A new us-them mentality
Commentary
Object:
You see it in every area of life. It's abundantly true in politics and sports. It's also true in business. And it rears its head -- sometimes appropriately and sometimes not -- in the life of the church. It is the us-them mentality: the way of looking at the world in terms of groups.
On the playing field, it's our team vs. the other team. In politics, it may be our party against the other. Or, on the larger stage, we see it manifested in international politics as we talk about our allies and our enemies. And in business, of course, there are always the competitors who embody the dreaded "them."
A certain amount of us-them mentality is appropriate in the church. After all, scripture bears repeated witness to many dualisms. There was Israel and then there were "the nations," the Jews and the Gentiles. Proverbs sees people in either-or categories of righteous or wicked, lazy or prudent, wise or foolish. The parables of Jesus present us with the sheep and the goats, the house on the rock and the house on the sand, the wise and foolish virgins, and so on. And the New Testament generally presents us with a picture of believers and unbelievers, of the church and the world.
Such dualism becomes unwholesome, of course, when it becomes the predicate for prejudice, exclusion, or antagonism. Scripture is unapologetic about naming the differences between peoples, but those differences and groupings are not necessarily meant to become points of conflict. In this regard, the Trinity offers both a model and an invitation for us.
Acts 7:55-60
The traditional hero escapes, a la Indiana Jones. The traditional hero prevails and conquers like John Wayne or Rambo. But the early church holds up for us Stephen as a very different sort of hero.
Make no mistake, he is a hero. While Peter emerges early as the leader of the group of believers in Jerusalem, and while Paul dominates the missionary work around the Mediterranean world, it is Stephen who has the longest recorded sermon in the book of Acts. While the apostles had delegated to Stephen and his colleagues the work of waiting tables so that they could proclaim the word (see Acts 6:2-6), Stephen proclaims the word at greater length than any of them.
Yet Stephen is not a hero in the mold of Peter, who is miraculously set free from his troubles (Acts 12:6-10), of Samson, who personally overcomes his foes (Judges 15:14-17), or of Daniel, who emerges unscathed from his sentence. No, Stephen is apprehended and killed -- the first Christian martyr -- yet his death is celebrated by its detailed account in Acts.
We are reminded of faith's Hall of Fame in Hebrews 11. The author lists all sorts of exemplary characters, who accomplished great feats and enjoyed miraculous assistance from God. But they are not the only heroes. No, for the writer goes on to recall those who "suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented -- of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground" (Hebrews 11:36-38).
God's brand of hero, you see, is measured by his faith, not his fate. And so Stephen, though his persecutors succeeded in capturing and killing him, is lifted up for us as a different sort of hero.
Meanwhile, though his death was presumably a victory for his antagonists, we sense in this scene that Stephen himself was the triumphant one. While they were blinded by their hate, he was seeing visions of heaven, God's glory, and the risen Christ. While they agitatedly covered their ears, he serenely gave witness. And while they angrily tried to snuff out his life, he peacefully entrusted his spirit to Jesus.
James Montgomery, in his poetic meditation upon Christ's experience in Gethsemane and Calvary, encouraged the Christian to follow the Lord's own example. "Shun not suffering, shame, or loss," he sang, "learn of Christ to bear the cross." And, later, " 'It is finished!' Hear him cry; learn of Jesus Christ to die" (James Montgomery, "Go to Dark Gethsemane," UMH #290).
Stephen had learned from Jesus Christ to endure suffering. And, as he prayed for the forgiveness of his own tormentors, he had most certainly learned from Jesus how to die.
1 Peter 2:2-10
I was in a conversation with a colleague recently who was espousing the merits of using projection and multi-media during sermons. "It is simply professional malfeasance," he insisted, "not to use pictures and video in this day and age when we preach."
Peter did not have our kind of technology available to him, of course, but he certainly used plenty of pictures. And if we have both the capacity and the inclination to use multi-media tools in our preaching, Peter provides us with a long list of the kinds of graphics we should employ, for the excerpt from his letter is rich with imagery and picturesque language.
