Water Won't Quench the Fire

John 7:37-39

The Day of Pentecost

May 31, 2020

William G. Carter

On the last day of the festival, the great day, while Jesus was standing there, he cried out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.’” Now he said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet there was no Spirit, because Jesus was not yet glorified.

In a bottom drawer of my office desk, there’s a hanging file full of junk mail. Most of what comes in gets recycled or tossed. But once in a while, something so unusual arrives that I keep it so I can tell you about it in a sermon. Like the brightly colored brochure, response card, and prepaid business reply envelope. A computer-generated cover letter was addressed to First Presbyterian Church.

"Dear First," it began, "have you ever found yourself in deep spiritual need? Are you hungry for meaning in your life? Would you like to free yourself from earthly constrictions and reach for the light of perfect bliss? If so, Mr. Church, then you and the whole Church family are free to audition a new audio program titled The Higher Being. It is yours to audition free for the next thirty days. If these recordings convince you that you can find perfect fulfillment, you can make them yours for only $39.95 - $20.00 off the regular price. If you don't find Infinite Peace, let us know and owe us nothing. VISA and MasterCard accepted."

Every church office receives more than its share of spiritual junk mail, electronic or otherwise. Somebody is always trying to sell the newest Bible study program, a successful prayer manual, or the latest design of plastic communion cups. These days there are hundreds of opportunities for church people to buy religious merchandise. Christian marketing firms have baptized materialism to make a buck. Yet this slick brochure stood out from all the rest. Was it an innocent marketing mix-up or a wrong address on someone's database? Or was it something far more devilish? Whoever was selling those recordings was peddling fulfillment, meaning, and spiritual peace. The church has always claimed these things are not for sale.

Perhaps it is a symptom of our age to think we can fill a spiritual vacuum by listening to one more tape, reading one more book, or giving our money to one more guru. A young woman told me about dropping by a health food store not long ago. I don't know why she was there; most of the foods she eats are not very healthy. But there she was, among the racks of herbal teas and natural fibers. After thumbing through some compact disks of Celtic harp music, she spotted a book section marked "spirituality." That looked interesting, until she read the titles. There were volumes on esoteric crystals and secret pyramids. One book offered tips on getting in touch with past lives. Another promised to interpret dreams. There wasn't a Bible to be seen, no books on prayer, no studies on the Sermon on the Mount. A salesclerk asked, "Have you found what you're looking for?" 

"Not exactly," she replied.

"Well, we're proud of our section on spirituality," the clerk said. "We do our best to keep up with the latest ideas."

That seems to describe a recurring fad. Here in America, people are perpetually hungry for something new. Many people thirst for something novel. With the current talk about spirituality, the church is in an awkward position. The church keeps offering the same old thing. His name is Jesus Christ.

In the text we heard a few minutes ago, Jesus says, "Let anyone who is thirsty come to me." There is nothing new or novel about his words. He simply invites people to come and drink, to taste and see if he can truly quench their thirsts.

As one scholar notes, it is ironic that Jesus issues his invitation on the Feast of Tabernacles. The Feast of Tabernacles, or Succoth, took place in early autumn. It began as a harvest festival. By the time of the prophet Zechariah, the feast had become an occasion to pray for rain. The feast was important, said the prophet, so important that if a family did not go to Jerusalem for the Feast of Tabernacles, God would not send any rain upon them in the coming year (Zechariah 14:17).

To symbolize the "living waters" which God would provide, the temple priest would lead a procession during every day of the seven-day feast. The pilgrims would move downhill from the temple to the fountain of Gihon, where the priest a golden pitcher with water. Then the procession would turn around and climb the hill to the altar. Then the priest would pour the water through a silver funnel into the ground.[1]

On the seventh and greatest day of this Feast, Jesus pointed to himself and said, "If anyone is thirsty, let them come to me and drink." These are radical words, for Jesus strips away a long-established tradition. Beyond the rituals, the holy days, and the temple liturgies, Jesus points to himself as the One who satisfies our deepest craving.

This is consistent with the rest of the Gospel of John. According to John’s book, the one human desire is to know God, to taste God, to experience God, for that is the essence of life eternal. If the primary human thirst is a thirst for God, it will not be quenched through recordings about human potential or self-fulfillment. The heart of Christian spirituality is a living relationship with Jesus Christ. He is the source of our life and strength.

