, even through ourselves.

            Bearing witness is nothing more than saying where you think God is at work in your life and the world. We bear witness all the time; we're just not used to thinking about doing it in terms of our faith.”

            Witnessing takes practice – and so I challenge you as Easter people to do just that – practice.  Intentionally practice with your family.  Do you really know when your spouse or your child sensed the spirit of God in their lives last week?  Practice with your church friends.  Do you really know when the person sitting three rows back or two rows forward last felt deeply God’s closeness – or perhaps complete absence?  I have heard people say that our church (even though we believe that God is at work here) is one of the best-kept secrets in Raymond!  What do you think of that – and what are willing to do about that?

            I am sure that the disciples had to practice a bit among themselves before they ventured out to the ends of the earth and transformed the world with their story.  However, the potential difference between us and the disciples is that at some point they actually did witness far and wide.

           

             And so their movement grew – not because they hung signs on doorknobs throughout Jerusalem, not even because they organized “Invite a Friend to Church” days, but because they simply shared their story – with all its mystery and blessing, with all its questions and attempts to understand. 

            It was not a perfect story in the sense that it was always well thought out and articulate, but then, they were not telling it to perfect people, but rather simply to seekers like themselves.  And perhaps that made all the difference. 

            You see, it is really quite a simple mission that Jesus has given us.  It just takes practice.  Go out (he says) – and tell the story.  That is it – rather ordinary.  Like Jesus appearing at breakfast time and asking for a bite of fish to eat.  Big deal!  So - fry up an egg, pour some juice, and get to work.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church

www.rvccme.org