The first image is of a newborn baby. I remember, from when each of my children was newborn, that marvelous look and sound of satisfaction when the nursing began. I'm not sure how much a baby knows when he or she first emerges from the womb, but they seem to know what they want and like when it comes to mother's milk. And so that image -- the picture of an innocent baby who knows enough to seek and to drink in all that he needs -- is the first picture for us to emulate in our Christian life.
The second image Peter flashes on the screen of his reader's imagination is a picture of stones. Not stones that are random, scattered, dry, and dusty. Rather, Peter has in mind stones that are suitable and available for building. And Peter invites us to identify with such stones -- to recognize our calling to "be built into a spiritual house." The cornerstone of that house, we discover, is Christ himself, which captures for us the privilege of our participation. Furthermore, we find that the whole project is initiated and managed by God himself, and so we are highly honored, indeed, to be invited and included in this enterprise.
Next, we transition our graphics to a focus on one particular stone -- that cornerstone mentioned above. In perhaps the world's greatest instance of tragic irony, this stone was the one "that the builders rejected," yet it was the very one chosen by God, which "has become the very head of the corner." We gather, therefore, that this stone is of greatest importance, and yet that importance is not necessarily recognized. That principle brings several scriptures to mind (Isaiah 53:2-4; Matthew 12:41-42; Luke 19:43-44; John 1:11).
A still closer look at that stone reveals that it somehow serves as the great dividing line between peoples. On the one hand, "whoever believes in him will not be put to shame," and to those "who believe, he is precious." On the other hand, for others, he is "a stone that makes them stumble, and a rock that makes them fall." Inasmuch as we know that stone represents Jesus, it is an easy thing for us to read through the gospels and detect a hundred proofs of this passage. For great numbers of people who believe in him, he becomes precious, indeed. And yet, that same teacher and healer becomes such an obstacle and a burden for others: people who become so antagonistic to him that they seek to have him arrested and killed. It is worth considering the degree to which he remains such a dividing line between people today.
Finally, Peter's abundant use of imagery also includes quick collections of pictures all joined together: a theological collage, if you will. Early in the passage, he links "a spiritual house," "a holy priesthood," and "spiritual sacrifices" together. Somewhat later, he pastes together "a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation." While no one of these pictures is given the elaboration that the stone is, they are put together as a collection that represents us. Each one could yield fruitful insight for us. Since the apostle takes them altogether, however, we will do the same by making a few observations about the sense of the whole collage, rather than focusing on any individual picture within it.
First, we see that a group of people is being described, and they are specifically God's people. Second, we note the recurring language of "spiritual" and "holy" to describe that people. And, third, the repeated use of "priesthood," combined with the image of offering "spiritual sacrifices," gives insight into the function and purpose of this chosen people.
Peter did not have the technology that you and I enjoy. But he uses a lot of pictures. And, in the end, when we step back and look at the whole passage, we discover that he has effectively painted two great portraits: one of Jesus, and one of us.
John 14:1-14
This excerpt from John's gospel comes in the midst of John's extended Last Supper scene. While Matthew, Mark, and Luke devote something less than one chapter to that event, John's record of it begins in chapter 13 and continues through chapter 17. Against the backdrop of that context, then, we observe several things. First, Jesus is the one who was facing great pain, suffering, injustice, and death, and yet he was the one who was speaking reassuringly to his companions. Second, even though he was going most imminently to Gethsemane and Calvary, his focus was quite beyond those places of his passion. Instead, his focus was on his Father's house and the place he would go to prepare for them. Finally, though there was an acute awareness of the impending separation -- and the accompanying sadness they would feel -- the reassuring emphasis was "that where I am, there you may be also."
On the matter of the impending separation, a part of Jesus' reassurance to his followers was that they knew "the way to the place where I am going." Evidently, however, this was completely befuddling to them, and Thomas was candid enough to express their confusion. "Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?"
We remember that in DaVinci's famous depiction of this scene, Jesus is notably calm amidst the sweeping confusion of the disciples. He clearly knew what was ahead -- both the pain and the victory. But his companions, it seems, did not understand much of what he said to them that night and were completely caught by surprise by what unfolded during the ensuing 24 hours. Thomas was absolutely right: They did not know where he was going.
