The Best Ending
Commentary
Our family watched a movie together recently that left us feeling a bit mixed. The movie was great, mind you. Very well done. But the ending left us feeling frustrated, sad. We had expected a happy ending, but what we got was bittersweet, instead.
I don’t think that every movie has to have a happy ending. And I know that real life is not like the sitcoms where all problems are introduced and solved within twenty-four minutes. Yet, I still believe there is something innate within human creatures that longs for a happy ending. And that’s not the stuff of childhood fairy tales; rather, it may be one more evidence that we were made in the image of God.
In the beginning, we recall, the Lord God made all things good. “He saw that it was good,” is the familiar refrain throughout the creation story. And how he made things in the beginning is a glimpse into the goodness of his perfect will.
We’re not far into the story, however, before things turn bad. Adam and Eve’s blatant disobedience is followed in short order by shame, by brokenness between themselves, and by distance from and dishonesty with God. A generation later there is fratricide. And within just a few more generations, the Lord who originally “saw that it was good” now “saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually” (Genesis 6:5 ESV).
We sometimes refer to the fall of man in Genesis 3. But if we zoom out the lens, we get a greater sense of how great, how far that fall was. By the time of Noah, humanity had descended so very far.
Yet God never abandoned his project. He did not crumple up and toss away the planet in rebellion. He did not forfeit humanity to the enemy. Instead, he established covenants and made promises. He gave law and prophecy. He introduced types and figures. He foreshadowed and prepared until, in the fullness of time, the fullness of his plan could be revealed in his son. And as the biblical story moves from past to future, we see that God’s ultimate plan is to make things good once again.
The Bible is neither fairy tale nor sitcom, yet it moves stubbornly toward the happy ending that reflects the good heart and the perfect will of God. And I suspect that our natural appetite for happy endings reflects our maker. For we discover again and again that what we long for is precisely who he is and what he provides.
This week’s assigned texts give us a good opportunity to explore the Bible’s version of the happy ending. The excerpt from the very last chapter of the Bible is the most obvious source, of course. But the episode from Acts also gives us great insight. And Jesus’ prayer in John 17 is also surely a glimpse into the heart and will of God.
Acts 16:16-34
Paul’s visit to Philippi seems to have been one problem after another. That may not be apparent to us as we read the story, partly because we know how it turns out in the end and partly because we tolerate much more easily the trials of biblical characters than we do our own trials. But let us imagine for just a moment how Paul and Silas might have sketched out the ideal missionary experience in Philippi.
First, of course, there was the apostle’s natural and habitual starting place: the synagogue. There he would reason from the scriptures that Jesus was the Christ, the fulfillment of God’s plan and promises, and his ordained means of salvation and judgment. But, wait — no synagogue in Philippi! Only a group of earnest women who gathered by the river. Paul and his companions had crossed the Aegean into Macedonia because of a vision of “a man from Macedonia,” who exhorted Paul to come over to help. The vision might now seem like a misunderstanding of false advertising, for there was no man from Macedonia upon arrival.
Then the missionary effort in that city was further inconvenienced by the slave girl who kept following after Paul and company, calling out distractingly after them and about them. This went on for many days and was evidently an unwelcome development. We can imagine what a nuisance that must have been to the conversations and the work that Paul was undertaking.
Finally, when Paul had had enough, he rebuked the spirit within her, which ended up exchanging one problem for another. Now the woman was no longer a nuisance, but the merchants who had been profiting off of her were turned against Paul. And, next thing they knew, Paul and Silas were being publicly stripped and beaten, and then thrown in jail.
Imagine their perfect picture as they sailed hopefully to Macedonia a few days earlier. And now see what has become of their Macedonian mission.
Yet in the end, we cannot help but be impressed by the holy opportunism of Paul and Silas. For most of us, an unjust imprisonment would be cause for much hand-wringing, complaining, and perhaps even a faith crisis. How could God let this happen to us? What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with us?
But see what that prison became for Paul and Silas.