In The Silver Chair, one of C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, there is a scene where a young girl named Jill meets Aslan the Lion. Jill is "dreadfully thirsty," and she sees a stream bright as glass. Beside it lay the Lion, the Christ figure, who says, "If you're thirsty, you may drink." Jill stands frozen in fear. The Lion asks her, "Are you not thirsty?"

            "I'm dying of thirst," said Jill.

            "Then drink," said the Lion. 

            "May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.

The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.

            The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic. 

            "Will you promise not to do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.

            "I make no promise," said the Lion.

            Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.

            "Do you eat girls?" she said.

            "I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.

            "I daren't come and drink," said Jill.

            "Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.  

            "Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."

            "There is no other stream," said the Lion.

            It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion - no one who had seen his stern face could do that - and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn't need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once.[2]

The promise of the gospel is that we have access to a water like this through Jesus, who is the way, the truth, and the life. As we trust him, as we love one another, we participate in the very life of the Eternal One. That is the essence of the phrase "eternal life."

According to the gospel of John, eternal life is not merely a dwelling place in heaven where we go when we die. It is a quality of life that we can claim here and now. This is the life of God himself, the very Breath of creation. We can call it living water. Or we can call it the Holy Spirit. Whatever we call it, it is the profound gift of life, received through trust, and never defeated by death.

Even so, this does not mean that Christian spirituality can be reduced to a weekly return to the heavenly watering trough. For the person who is "in Christ," life is meant to be expressed and shared.

That is why I think there a delightful ambiguity within our text. Jesus says, "Within him shall flow rivers of living water." But it is not clear whom he is talking about. Is Jesus saying that a river runs through him? Perhaps. As he says elsewhere, "The water that I will give will become a spring of water gushing up to eternal life" (John 4:14). Maybe that is why the writer of the gospel of John focuses our gaze on a specific event that happened at the cross. A soldier pierced the body of Jesus with a spear and "water came out from his side" (John 19:34-35). From within the crucified and glorified Lord, there flows the water of life.

Yet the text can also be translated as it appears in the Bible translation we heard today (NRSV): "Out of the believer's heart shall flow rivers of living water."

Now, in the Greek text, there is no punctuation. We are left to ponder what Jesus is talking about. Does living water come from him? Yes, it does. Does living water flow from within the believer's heart? Yes, it can. For this is the clearest expression of the mystery of Christian spirituality: we drink our life from Jesus, and the living water spills out of us to others. We cannot consume Christ nor keep him to ourselves. If we truly take part in him through faith, he will flow through us to others. His risen life infuses our lives. Through us, his life extends into the life of the world.

I had a seminary professor named Hugh Thomson Kerr. He was a wonderful man. After he retired from a distinguished teaching career, he moved to a small apartment in a senior community. To pass the time, he continued to write articles and read books. He volunteered to deliver mail.

One day he was delivering letters in the health care clinic attached to the community. One of the attendants was "Amazing Grace" on the piano in the social room. She did not seem to be a schooled musician, for the notes, rhythms, and variations were very much her own. She played in a kind of broken ragtime, a bit slow and deliberate. Now and then she punctuated the words of the hymn with her own phrase, "Praise God, Praise God."

Hugh noticed how nurses, volunteers, and maintenance people passed by detached and uninterested. Few seemed to notice there was something within that woman that was spilling into the room, a river of life, a means of grace and truth. Hugh stood and listened for a few minutes. Then he caught the piano player's eye and said a quiet "thank you." In that moment, in that woman, he said, "I discerned the presence of Christ."[3]

Ever since Easter, the word is out that Jesus Christ is alive. As he draws near to us, his presence is not immediately obvious. Yet every now and then, the veil is lifted. We catch a glimpse of Christ in the gentle word or generous gift, in the compassionate deed or the joyful song. Jesus Christ is alive; and as his first order of business, he comes to fill us with life. His gracious gift of living water promises to spill into every parched, weary heart, until the day when even a dying world will be raised from the dead. This is not only the promise of Easter. It is the fiery power of Pentecost.

And water won't quench the fire.  

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

---

[1] Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John I-XII (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1966) 326-327.

[2] C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair (New York: Collier Books, 1970) 15-18.

[3] Hugh T. Kerr, "Discerning the Presence," Theology Today 44.3 (October 1987): 305.

Insider Information

John 14:15-24

May 24, 2020

Easter 7

William G. Carter

Jesus says, ”If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

”I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.” 