Even so, they knew the way. They didn't realize that they knew the way, but they did, nevertheless. We will give specific attention to that "way" below.
Meanwhile, Jesus' statement that he is "the way" is accompanied by two other self-identifications: "the truth" and "the life." The significance of both statements is best understood against the broader backdrop of the usage of those terms in the gospel of John. The word "truth," for example, occurs 26 times in John -- an average of more than once per chapter. We remember, especially, that the narrator says the incarnate Word was "full of truth" (1:14), that Jesus identifies God's word as truth (17:17), and that he declares that "the truth will make you free" (8:32). The word "life," meanwhile, appears nearly fifty times, making it a central theme in the gospel. The narrator says that life is in Jesus (1:4), and Jesus says that he is the bread of life (6:35), he came so that his sheep might have abundant life (10:10), and he identifies himself as "the life" to Martha.
Finally, the passage moves to a motif that is recurring throughout this Last Supper scene: namely, the interwoven relationships between the persons of the Trinity and the followers of Jesus.
First, Jesus dramatically identifies himself with the Father (14:7-11). It is the sort of grand statement that prompts C.S. Lewis to argue against the notion that Jesus was simply a great moral teacher. "A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic -- on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg -- or else he would be the devil of hell.... You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon; or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to" (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1960), 41).
Then, after identifying himself with the Father, Jesus brings the disciples into the mix. They are encouraged to believe that reality about Jesus, which echoes the statement with which he began: "Believe in God, believe also in me." And then he shares the principle that whoever does believe in him will do the works that he does -- which, we have learned, as actually the Father's works. Indeed, Jesus' followers will do still greater works precisely because he goes to the Father, and Jesus will do what his followers ask in order that "the Father may be glorified in the Son." We will give a bit more thought to this important theme below.
Application
We want to give some thought this week to the Trinity. Our people may not reflect much on this doctrine for long because they discover that it makes their heads hurt. The mystery is so great, and the language can become so complicated, that we may all shake our heads and surrender. It's a magnificent challenge with which the early centuries of the church struggled, leading eventually to the Council of Nicea and the Nicene Creed.
For our purposes, however, we may choose to set aside the theological complexities and affirm the relational beauty. Specifically, we see that we serve a relational God inasmuch as he is relational even without us -- that is to say, he has relationship within himself.
We catch glimpses of the Trinity -- and something of the relation between the persons of the Trinity -- in all three of our lections this week. In Peter's epistle, for example, we are given picturesque language of the role that the Son plays in what the Father is building and creating. In Acts, Luke reports the marvelously holistic experience of Stephen: "Filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God." And in John, as we have explored above, the theme of the Trinity is dominant.
So let us point off at a distance and speak of the Trinity. God is "other," and so the Trinity is "them," as opposed to the human "us." And yet, see what is the attitude and approach of the godhead toward us. Rather than a great distance, and rather than an antagonistic us-them relationship, God has invited us in. That is clearly Stephen's intimate experience at a personal level. Beyond that, Peter shows us that what God began building with Christ is not exclusively a divine project: rather, you and I are invited to "let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ." And then, most dramatically of all, there is the teaching of Jesus in John.
In John we meet the Son who came from the Father to us. While here, he does the Father's works. When he leaves to return to the Father, he sends us his Spirit. He gives us his works to do, which are the Father's works, and the Spirit enables us to do them. He reveals the Father to us, and is our way to the Father.
It's a different us-them mentality: not an oppositional relationship but an invitational one; not exclusive, but inclusive. The Trinity offers us -- and models for us -- not us against them, but us with them together.
Alternative Application
John 14:1-14. "Knowing the way." John's gospel is famous for its "I Am" statements. Seven different times in that book, Jesus makes one of these grand self-disclosures about himself. Along the way, he identifies himself as "the bread of life" (6:35, 48), "the light of the world" (8:12; 9:5), "the gate" (10:7), "the good shepherd" (10:11-14), "the resurrection and the life" (11:25), and "the vine" (15:1, 5). And, here in our selected gospel lection, he reveals himself as "the way, the truth, and the life."