First, it was a place of worship. Rather than bellyaching, Paul and Silas were praying and singing to God. Have I learned how to do that? Have I learned how to make any place into a place of prayer and a setting of worship, or do I need everything to be ‘just so’ — comfortable and inspiring — in order for me to pray and to sing to God?
Second, the prison became a place of witness. We read not only that Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns, but also that the other prisoners were listening to them. This was not the originally intended audience — a synagogue of devout Jews. No, this was a less promising and rougher, smellier crowd. Yet it was the audience for Paul and Silas’ faith.
Third, the prison became the setting for a miracle. The Lord evidently caused a great earthquake that snapped bars and broke open cells, setting the captives free. I would prefer for the Lord to do his work in my life in a more commodious setting. Am I open to his miraculous work to happen anywhere, including undesirable and undeserved places?
Finally, the prison became the place of evangelism. The Philippian jailer — the very man who symbolized their pain and injustice and confinement — he was the one whom Paul ended up baptizing, along with his whole household. But if Paul and Silas had never been put in that prison, it’s hard to imagine that that household would ever have been saved.
We see in the Philippian episode something of the marvelous versatility of God. But it also requires a good deal of flexibility on the part of God’s servants. Paul and Silas exemplified that. Do we?
Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21
I have frequently told people in the churches I've served to make sure that they go looking for the right thing in the book of Revelation. Too often I have observed earnest Christians going to the book trying to find things like Roman emperors, current superpowers, medieval plagues, and World War II despots. I would not dogmatically insist that those things are not to be found in Revelation. I would contend, however, that such things are neither the clearest nor the most important things revealed in the book. Above all, I believe that what Revelation reveals is Jesus. Accordingly, let us approach the assigned text with this question: What is revealed about him?
First, we hear that he is coming. Indeed, we hear it from his own mouth. This is, of course, one of the fundamental affirmations that we make in the historic creeds of the church. It is what Christians believe, but it's open to question whether we live like we believe it.
Second, he is bringing his recompense with him. This calls to mind a number of passages in the Gospels, the book of Acts, and the epistles which affirm Jesus' ultimate role as judge. In the end, he is the one who adjudicates, and he is the one who assigns reward at punishment. This, too, is often an underserved part of Christian doctrine in American churches. People are more accustomed to (and likely more comfortable with) the cherished image of Jesus sitting on a green hillside with the children gathered around. But at this moment he sits at the right end of God, and “from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.”
Next comes the great Alpha and Omega declaration, followed by other ways of saying the same thing in order to drive the point home. Much deserves to be said about this profound profession, but given our limitations let me just highlight just a few points. First, it is noteworthy that, earlier in the book of Revelation, it is the Father not the Son who makes this statement about himself (Revelation 1:8). Second, we are reminded of the prologue to the Gospel of John where Christ's presence and role in the beginning is presented. And, third, we think also of Paul's great affirmation to the Colossians about Christ: His primacy, his centrality, and the truth at all things find their purpose and fulfillment in him. Meanwhile, at a personal level, I believe that, when we are all seeing ourselves and our lives clearly, we will discover that this is not just a doctrinal statement but a personal testimony: that Jesus is for us the first and the last, the beginning and the end!
Additionally, we hear Jesus say that he has sent his angel “to testify about these things for the churches.” This may at first seem rather pedestrian compared to so much of what surrounds it, but it is in reality a grand truth. After all, it is his prerogative to share or not to share what he knows, what he wills, what he plans, and what he will do. It is all grace that he chooses to share these matters with us. For him to send his angel in order to bring his people into his confidence, as it were, is beyond measuring.
Finally, Jesus identifies himself with David — his root and descendant. This, of course, harkens back to Old Testament characters, events and promises (as so much of Revelation does). From about 1,000 B.C. on, the Lord God was helping Israel understand the one he would someday send in terms of David. That portrait develops many features over the remaining centuries and texts of the Old Testament so that, by the time the curtain opens on the New Testament, there was a myriad of wonderful expectations surrounding “the Son of David.” And Jesus is reminding the reader that he is that promised one.