Judas (not Iscariot) said to him, “Lord, how is it that you will reveal yourself to us, and not to the world?” Jesus answered him, “Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. Whoever does not love me does not keep my words; and the word that you hear is not mine, but is from the Father who sent me.”

In the weeks after Easter, we are considering the evidence that the resurrection continues. We have heard the testimony that Christ is alive. The evidence is all around us. Let me offer a quick review:

·         We heard from the first letter of Peter, who announces how Easter speaks the word of hope. We see signs that human brokenness has been broken. They bear the seeds of resurrection hope.

·         From the Gospel of Luke, we listen for the continuing preaching of the Gospel. The Risen Christ comes as a stranger to open the scriptures. In his voice, we hear continuity between what God said back then and what God says here and now.

·         In the book of Acts, we hear of the formation of a remarkable community of Christians. The church cares for one another, feeds one another, heals one another, and thus continues what Jesus did for others.

·         John’s Gospel promises a home with Christ. It is not a condominium on a cloud, but a way of life which continues to abide in God’s eternal realm.

·         Last week, we heard the primary human question: “What is God like?” The answer comes by studying Jesus. He reveals the identity and purpose of the hidden Creator.   

Today, the evidence continues through a most extraordinary gift, the gift of the Holy Spirit. In the text, Jesus prepares to return to the Father, but he loves us so much to send us the Spirit. As Jesus prepares to go, he says. “I will ask the Father and he will send you another Advocate to be with you forever.”

What does he mean, an Advocate? From the legal world, an advocate is somebody who takes your side, stands up for you, supports you, and stays with you. As one Bible scholar translates the word, the Spirit is a Holy Friend.

Well, where is this advocate? Jesus says, “The world will not see him, but you will see him. The world cannot receive him because the world cannot see him and does not know him.”

So who is this Advocate? And Jesus says, “I am coming to you. I will not leave you as orphans.” Our Holy Friend is the invisible Presence of Jesus himself. There is nothing spooky about the Holy Ghost.

And how do we welcome this Advocate? Christ says, “Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and the Father and I will come and make our home with them.” In other words, the way to welcome the Holy Spirit is through love, the same love we have heard before. Love God - the God we have seen in Jesus - and love one another. This is the sum of the commandments. “Trust this,” says Jesus, for this is a commandment, too. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” – you will trust and you will love.

Are we following this so far? Just one more question: does the Advocate have a name? Yes. He says, “This is the Spirit of Truth.”

I checked the reference books. The writer of John’s Gospel is the only one to refer to the Holy Spirit as the Spirit of Truth. Every other biblical writer speaks of the Spirit of God or the Holy Spirit. But three times here, and once in a letter, John names the gift as the Spirit of Truth.

That’s probably because Truth is one of John’s special words. John has a small bag full of words that he repeats in telling the story of Jesus. Life is one of those words. Another favorite word is dwell, sometimes translated as abide. One of John’s all-time favorite words is love, which appears eight times in today’s text!

One more favorite word is truth. The Greek word is “aletheia,” which pops up over twenty times in this Gospel. Truth comes on the very first page. “The Word became flesh, full of grace and truth.” Just to reinforce the point, John repeats it a few verses later:  “The law came through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.”

What Jesus requests for us, and what Jesus and the Father give us as a gift of love, is the Spirit of Truth.

In the ancient world, truth was a big deal. All the philosophers sat around and discussed the virtues. They dialogued. They debated. They sought to move closer to the truth. They would have perked up if they ever heard Jesus say, “You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.” (8:12).

In the Mediterranean world, the philosophers believed a catchphrase from the old TV show, The X-Files. The truth is out there. You have to look for it. I know this first hand; against their better judgment, my parents paid for me to get a college degree in philosophy.

But not everybody is interested in the search. Maybe you remember that Good Friday moment when Pontius Pilate looked over a beaten-up Galilean with a crown of thorns on his head. Jesus says to him, “I was born to witness to the truth. Everybody who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” Pilate lights up a cigarette and sneers, “What is truth?” He does not wait for an answer because he doesn’t really care.

In that moment, the truth about Pilate is been revealed. This is how the Gospel of John understands Truth. It is more than a fact or a series of facts. Truth is not obvious, like the mask on your face. Truth is what lies underneath the mask. It must be revealed.