Most of the statements are picturesque, illustrating some truth about Jesus by identifying him with something tangible: a light, a shepherd, a vine, and such. And our passage has one of those tangible associations: "the way." It is a concrete sort of an image. The idea is that there is a path that leads from here to there, and Jesus says that he is that path.
The question for us to consider for a moment is that matter of "here to there." Just where exactly does Jesus lead?
The theme of Jesus going away is a prominent one in John's lengthy Last Supper scene. Over a dozen times in these five chapters, Jesus makes explicit reference to "I go" and "I am going." And while he tells his disciples candidly that they cannot yet go where he is going (13:33, 36), that is not a permanent situation. Rather, his purpose and promise is that "where I am, there you may be also." And so the hymn writer sings, "And he leads his children on to the place where he is gone" (Cecil Frances Alexander, Once in Royal David's City, UMH #250).
The fascinating detail, however, as we briefly noted above, is that the place where he is going does not seem to be the place he goes next. In other words, the plot of the story takes us next to the agony of Gethsemane, then the abusive trials, and finally the cross and the tomb. Yet those places are the journey, not the destination. We remember, likewise, that the wilderness of Sinai was meant to be Israel's journey, but the Promised Land was their destination. And in our own lives, we do well to keep clear the distinction between what we're going through and what we're going to.
Furthermore, Jesus' sense of destination does not even seem to be a place. Not only is he not looking at Gethsemane or Calvary, he also does not seem to be looking especially at heaven. Rather, revealing a profound and lovely truth, Jesus' destination is not a place but a person. "I am going to the Father," he tells them plainly and repeatedly (14:12, 28; 16:10, 28). That is why his statement that he is the way is followed immediately by his declaration that "no one comes to the Father except through me."
Just as the destination is not a place but a person, so it is that the way to that destination is not a path but a person. If we want to go to the Father, then Jesus is the way. And even though the disciples were so confused that night, he told them the truth when he said to them that they "know the way," for they knew him.
In the end, then, we see how the truths of the whole teaching hang together. If you have seen him, you have seen the Father. He is going to the Father. He is the way to the Father. And so to know him is to know the way, to know the Father, and to come to the Father.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16
by Schuyler Rhodes
What it means to surrender
This psalm is most famous because it contains the last words attributed to Jesus on the cross. "Into your hands I commend my spirit." If people take the time to think of it at all, they rarely consider the struggle Jesus likely had to get to this point in his journey. Many Christians blithely mouth the words that describe Jesus giving his all for us, but few pause to consider the weight of such a choice. What does it mean to shoulder the sins of the world upon oneself? What does it mean to surrender and walk willingly into a violent, torturous death? Yes. It was a choice. Jesus was not forced to go to the cross. He gave himself freely and that is really the point of it all, isn't it? If there was no choice then what does the sacrifice mean? If there was no choice then it's a little more like murder and a lot less like self-giving love.
So yes, Jesus had a choice about going to the cross. And while we talk about his body freely given for us, it doesn't mean that the choice was an easy one. Jesus chose to surrender himself to the plan, and therein can be found the great mystery of faith itself.
Faith requires surrender.
It required it of Jesus and faith requires it of you and me. When we struggle to be in charge there really is no faith. When we insist on control, we are really refusing to trust. It's only when we commend our spirits to God's hands that we truly step into faith. Only when we let go and release ourselves into God's powerful will do we truly swim in the waters of faith.
This surrender is not easy. We have strong ideas and desires. Our hearts are driven by passions and ideas. And giving these up to follow a will other than our own is a titanic struggle. Where in our lives do we need to release control? Where in our relationships do we need to surrender our drive to be in charge? Where, in the life of the church, do we need to let go and give it all over to God's loving grace and mercy?
Commending our spirits unto God may not be easy, but it is worth the trouble. The joy and wonder of losing ourselves in God's grace causes the rest of our little concerns to shrivel and fall away. The brilliance and clarity that comes with choosing God's way over our own is amazing indeed. So what it does it mean to surrender? It means nothing less than giving ourselves to our own salvation. It means choosing life over death. It means choosing to walk the path of wonder with our God.