In addition to these explicit revelations about Jesus, there are still more things that are implicit. They are implicit in the reference to the bride, in the promise of blessing, in the generous invitation to those who are thirsty, and in the expression of eager desire for Christ’s return. Why bother with looking for Nero, Hitler, Russia, and such when so much that is so beautiful is revealed about Jesus?
John 17:20-26
Exegeting certain passages from scripture — and especially passages taken from John — can feel to me like trying to “explain” a piece of music or a work of art. They elude such prosaic analysis. And so a more deft and artistic touch is required — more, at least, than what I possess. My only endeavor, therefore, is to stand before the text, as though it were a painting on the wall, and make some observations.
First, I observe that this passage — and the larger section from which it is taken — offers us a great gift, for we are privy here to Jesus praying. Imagine that John had simply reported that, on this occasion, Jesus prayed an extended prayer in his disciples’ hearing, but said no more about it. We might reasonably feel cheated by the evangelist that he did not share with his readers what he had heard. But he did, and that is a profound gift.
Second, I observe that, as is almost always the case with a person’s prayer, we are given here a glimpse into Jesus’ heart. And given the suffering and death that awaited him within the next twenty-four hours, it proves to be a quite remarkable glimpse and heart. For what we read is not at all about Jesus’ own apprehension or needs. Instead, it is entirely a prayer on behalf of his followers. (And not, we should note, only for his followers who were in the room at that moment, but for us, as well — “for those who will believe in me through their word.” This makes the treasure of this passage all the more valuable inasmuch as it answers the question, “What does Jesus pray for us?”)
Third, I observe that what Jesus prays for on behalf of his followers is not arm’s-length kinds of blessings. Rather, what he prays for them is intimately connected to himself and his Father. It is, we might note, part of a larger conspicuous theme: a magnificent symmetry between the Father, the Son, the Spirit, and the disciples. The things that the persons of the Trinity experience, what they share, and what they do for one another: the followers of Jesus are brought into all of these things. It’s a principle that is, on the one hand, central to the gospel message; yet I suspect that it is, at the same time, a principle that is underrepresented in most American preaching.
Finally, I observe in this passage three themes that are major motifs in John, and particularly in his long, last supper scene: oneness, glory, and love. These are woven together so that they are inseparable in the text, which prompts us to appreciate them as related themes. Specifically, I perceive this interplay: that love is at the core, that oneness is a byproduct of love, and that divine glory (as opposed to human or worldly glory) is distinguished by love.
We note that the biblical model of oneness is always and only evident in the context of love relationships: husband and wife, the church, and the Trinity. For as long as selfishness is present, unity is undermined. Inasmuch as God is love, it is unsurprising that the three are one. And this is what he desires for (and with) Christ’s followers, as well.
Meanwhile, as I reflect on the motif of glory, I am reminded of a line that Jesus sings to Simon the Zealot in “Jesus Christ Superstar.” I am generally cautious about the theology and Christology of that famous rock opera, but I’m sure the lyricist was onto something here. Jesus sings, “Neither you Simon, nor the fifty thousand / Nor the Romans, nor the Jews / Nor Judas, nor the twelve, nor the Priests, nor the scribes / Nor doomed Jerusalem itself / Understand what power is / Understand what glory is / Understand at all / Understand at all.”*
So, indeed, the world does not understand glory, for in our experience it is typically a self-seeking and self-serving enterprise. Yet here in this passage from John 17 we observe that glory is not at all selfish. It is what one gives to another. It, too, is a function of love.
Application
We noted above that one bad thing after another seemed to befall Paul and Silas in Philippi. Disappointment, frustration, injustice, and pain seemed to be the recipe for their time there. Except that, in the end, we see the beauty of divine triumph. For we rejoice with the Philippian jailor and his household in their salvation, and we know that Paul left behind in that city an exemplary church that continued to be for him a source of pride and joy.
The shape of the Philippian story should sound familiar to us, for it may be the plotline of the larger biblical story. Yes, there is pain and there are setbacks. Yes, there is great trouble, and the people of God are treated unjustly. The Lord’s cause can often seem to be opposed or even defeated. Yet that is not the end of the story, is it? No, for the Lord will prevail in the end, and the picture he paints of that is a happy ending, indeed.