I don’t know how you spend your Friday nights. I spent mine observing an internet squabble. As Memorial Day weekend breaks and the weather turns nice, several people are pushing to go back to something they thought was normal. So the topic was returning to church. Or as one woman said, “If we can go to Walmart, we can go to church.”

Somebody else replied, “I hate going to Walmart, just on general principle, but I would love to go to church. The problem is, neither one is safe. Not now.”

The first woman said, “Oh, that’s ridiculous. This pandemic is a bunch of nonsense.” To which the second person retorted, “There are over a million cases of Covid-19, and almost a hundred thousand Americans have died.” And the first person said, “That’s not true. Nobody knows the true facts on the numbers.”

The second person was wise enough to not engage any further. There are some conflicts you can’t win. And there are some people you can’t convince. Some people refuse to look at facts. When confronted, they come up with “alternative facts.” When pushed, they change the subject. They have convinced themselves of something less than the truth; and this is the truth.  

Here is the Gospel of John can teach us: the truth is not a series of facts, like the “sky is blue” or “up is that way.” The truth is what’s going on in the person who ignores what is really going on, or uses the data selectively, or twists it for their own purposes. This is why the Jesus of John’s Gospel declares the world cannot receive the Spirit of Truth. The world resists the very thing that can make it well.

For instance, maybe you will remember the unfortunate case of Colonel Nathan Jessup. When we meet him in the movie, “A Few Good Men,” he is a strong, forceful Marine, the base commander at Guantanamo. Called to testify at a murder trial, he defiantly declares it is a waste of his important time. When the inexperienced trial attorney catches him in a lie and demands the truth, Colonel Jessup bellows, “You can’t handle the truth.”

As it turns out, he can’t handle it, either. He has covered it up. He ordered the crime, the “code red,” and now he has now entrapped himself in his own arrogance. That is the truth. It comes out. The truth always comes out. As Jesus says somewhere else, “Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered.” (Matthew 10:26).

We live in a world that cannot handle the truth. White people don’t want to hear that black teenagers risk their lives when they go jogging in Georgia. Those who have the means to escape a virus in their second home ignore those back in the city, some of whom get sick because three generations are crammed in a one-toilet apartment. Those who have the courage to recover from an addiction know first-hand how they hid the bottle in the toolbox and wrapped their illness in lies. It wasn’t only the gin that was doing them in. The cover-up consumed them.

The world can’t handle the truth. The wife says the marriage is going well when it’s not. The husband hides the credit card statement to avoid scrutiny. Together they tell the backyard barbeque bunch the kids are doing better than they are. The world spins to the left and spins to the right, all because it can’t handle the truth.

So here is the Good News: Jesus asks the Father, and the Father sends the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Truth. Christ does this because he loves us. He does this because he wants to unmask all the lies. He does this because we cannot completely live with him, in the life of eternity, if we are hiding something, or distorting something, or bending something in our own direction.

Do you know how to tell that Jesus is alive and the Spirit is among us? The evidence is complete honesty. Empowered by the Spirit, the church is the community that tells the truth. We tell the truth about ourselves, which is not always pleasant. And we tell the greater truth about Jesus, who reveals a God of grace. In short, grace and truth, truth and grace.

Thanks to the grace of God, we dare to tell the truth. When we confess it, it opens to us to healing. God already sees who we truly are and can redeem our brokenness through love. This is how God makes a home among us. This is how we create a home for others. Love and truth are woven together, in the grace of Father, Son, and Spirit.

I like the translation I mentioned at the outset, that the Advocate is our “Holy Friend.” Can you think of somebody who has been a true friend to you? I don’t mean the kind of person who tells you only what you want to hear. Neither do I mean the person who always criticizes. We are talking about a friend.

Think of somebody who loves you enough to whisper that you spilled mustard on your shirt and there’s a bit of spinach in your teeth. The true friend sees the foolishness that you cannot see in yourself and loves you until you move beyond it. Think of a name. Who would you call at three in the morning if you were in trouble? Who knows your greatest weakness yet gives you the greatest encouragement? Who is the one who could save your life? In the greatest sense, this is what Jesus promises.   

“This is the Spirit of truth,” he says, “whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But all of you know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in all of you.”

What great love God has for us! God will not abandon us nor give us up to our worst impulses! It would have been enough for Christ to give his life on the cross to take away the sin of the world. But now comes the continuing gift. Christ asks the Father to send the Holy Friend, the Spirit of Truth, to stay with us, to work with us, to polish out the splinters until we love as widely as Christ loves us.