On the playing field, it's our team vs. the other team. In politics, it may be our party against the other. Or, on the larger stage, we see it manifested in international politics as we talk about our allies and our enemies. And in business, of course, there are always the competitors who embody the dreaded "them."
A certain amount of us-them mentality is appropriate in the church. After all, scripture bears repeated witness to many dualisms. There was Israel and then there were "the nations," the Jews and the Gentiles. Proverbs sees people in either-or categories of righteous or wicked, lazy or prudent, wise or foolish. The parables of Jesus present us with the sheep and the goats, the house on the rock and the house on the sand, the wise and foolish virgins, and so on. And the New Testament generally presents us with a picture of believers and unbelievers, of the church and the world.
Such dualism becomes unwholesome, of course, when it becomes the predicate for prejudice, exclusion, or antagonism. Scripture is unapologetic about naming the differences between peoples, but those differences and groupings are not necessarily meant to become points of conflict. In this regard, the Trinity offers both a model and an invitation for us.
Acts 7:55-60
The traditional hero escapes, a la Indiana Jones. The traditional hero prevails and conquers like John Wayne or Rambo. But the early church holds up for us Stephen as a very different sort of hero.
Make no mistake, he is a hero. While Peter emerges early as the leader of the group of believers in Jerusalem, and while Paul dominates the missionary work around the Mediterranean world, it is Stephen who has the longest recorded sermon in the book of Acts. While the apostles had delegated to Stephen and his colleagues the work of waiting tables so that they could proclaim the word (see Acts 6:2-6), Stephen proclaims the word at greater length than any of them.
Yet Stephen is not a hero in the mold of Peter, who is miraculously set free from his troubles (Acts 12:6-10), of Samson, who personally overcomes his foes (Judges 15:14-17), or of Daniel, who emerges unscathed from his sentence. No, Stephen is apprehended and killed -- the first Christian martyr -- yet his death is celebrated by its detailed account in Acts.
We are reminded of faith's Hall of Fame in Hebrews 11. The author lists all sorts of exemplary characters, who accomplished great feats and enjoyed miraculous assistance from God. But they are not the only heroes. No, for the writer goes on to recall those who "suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented -- of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground" (Hebrews 11:36-38).
God's brand of hero, you see, is measured by his faith, not his fate. And so Stephen, though his persecutors succeeded in capturing and killing him, is lifted up for us as a different sort of hero.
Meanwhile, though his death was presumably a victory for his antagonists, we sense in this scene that Stephen himself was the triumphant one. While they were blinded by their hate, he was seeing visions of heaven, God's glory, and the risen Christ. While they agitatedly covered their ears, he serenely gave witness. And while they angrily tried to snuff out his life, he peacefully entrusted his spirit to Jesus.
James Montgomery, in his poetic meditation upon Christ's experience in Gethsemane and Calvary, encouraged the Christian to follow the Lord's own example. "Shun not suffering, shame, or loss," he sang, "learn of Christ to bear the cross." And, later, " 'It is finished!' Hear him cry; learn of Jesus Christ to die" (James Montgomery, "Go to Dark Gethsemane," UMH #290).
Stephen had learned from Jesus Christ to endure suffering. And, as he prayed for the forgiveness of his own tormentors, he had most certainly learned from Jesus how to die.
1 Peter 2:2-10
I was in a conversation with a colleague recently who was espousing the merits of using projection and multi-media during sermons. "It is simply professional malfeasance," he insisted, "not to use pictures and video in this day and age when we preach."
Peter did not have our kind of technology available to him, of course, but he certainly used plenty of pictures. And if we have both the capacity and the inclination to use multi-media tools in our preaching, Peter provides us with a long list of the kinds of graphics we should employ, for the excerpt from his letter is rich with imagery and picturesque language.