Jesus’ prayer for his followers resonates with that larger plotline. There is a recognition that the world does not know God. Yet the expressed plan is that the world should know, and that Jesus’ followers would be instruments in God’s glory-filled, grace-filled plan.
And then, of course, there is the happy ending portrayed toward the end of the book of Revelation. This is the will of God writ large, as we see all of the evil that is brought to an end and excluded, while the good and the right and the beautiful prevail over all. We are reminded of the image from Daniel of a stone that starts small but grows into a mountain that fills all the earth.
In all of this, however, we see more than a trite or simple happy ending. We see, instead, the very best sort of happy ending, which is actually a happy beginning. That is the implication, after all, of the classic line, “they lived happily ever after.” The happiest ending, you see, is not an ending, at all. And so it is with the things of God. The goodness of the climax of the Philippian mission is that the goodness goes on — the new life in Christ for the jailor and his household, along with the larger church there in Philippi. And one senses that the grand picture that comes at the end of Revelation is only the beginning.
This is good news for us and for the people in our congregations. It is good news that the Lord does not abandon fallen and broken things. It is good news that we may trust and obey him through the hard and discouraging times. It is good news that he has a good plan that will prevail in the end. And it is good news that that end is only the beginning.
Alternative Application(s)
Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21 — “The Problem with Our Text”
I wonder if it is out of line for a lectionary preacher to preach about the lectionary. Not just from the lectionary, as is our custom, but about the lectionary.
Of course, that would be too small a subject for the pulpit or for a worship service. We mustn’t ever squander the awesome responsibility we are given on little things. I never want people to leave church thinking they have heard an editorial rather than gospel preaching. Yet there is a glaring irony in the text assigned to us by the lectionary this week, and that irony points to a larger problem that goes well beyond the lectionary. And that larger problem is surely big enough to preach about.
Our assigned text comes from the final chapter of the Bible. It features the words of Jesus as he promises his coming. And those words include both statements of blessing and promise, on the one hand, as well as words of sober warning, on the other. Yet our assigned text artfully skips over the latter, focusing exclusively on the former.
What we do read is that he is coming. What we do read is a proclamation of who are the blessed ones. What we do not read, however, is Christ’s statement that sorcerers, the sexually immoral, murders, idolaters, and those who practice falsehood will be excluded from the promised blessing. That verse has been excised from the passage by the lectionary.
Here, then, is the irony. Later, in the same passage there are two more verses that have been deliberately left out. They, too, are sober in their tone and punitive in their message. And the irony is that among the words left out are these: “If anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away his share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book” (Revelation 22:19 ESV).
My purpose here is not to critique the lectionary. That, as I have said, would be too small a subject for a Christian pulpit. But this ironic, deliberate omission by the lectionary symbolizes for us the bigger problem: namely, the human tendency to ignore, skip, or even eliminate the parts of Scripture that we don’t like.
In 1982, Reader’s Digest published a condensed version of the Bible. Their rendition had reduced the Old Testament by about fifty percent and the New Testament by about 25%. I remember that there was a great, understandable furor among so many church folks who were deeply offended by the audacity and sacrilege behind taking such scissors to scripture. I also, remember, hearing an older minister calmly remark, “I’m not sure why so many people are getting upset about this. In my experience, most church members have been operating with a condensed version of the Bible for years.”
His point, of course, was not that individual church folks had actually cut up books or torn out pages from the Bible. Rather, he just knew that, in both belief and practice, most American churchgoers had done informally what Reader’s Digest presumed to do officially. For those folks did not read the whole Bible, they did not believe the whole Bible, and they did not follow the whole Bible.
Perhaps, therefore, the skipping over of potentially offensive land mines that the lectionary does this week — including a warning not to take away from the words of this book! — serves as a cautionary tale for us. Perhaps the text we are not reading is as illuminating as the text we are. And perhaps the whole enterprise invites us to look in the mirror and ask ourselves if we have taken away from the book the words we don’t like.