For in the end, the truth is all about love – the love of God that promises to unmask all lies and heal a broken world. And we can live deeply in his truth as we keep Christ’s two commandments: to trust him as the way, the truth, and the life; and to love one another as he has first loved us.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

What Will Satisfy?

John 14:7-14

May 17, 2020

Easter 6

William G. Carter

Jesus says, "If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.”

When a teacher in the church sits down with a child, there are many ways to shape the child’s faith. Sometimes faith is shaped by teaching a song: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so,” or “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.”

Other times, faith takes root with a story: “Once upon a time, there was no world. Then God said, ‘Let there be light,” and there was light.” Or “once upon a time, there was an old man named Abraham, and God said, ‘Go! And the man got up and went, waiting for God to show him the way.”

But a favorite way to call out a child’s faith is not only with song or story, but with a pack of crayons and a piece of paper. “Heather, can you draw a picture and show me what God is like?” Heather will scrunch up her lips, think for a minute, and draw a bright yellow sun surrounded by V-shaped birds. Tony takes blue and green crayons and draws a circle, the whole world. Underneath there are two hands, one pink and the other brown. Isn’t that interesting?

One of my favorite drawings from a child took twenty minutes for the artist to complete. She was given the same assignment, gave it considerable thought. She left the crayons on the table and handed over a blank sheet of paper. What is this? “Well, you wanted a picture of God and nobody can see him anyway.” She got a blue ribbon that day.

Now, I remind us that this is a Christian exercise. No Jew would ever try to picture the Holy One on a piece of construction paper. God is too great to be captured by human hands, too far beyond the imagination to be portrayed in art. The Ten Commandments stated this clearly: no “graven images,” that is, don’t even try to carve God out of wood or stone. That could become an idol, something less than the Holy God, and therefore a replacement or a distraction.

That, by the way, is why the forebears of the Presbyterians did not have a lot of art in their churches. That explains why the stained glass is nondescript and why there are no statues. Our spiritual ancestors were nervous about the Second Commandment: no idols, no distractions, no attempt to reduce an Eternal God to something much smaller.

And yet, the question has always been with us: what is God really like?

Through the centuries, many people have tried to describe God from the perspective of their human experience. Some of the famous people in our country’s history – Franklin, Jefferson, Thomas Edison – described God as a watchmaker, creating a mechanism so brilliant and detailed. After that, God seemed detached and uninvolved.

Others said, “No, no, God is right here, in my heart. I can feel God inside me.” So they perceive God with their emotions, and they insist on highly charged pep rallies which they call “worship celebrations.” And they are so gung-ho about their feelings, they will charge into a sanctuary during a pandemic, forget about wearing a mask! They want to worship with their hearts and leave their brains somewhere else.

Still others, the artists and the composers and the poets, might name God as the Muse, the Source of Inspiration. God is Creator who creates something in me. That is how they explain what bubbles up in the imagination: it came from somewhere else. And yet, the artists, composers, and poets have their dry spells. The Muse is capricious, highly selective, and rarely on schedule.

What is God like? That is the human question. It is Philip’s question at the Last Supper. “Show us God,” he says to Jesus. “Show us God and we will be satisfied.” It is an essential request. I believe it is the question behind all other questions.

J. B. Phillips, the Anglican scholar, listed all sorts of popular answers to the question. God is the Resident Policeman, the Parental Hangover, the Grand Old Man, the Heavenly Bosom, the Managing Director, the Perennial Grievance, or the Projected Image. All are inadequate, he decided. So he titled his book, Your God is Too Small. Fair enough; but what is God like?

For me and some of my clergy friends, we laughed out loud at a comic strip in the old series, “The Far Side.” You can find it easily if you search on the computer. The caption reads, “God at His Computer.” On the screen, there is a hapless fellow with a piano dangling over his head. The Almighty is poised to push a button on the keyboard labeled “Smite.”

We laughed a sad, sarcastic laugh, because that is how some folks perceive what God is really like. Watching, waiting, conspiring to pounce, ready to do us in.  

Sure, some people have had more than their share of bad breaks, but is this really the way God is? “Show us God,” says Philip. The real God. “Then we will be satisfied.”

My little friend with the blank sheet of paper got some of it right. Nobody has ever seen God. Nobody. That is a verse right out of the Gospel of John. No one has ever seen God.