The first image is of a newborn baby. I remember, from when each of my children was newborn, that marvelous look and sound of satisfaction when the nursing began. I'm not sure how much a baby knows when he or she first emerges from the womb, but they seem to know what they want and like when it comes to mother's milk. And so that image -- the picture of an innocent baby who knows enough to seek and to drink in all that he needs -- is the first picture for us to emulate in our Christian life.
The second image Peter flashes on the screen of his reader's imagination is a picture of stones. Not stones that are random, scattered, dry, and dusty. Rather, Peter has in mind stones that are suitable and available for building. And Peter invites us to identify with such stones -- to recognize our calling to "be built into a spiritual house." The cornerstone of that house, we discover, is Christ himself, which captures for us the privilege of our participation. Furthermore, we find that the whole project is initiated and managed by God himself, and so we are highly honored, indeed, to be invited and included in this enterprise.
Next, we transition our graphics to a focus on one particular stone -- that cornerstone mentioned above. In perhaps the world's greatest instance of tragic irony, this stone was the one "that the builders rejected," yet it was the very one chosen by God, which "has become the very head of the corner." We gather, therefore, that this stone is of greatest importance, and yet that importance is not necessarily recognized. That principle brings several scriptures to mind (Isaiah 53:2-4; Matthew 12:41-42; Luke 19:43-44; John 1:11).
A still closer look at that stone reveals that it somehow serves as the great dividing line between peoples. On the one hand, "whoever believes in him will not be put to shame," and to those "who believe, he is precious." On the other hand, for others, he is "a stone that makes them stumble, and a rock that makes them fall." Inasmuch as we know that stone represents Jesus, it is an easy thing for us to read through the gospels and detect a hundred proofs of this passage. For great numbers of people who believe in him, he becomes precious, indeed. And yet, that same teacher and healer becomes such an obstacle and a burden for others: people who become so antagonistic to him that they seek to have him arrested and killed. It is worth considering the degree to which he remains such a dividing line between people today.
Finally, Peter's abundant use of imagery also includes quick collections of pictures all joined together: a theological collage, if you will. Early in the passage, he links "a spiritual house," "a holy priesthood," and "spiritual sacrifices" together. Somewhat later, he pastes together "a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation." While no one of these pictures is given the elaboration that the stone is, they are put together as a collection that represents us. Each one could yield fruitful insight for us. Since the apostle takes them altogether, however, we will do the same by making a few observations about the sense of the whole collage, rather than focusing on any individual picture within it.
First, we see that a group of people is being described, and they are specifically God's people. Second, we note the recurring language of "spiritual" and "holy" to describe that people. And, third, the repeated use of "priesthood," combined with the image of offering "spiritual sacrifices," gives insight into the function and purpose of this chosen people.
Peter did not have the technology that you and I enjoy. But he uses a lot of pictures. And, in the end, when we step back and look at the whole passage, we discover that he has effectively painted two great portraits: one of Jesus, and one of us.
John 14:1-14
This excerpt from John's gospel comes in the midst of John's extended Last Supper scene. While Matthew, Mark, and Luke devote something less than one chapter to that event, John's record of it begins in chapter 13 and continues through chapter 17. Against the backdrop of that context, then, we observe several things. First, Jesus is the one who was facing great pain, suffering, injustice, and death, and yet he was the one who was speaking reassuringly to his companions. Second, even though he was going most imminently to Gethsemane and Calvary, his focus was quite beyond those places of his passion. Instead, his focus was on his Father's house and the place he would go to prepare for them. Finally, though there was an acute awareness of the impending separation -- and the accompanying sadness they would feel -- the reassuring emphasis was "that where I am, there you may be also."
On the matter of the impending separation, a part of Jesus' reassurance to his followers was that they knew "the way to the place where I am going." Evidently, however, this was completely befuddling to them, and Thomas was candid enough to express their confusion. "Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?"
We remember that in DaVinci's famous depiction of this scene, Jesus is notably calm amidst the sweeping confusion of the disciples. He clearly knew what was ahead -- both the pain and the victory. But his companions, it seems, did not understand much of what he said to them that night and were completely caught by surprise by what unfolded during the ensuing 24 hours. Thomas was absolutely right: They did not know where he was going.