* (https://genius.com/Jesus-christ-superstar-cast-poor-jerusalem-lyrics)
I don’t think that every movie has to have a happy ending. And I know that real life is not like the sitcoms where all problems are introduced and solved within twenty-four minutes. Yet, I still believe there is something innate within human creatures that longs for a happy ending. And that’s not the stuff of childhood fairy tales; rather, it may be one more evidence that we were made in the image of God.
In the beginning, we recall, the Lord God made all things good. “He saw that it was good,” is the familiar refrain throughout the creation story. And how he made things in the beginning is a glimpse into the goodness of his perfect will.
We’re not far into the story, however, before things turn bad. Adam and Eve’s blatant disobedience is followed in short order by shame, by brokenness between themselves, and by distance from and dishonesty with God. A generation later there is fratricide. And within just a few more generations, the Lord who originally “saw that it was good” now “saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually” (Genesis 6:5 ESV).
We sometimes refer to the fall of man in Genesis 3. But if we zoom out the lens, we get a greater sense of how great, how far that fall was. By the time of Noah, humanity had descended so very far.
Yet God never abandoned his project. He did not crumple up and toss away the planet in rebellion. He did not forfeit humanity to the enemy. Instead, he established covenants and made promises. He gave law and prophecy. He introduced types and figures. He foreshadowed and prepared until, in the fullness of time, the fullness of his plan could be revealed in his son. And as the biblical story moves from past to future, we see that God’s ultimate plan is to make things good once again.
The Bible is neither fairy tale nor sitcom, yet it moves stubbornly toward the happy ending that reflects the good heart and the perfect will of God. And I suspect that our natural appetite for happy endings reflects our maker. For we discover again and again that what we long for is precisely who he is and what he provides.
This week’s assigned texts give us a good opportunity to explore the Bible’s version of the happy ending. The excerpt from the very last chapter of the Bible is the most obvious source, of course. But the episode from Acts also gives us great insight. And Jesus’ prayer in John 17 is also surely a glimpse into the heart and will of God.
Acts 16:16-34
Paul’s visit to Philippi seems to have been one problem after another. That may not be apparent to us as we read the story, partly because we know how it turns out in the end and partly because we tolerate much more easily the trials of biblical characters than we do our own trials. But let us imagine for just a moment how Paul and Silas might have sketched out the ideal missionary experience in Philippi.
First, of course, there was the apostle’s natural and habitual starting place: the synagogue. There he would reason from the scriptures that Jesus was the Christ, the fulfillment of God’s plan and promises, and his ordained means of salvation and judgment. But, wait — no synagogue in Philippi! Only a group of earnest women who gathered by the river. Paul and his companions had crossed the Aegean into Macedonia because of a vision of “a man from Macedonia,” who exhorted Paul to come over to help. The vision might now seem like a misunderstanding of false advertising, for there was no man from Macedonia upon arrival.
Then the missionary effort in that city was further inconvenienced by the slave girl who kept following after Paul and company, calling out distractingly after them and about them. This went on for many days and was evidently an unwelcome development. We can imagine what a nuisance that must have been to the conversations and the work that Paul was undertaking.
Finally, when Paul had had enough, he rebuked the spirit within her, which ended up exchanging one problem for another. Now the woman was no longer a nuisance, but the merchants who had been profiting off of her were turned against Paul. And, next thing they knew, Paul and Silas were being publicly stripped and beaten, and then thrown in jail.
Imagine their perfect picture as they sailed hopefully to Macedonia a few days earlier. And now see what has become of their Macedonian mission.
Yet in the end, we cannot help but be impressed by the holy opportunism of Paul and Silas. For most of us, an unjust imprisonment would be cause for much hand-wringing, complaining, and perhaps even a faith crisis. How could God let this happen to us? What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with us?
But see what that prison became for Paul and Silas.
First, it was a place of worship. Rather than bellyaching, Paul and Silas were praying and singing to God. Have I learned how to do that? Have I learned how to make any place into a place of prayer and a setting of worship, or do I need everything to be ‘just so’ — comfortable and inspiring — in order for me to pray and to sing to God?