But they have seen a remarkable planet, this earth that is our home. Did you get outside on Thursday or Friday? The weather was magnificent. Everything is green, a-splash with color. A big fat yellowjacket was working my front yard. The squirrels were playing tag. At the bird feeder, I saw cardinals, grackles, yellow finches, and a well-behaved blue jay, each one magnificent and noble, intricately constructed.

A lot of folks I know look out on a world like this and call it a “creation.” That is, Somebody made it. And this where the Gospel of John begins. The Gospel writer reaches all the way back to the making of the world. All things were created, he says in chapter one. God’s fingerprints are all over every single thing. As someone once said, “There is no desert so barren, no landscape so bleak that you cannot look at the bottom corner and see the autograph, G.O.D.”

So why isn’t this enough? Why can’t Philip see the beauty, diversity, and creativity of all things, and extract from that an understanding of God?

I don’t know. We live in a beautiful world, but the creation is still wild. Not only are the black bears and the foxes coming around while we are quarantined inside, there is another kind of wildness. Last week, my friend phoned from Tennessee and said, “Turn on the news.” A tornado swirled down his street and yanked up dozens of hickory trees. Is that what God is like?

When Philip raises the question, there is another tornado headed at him and his friends. It is their last night with Jesus. Judas has left the table, and Jesus has told them he is facing a certain death. Maybe Philip wants a last-minute answer before Jesus is taken away, a final “lightning round” in case he doesn’t have the chance to ask it again.

We are, after all, in the middle of a long conversation between Jesus and the remaining disciples. In the Gospel of John, there are four chapters of Jesus saying farewell to his friends, followed by a farewell prayer in chapter 17. The red-letter words of Christ are swirling over the heads of these confused and anxious disciples. “Let not your hearts be troubled,” but they are troubled. “A little while and you won’t see me,” says Jesus. “If the world hates you, remember it hated me first.” “I am going away,” he says. These are difficult words, very difficult words.

Philip’s request bubbles up in the shadows. “Show us the Father. Show God to us.” He wants to know, because the eleven disciples want to know, because all of us want to know. Philip is speaking for us. We have questions about life, and death, and whatever else is coming. And if we could only know the mind of God, experience the heart of God, learn the will of God – that would answer all our questions and satisfy our souls. We could get through anything if only we knew what God is like.

And Jesus says, “Philip, where have you been? Didn’t you see when the blind man got his sight? Didn’t you dance when the lame person stood up and walked? Weren’t you there on the day the centurion’s son was healed? Remember when our old friend Lazarus stepped out of his own tomb?” Well, yes, Lord, sure. I believe in miracles. Miracles happen. But I want more. What is God like?

“But Philip, you have been with me all this time, and you still don’t know. Don’t you remember how the hungry crowd came toward us, and you told me six months’ wages could not feed them, and I said ‘give them what we have,’ and all were fed – and had leftovers? Don’t you remember the very day we met, back in Bethsaida, and you told Nathanael, ‘We found the One that Moses and the prophets were writing about?” Oh, Lord, I remember, I remember all of that. But show us God. Reveal what God is like.

So Jesus got on his knees, took a towel, poured water in a basin, and washed their feet. And he said, “Now do you understand?”  No, Lord, we want to see God. Show us God.

So Jesus went out, picked up his own cross, and carried it to Golgotha. And he turned to Philip, to the others, and to us, and said, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.” What is his answer? Whoever sees Jesus healing, feeding, loving, serving, and dying has seen the character of God.   

“No one has ever seen God,” says the evangelist. “It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.” (1:18)

What is the point of all this? Is this an abstract theology lesson? A quick answer to dismiss all other questions? Oh no, not at all. The character of God has been revealed to us in Jesus of Nazareth, so that we might live in the light and life of such a God: healing, feeding, loving, serving, and dying. As Jesus says, “Very truly, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do.”

“Show us the Father and we will be satisfied.” This is more than Philip’s question. It is the world’s hunger. The time of speculation is over. Now is the moment of commitment. Let’s show the world what God is like, for Jesus has revealed God’s grace and truth to us.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Note: Thanks to the late Fred B. Craddock who preached a sermon on this text that has never left me alone. His thoughts from 32 years ago have shaped my thoughts, and I am grateful beyond words for his words, even though these are my words.

Where is There a Church Like That?