Even so, they knew the way. They didn't realize that they knew the way, but they did, nevertheless. We will give specific attention to that "way" below.
Meanwhile, Jesus' statement that he is "the way" is accompanied by two other self-identifications: "the truth" and "the life." The significance of both statements is best understood against the broader backdrop of the usage of those terms in the gospel of John. The word "truth," for example, occurs 26 times in John -- an average of more than once per chapter. We remember, especially, that the narrator says the incarnate Word was "full of truth" (1:14), that Jesus identifies God's word as truth (17:17), and that he declares that "the truth will make you free" (8:32). The word "life," meanwhile, appears nearly fifty times, making it a central theme in the gospel. The narrator says that life is in Jesus (1:4), and Jesus says that he is the bread of life (6:35), he came so that his sheep might have abundant life (10:10), and he identifies himself as "the life" to Martha.
Finally, the passage moves to a motif that is recurring throughout this Last Supper scene: namely, the interwoven relationships between the persons of the Trinity and the followers of Jesus.
First, Jesus dramatically identifies himself with the Father (14:7-11). It is the sort of grand statement that prompts C.S. Lewis to argue against the notion that Jesus was simply a great moral teacher. "A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic -- on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg -- or else he would be the devil of hell.... You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon; or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to" (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1960), 41).
Then, after identifying himself with the Father, Jesus brings the disciples into the mix. They are encouraged to believe that reality about Jesus, which echoes the statement with which he began: "Believe in God, believe also in me." And then he shares the principle that whoever does believe in him will do the works that he does -- which, we have learned, as actually the Father's works. Indeed, Jesus' followers will do still greater works precisely because he goes to the Father, and Jesus will do what his followers ask in order that "the Father may be glorified in the Son." We will give a bit more thought to this important theme below.
Application
We want to give some thought this week to the Trinity. Our people may not reflect much on this doctrine for long because they discover that it makes their heads hurt. The mystery is so great, and the language can become so complicated, that we may all shake our heads and surrender. It's a magnificent challenge with which the early centuries of the church struggled, leading eventually to the Council of Nicea and the Nicene Creed.
For our purposes, however, we may choose to set aside the theological complexities and affirm the relational beauty. Specifically, we see that we serve a relational God inasmuch as he is relational even without us -- that is to say, he has relationship within himself.
We catch glimpses of the Trinity -- and something of the relation between the persons of the Trinity -- in all three of our lections this week. In Peter's epistle, for example, we are given picturesque language of the role that the Son plays in what the Father is building and creating. In Acts, Luke reports the marvelously holistic experience of Stephen: "Filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God." And in John, as we have explored above, the theme of the Trinity is dominant.
So let us point off at a distance and speak of the Trinity. God is "other," and so the Trinity is "them," as opposed to the human "us." And yet, see what is the attitude and approach of the godhead toward us. Rather than a great distance, and rather than an antagonistic us-them relationship, God has invited us in. That is clearly Stephen's intimate experience at a personal level. Beyond that, Peter shows us that what God began building with Christ is not exclusively a divine project: rather, you and I are invited to "let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ." And then, most dramatically of all, there is the teaching of Jesus in John.
In John we meet the Son who came from the Father to us. While here, he does the Father's works. When he leaves to return to the Father, he sends us his Spirit. He gives us his works to do, which are the Father's works, and the Spirit enables us to do them. He reveals the Father to us, and is our way to the Father.
It's a different us-them mentality: not an oppositional relationship but an invitational one; not exclusive, but inclusive. The Trinity offers us -- and models for us -- not us against them, but us with them together.
Alternative Application
John 14:1-14. "Knowing the way." John's gospel is famous for its "I Am" statements. Seven different times in that book, Jesus makes one of these grand self-disclosures about himself. Along the way, he identifies himself as "the bread of life" (6:35, 48), "the light of the world" (8:12; 9:5), "the gate" (10:7), "the good shepherd" (10:11-14), "the resurrection and the life" (11:25), and "the vine" (15:1, 5). And, here in our selected gospel lection, he reveals himself as "the way, the truth, and the life."