Second, the prison became a place of witness. We read not only that Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns, but also that the other prisoners were listening to them. This was not the originally intended audience — a synagogue of devout Jews. No, this was a less promising and rougher, smellier crowd. Yet it was the audience for Paul and Silas’ faith.
Third, the prison became the setting for a miracle. The Lord evidently caused a great earthquake that snapped bars and broke open cells, setting the captives free. I would prefer for the Lord to do his work in my life in a more commodious setting. Am I open to his miraculous work to happen anywhere, including undesirable and undeserved places?
Finally, the prison became the place of evangelism. The Philippian jailer — the very man who symbolized their pain and injustice and confinement — he was the one whom Paul ended up baptizing, along with his whole household. But if Paul and Silas had never been put in that prison, it’s hard to imagine that that household would ever have been saved.
We see in the Philippian episode something of the marvelous versatility of God. But it also requires a good deal of flexibility on the part of God’s servants. Paul and Silas exemplified that. Do we?
Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21
I have frequently told people in the churches I've served to make sure that they go looking for the right thing in the book of Revelation. Too often I have observed earnest Christians going to the book trying to find things like Roman emperors, current superpowers, medieval plagues, and World War II despots. I would not dogmatically insist that those things are not to be found in Revelation. I would contend, however, that such things are neither the clearest nor the most important things revealed in the book. Above all, I believe that what Revelation reveals is Jesus. Accordingly, let us approach the assigned text with this question: What is revealed about him?
First, we hear that he is coming. Indeed, we hear it from his own mouth. This is, of course, one of the fundamental affirmations that we make in the historic creeds of the church. It is what Christians believe, but it's open to question whether we live like we believe it.
Second, he is bringing his recompense with him. This calls to mind a number of passages in the Gospels, the book of Acts, and the epistles which affirm Jesus' ultimate role as judge. In the end, he is the one who adjudicates, and he is the one who assigns reward at punishment. This, too, is often an underserved part of Christian doctrine in American churches. People are more accustomed to (and likely more comfortable with) the cherished image of Jesus sitting on a green hillside with the children gathered around. But at this moment he sits at the right end of God, and “from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.”
Next comes the great Alpha and Omega declaration, followed by other ways of saying the same thing in order to drive the point home. Much deserves to be said about this profound profession, but given our limitations let me just highlight just a few points. First, it is noteworthy that, earlier in the book of Revelation, it is the Father not the Son who makes this statement about himself (Revelation 1:8). Second, we are reminded of the prologue to the Gospel of John where Christ's presence and role in the beginning is presented. And, third, we think also of Paul's great affirmation to the Colossians about Christ: His primacy, his centrality, and the truth at all things find their purpose and fulfillment in him. Meanwhile, at a personal level, I believe that, when we are all seeing ourselves and our lives clearly, we will discover that this is not just a doctrinal statement but a personal testimony: that Jesus is for us the first and the last, the beginning and the end!
Additionally, we hear Jesus say that he has sent his angel “to testify about these things for the churches.” This may at first seem rather pedestrian compared to so much of what surrounds it, but it is in reality a grand truth. After all, it is his prerogative to share or not to share what he knows, what he wills, what he plans, and what he will do. It is all grace that he chooses to share these matters with us. For him to send his angel in order to bring his people into his confidence, as it were, is beyond measuring.
Finally, Jesus identifies himself with David — his root and descendant. This, of course, harkens back to Old Testament characters, events and promises (as so much of Revelation does). From about 1,000 B.C. on, the Lord God was helping Israel understand the one he would someday send in terms of David. That portrait develops many features over the remaining centuries and texts of the Old Testament so that, by the time the curtain opens on the New Testament, there was a myriad of wonderful expectations surrounding “the Son of David.” And Jesus is reminding the reader that he is that promised one.
In addition to these explicit revelations about Jesus, there are still more things that are implicit. They are implicit in the reference to the bride, in the promise of blessing, in the generous invitation to those who are thirsty, and in the expression of eager desire for Christ’s return. Why bother with looking for Nero, Hitler, Russia, and such when so much that is so beautiful is revealed about Jesus?