Most of the statements are picturesque, illustrating some truth about Jesus by identifying him with something tangible: a light, a shepherd, a vine, and such. And our passage has one of those tangible associations: "the way." It is a concrete sort of an image. The idea is that there is a path that leads from here to there, and Jesus says that he is that path.
The question for us to consider for a moment is that matter of "here to there." Just where exactly does Jesus lead?
The theme of Jesus going away is a prominent one in John's lengthy Last Supper scene. Over a dozen times in these five chapters, Jesus makes explicit reference to "I go" and "I am going." And while he tells his disciples candidly that they cannot yet go where he is going (13:33, 36), that is not a permanent situation. Rather, his purpose and promise is that "where I am, there you may be also." And so the hymn writer sings, "And he leads his children on to the place where he is gone" (Cecil Frances Alexander, Once in Royal David's City, UMH #250).
The fascinating detail, however, as we briefly noted above, is that the place where he is going does not seem to be the place he goes next. In other words, the plot of the story takes us next to the agony of Gethsemane, then the abusive trials, and finally the cross and the tomb. Yet those places are the journey, not the destination. We remember, likewise, that the wilderness of Sinai was meant to be Israel's journey, but the Promised Land was their destination. And in our own lives, we do well to keep clear the distinction between what we're going through and what we're going to.
Furthermore, Jesus' sense of destination does not even seem to be a place. Not only is he not looking at Gethsemane or Calvary, he also does not seem to be looking especially at heaven. Rather, revealing a profound and lovely truth, Jesus' destination is not a place but a person. "I am going to the Father," he tells them plainly and repeatedly (14:12, 28; 16:10, 28). That is why his statement that he is the way is followed immediately by his declaration that "no one comes to the Father except through me."
Just as the destination is not a place but a person, so it is that the way to that destination is not a path but a person. If we want to go to the Father, then Jesus is the way. And even though the disciples were so confused that night, he told them the truth when he said to them that they "know the way," for they knew him.
In the end, then, we see how the truths of the whole teaching hang together. If you have seen him, you have seen the Father. He is going to the Father. He is the way to the Father. And so to know him is to know the way, to know the Father, and to come to the Father.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16
by Schuyler Rhodes
What it means to surrender
This psalm is most famous because it contains the last words attributed to Jesus on the cross. "Into your hands I commend my spirit." If people take the time to think of it at all, they rarely consider the struggle Jesus likely had to get to this point in his journey. Many Christians blithely mouth the words that describe Jesus giving his all for us, but few pause to consider the weight of such a choice. What does it mean to shoulder the sins of the world upon oneself? What does it mean to surrender and walk willingly into a violent, torturous death? Yes. It was a choice. Jesus was not forced to go to the cross. He gave himself freely and that is really the point of it all, isn't it? If there was no choice then what does the sacrifice mean? If there was no choice then it's a little more like murder and a lot less like self-giving love.
So yes, Jesus had a choice about going to the cross. And while we talk about his body freely given for us, it doesn't mean that the choice was an easy one. Jesus chose to surrender himself to the plan, and therein can be found the great mystery of faith itself.
Faith requires surrender.
It required it of Jesus and faith requires it of you and me. When we struggle to be in charge there really is no faith. When we insist on control, we are really refusing to trust. It's only when we commend our spirits to God's hands that we truly step into faith. Only when we let go and release ourselves into God's powerful will do we truly swim in the waters of faith.
This surrender is not easy. We have strong ideas and desires. Our hearts are driven by passions and ideas. And giving these up to follow a will other than our own is a titanic struggle. Where in our lives do we need to release control? Where in our relationships do we need to surrender our drive to be in charge? Where, in the life of the church, do we need to let go and give it all over to God's loving grace and mercy?
Commending our spirits unto God may not be easy, but it is worth the trouble. The joy and wonder of losing ourselves in God's grace causes the rest of our little concerns to shrivel and fall away. The brilliance and clarity that comes with choosing God's way over our own is amazing indeed. So what it does it mean to surrender? It means nothing less than giving ourselves to our own salvation. It means choosing life over death. It means choosing to walk the path of wonder with our God.