John 17:20-26
Exegeting certain passages from scripture — and especially passages taken from John — can feel to me like trying to “explain” a piece of music or a work of art. They elude such prosaic analysis. And so a more deft and artistic touch is required — more, at least, than what I possess. My only endeavor, therefore, is to stand before the text, as though it were a painting on the wall, and make some observations.
First, I observe that this passage — and the larger section from which it is taken — offers us a great gift, for we are privy here to Jesus praying. Imagine that John had simply reported that, on this occasion, Jesus prayed an extended prayer in his disciples’ hearing, but said no more about it. We might reasonably feel cheated by the evangelist that he did not share with his readers what he had heard. But he did, and that is a profound gift.
Second, I observe that, as is almost always the case with a person’s prayer, we are given here a glimpse into Jesus’ heart. And given the suffering and death that awaited him within the next twenty-four hours, it proves to be a quite remarkable glimpse and heart. For what we read is not at all about Jesus’ own apprehension or needs. Instead, it is entirely a prayer on behalf of his followers. (And not, we should note, only for his followers who were in the room at that moment, but for us, as well — “for those who will believe in me through their word.” This makes the treasure of this passage all the more valuable inasmuch as it answers the question, “What does Jesus pray for us?”)
Third, I observe that what Jesus prays for on behalf of his followers is not arm’s-length kinds of blessings. Rather, what he prays for them is intimately connected to himself and his Father. It is, we might note, part of a larger conspicuous theme: a magnificent symmetry between the Father, the Son, the Spirit, and the disciples. The things that the persons of the Trinity experience, what they share, and what they do for one another: the followers of Jesus are brought into all of these things. It’s a principle that is, on the one hand, central to the gospel message; yet I suspect that it is, at the same time, a principle that is underrepresented in most American preaching.
Finally, I observe in this passage three themes that are major motifs in John, and particularly in his long, last supper scene: oneness, glory, and love. These are woven together so that they are inseparable in the text, which prompts us to appreciate them as related themes. Specifically, I perceive this interplay: that love is at the core, that oneness is a byproduct of love, and that divine glory (as opposed to human or worldly glory) is distinguished by love.
We note that the biblical model of oneness is always and only evident in the context of love relationships: husband and wife, the church, and the Trinity. For as long as selfishness is present, unity is undermined. Inasmuch as God is love, it is unsurprising that the three are one. And this is what he desires for (and with) Christ’s followers, as well.
Meanwhile, as I reflect on the motif of glory, I am reminded of a line that Jesus sings to Simon the Zealot in “Jesus Christ Superstar.” I am generally cautious about the theology and Christology of that famous rock opera, but I’m sure the lyricist was onto something here. Jesus sings, “Neither you Simon, nor the fifty thousand / Nor the Romans, nor the Jews / Nor Judas, nor the twelve, nor the Priests, nor the scribes / Nor doomed Jerusalem itself / Understand what power is / Understand what glory is / Understand at all / Understand at all.”*
So, indeed, the world does not understand glory, for in our experience it is typically a self-seeking and self-serving enterprise. Yet here in this passage from John 17 we observe that glory is not at all selfish. It is what one gives to another. It, too, is a function of love.
Application
We noted above that one bad thing after another seemed to befall Paul and Silas in Philippi. Disappointment, frustration, injustice, and pain seemed to be the recipe for their time there. Except that, in the end, we see the beauty of divine triumph. For we rejoice with the Philippian jailor and his household in their salvation, and we know that Paul left behind in that city an exemplary church that continued to be for him a source of pride and joy.
The shape of the Philippian story should sound familiar to us, for it may be the plotline of the larger biblical story. Yes, there is pain and there are setbacks. Yes, there is great trouble, and the people of God are treated unjustly. The Lord’s cause can often seem to be opposed or even defeated. Yet that is not the end of the story, is it? No, for the Lord will prevail in the end, and the picture he paints of that is a happy ending, indeed.
Jesus’ prayer for his followers resonates with that larger plotline. There is a recognition that the world does not know God. Yet the expressed plan is that the world should know, and that Jesus’ followers would be instruments in God’s glory-filled, grace-filled plan.
And then, of course, there is the happy ending portrayed toward the end of the book of Revelation. This is the will of God writ large, as we see all of the evil that is brought to an end and excluded, while the good and the right and the beautiful prevail over all. We are reminded of the image from Daniel of a stone that starts small but grows into a mountain that fills all the earth.
In all of this, however, we see more than a trite or simple happy ending. We see, instead, the very best sort of happy ending, which is actually a happy beginning. That is the implication, after all, of the classic line, “they lived happily ever after.” The happiest ending, you see, is not an ending, at all. And so it is with the things of God. The goodness of the climax of the Philippian mission is that the goodness goes on — the new life in Christ for the jailor and his household, along with the larger church there in Philippi. And one senses that the grand picture that comes at the end of Revelation is only the beginning.
This is good news for us and for the people in our congregations. It is good news that the Lord does not abandon fallen and broken things. It is good news that we may trust and obey him through the hard and discouraging times. It is good news that he has a good plan that will prevail in the end. And it is good news that that end is only the beginning.
Alternative Application(s)
Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21 — “The Problem with Our Text”
I wonder if it is out of line for a lectionary preacher to preach about the lectionary. Not just from the lectionary, as is our custom, but about the lectionary.
Of course, that would be too small a subject for the pulpit or for a worship service. We mustn’t ever squander the awesome responsibility we are given on little things. I never want people to leave church thinking they have heard an editorial rather than gospel preaching. Yet there is a glaring irony in the text assigned to us by the lectionary this week, and that irony points to a larger problem that goes well beyond the lectionary. And that larger problem is surely big enough to preach about.
Our assigned text comes from the final chapter of the Bible. It features the words of Jesus as he promises his coming. And those words include both statements of blessing and promise, on the one hand, as well as words of sober warning, on the other. Yet our assigned text artfully skips over the latter, focusing exclusively on the former.
What we do read is that he is coming. What we do read is a proclamation of who are the blessed ones. What we do not read, however, is Christ’s statement that sorcerers, the sexually immoral, murders, idolaters, and those who practice falsehood will be excluded from the promised blessing. That verse has been excised from the passage by the lectionary.
Here, then, is the irony. Later, in the same passage there are two more verses that have been deliberately left out. They, too, are sober in their tone and punitive in their message. And the irony is that among the words left out are these: “If anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away his share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book” (Revelation 22:19 ESV).
My purpose here is not to critique the lectionary. That, as I have said, would be too small a subject for a Christian pulpit. But this ironic, deliberate omission by the lectionary symbolizes for us the bigger problem: namely, the human tendency to ignore, skip, or even eliminate the parts of Scripture that we don’t like.
In 1982, Reader’s Digest published a condensed version of the Bible. Their rendition had reduced the Old Testament by about fifty percent and the New Testament by about 25%. I remember that there was a great, understandable furor among so many church folks who were deeply offended by the audacity and sacrilege behind taking such scissors to scripture. I also, remember, hearing an older minister calmly remark, “I’m not sure why so many people are getting upset about this. In my experience, most church members have been operating with a condensed version of the Bible for years.”
His point, of course, was not that individual church folks had actually cut up books or torn out pages from the Bible. Rather, he just knew that, in both belief and practice, most American churchgoers had done informally what Reader’s Digest presumed to do officially. For those folks did not read the whole Bible, they did not believe the whole Bible, and they did not follow the whole Bible.
Perhaps, therefore, the skipping over of potentially offensive land mines that the lectionary does this week — including a warning not to take away from the words of this book! — serves as a cautionary tale for us. Perhaps the text we are not reading is as illuminating as the text we are. And perhaps the whole enterprise invites us to look in the mirror and ask ourselves if we have taken away from the book the words we don’t like.
* (https://genius.com/Jesus-christ-superstar-cast-poor-jerusalem-lyrics)