Acts 2:42-47

Easter 4

May 3, 2020

William G. Carter

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.

The book of Acts is a story of what happens after Easter. It begins in Jerusalem, with Jesus returning to the heaven that sent him. The story expands to the edges of the known world. Luke, the writer of this story, declares the Word of God is given for “every person under heaven.” The Word pollinates through the preaching of Christ’s resurrection. Greater than any virus, the Good News spreads. It takes root in receptive soil. The Gospel is nourished through the ongoing retelling of who Jesus is and how he lives among us.

And this Word takes flesh again in a community called the church.

Imagine the look on my little sister’s eyes. We were listening to a sermon in the congregation where we grew up. Sermons had to be endured, even though we frequently heard outstanding Bible teaching and preaching. To get through a long sermon, the kids in our row would take a pencil, fill in the O’s and Zeros in the worship bulletin. Sometimes a roll of Lifesavers would be passed up and down the pew.

One day, the preacher spoke a line from a letter of Paul: “You are the body of Christ!” My sister looked up from the art project on her lap, looked up at him, and turned to me. In a not-quite whisper, she exclaimed, “I thought the Body of Christ was that little chunk of bread.” Well, that’s what we say about it, because that’s what Jesus says about it. “This is my body, given for you.”

But that’s also how the church understands who it is. We are Christ’s continuing Body for the world. We are the ones who give his words flesh and blood. We are the eyes that see the needs of the neighborhood. We are the wounded hands that extend in service. We are the feet that bring the Good News of peace, the announcement that God rules over all.  

The book of Acts confirms this through the stories it tells. Jesus restored the legs of a crippled beggar; the church restores the legs of a crippled beggar. Jesus cast out an oppressive spirit that enslaved one of God’s children; the church casts out a spirit enslaved one of God’s children. Jesus spoke joyfully of God’s dominion; the church speaks joyfully of God’s dominion. In every story, on every page, it is clear. The church continues the life and work of Jesus.

Or to borrow that phrase from the apostle Paul, “You and I are the body of Christ.”

Now, this is one of the secrets of the Gospel. It is a secret because it’s not always obvious. The young woman stood to sing, introducing by saying, “I just want to sing a melody that the Lord has laid upon my heart.” As she begins a performance that could best be described as “out of tune,” there are sideways glances, and a music critic snickers, “The Lord giveth but she taketh away.”

Or the teenagers tag along to a church meeting after Mom says, “This won’t be long.” Pretty soon, some self-proclaimed expert pontificates on how 37 dollars intended for the candle fund have been misappropriated to buy office supplies. He won’t let anybody go until he gives his fourteen-minute harangue. The teens look at Mom with eyes that say, “Do we ever have to do this again?”  

The body of Christ? Doesn’t always look that way.

I have been a Church Insider for so long that I could keep you all morning with ghastly tales of how the church of Jesus Christ can devolve into a diseased, leprous caricature of what it was intended to be. Like the lady who counted the offering money; she put half of it in the church bank account and the other half in her son’s college fund. Or the guy who always volunteers to be an usher who hugs the women a little too long. Let’s confess some creepy things have been done in the name of God.

If you read the history of the early church, there is nothing new about any of this. Among Luke’s stories in the book of Acts is the story of a magician named Simon. He used to dazzle people with his tricks. Simon pulled out his wallet to buy a dose of the Holy Spirit, so he could perhaps make a few bucks selling it to others. It reminds me of the guy who joined my church in Allentown, so he could use the membership list to sell his Amway products.

Or there were the confused believers in Ephesus, who thought baptism was all about repentance and getting ready for Jesus, and not about the grace of Jesus who is already here (19:1-7). Ever since, there have been finger-wagging Christians who assure others that they will never measure up.

And from the beginning, there have been well-intentioned Christians who have quibbled about who belongs and who doesn’t belong, in the name of Jesus who welcomed everybody. That happened in the early church. In some places, it is still going on.

To quote a seasoned pastor who knows a lot of congregations, “You can’t make this stuff up.” This is what happens when a holy institution is tarnished by human foibles. Happens all the time, often with a smile and hands folded in prayer. Not everybody wants to practice forgiveness, but I believe the church is the laboratory where mercy and new life must be worked out.

That’s why it is so essential to hear the brief summary that Luke offers in our scripture text today. It is a snapshot of the church at its best. They had no building, although they frequented the Jerusalem Temple when it was still standing. They had no pastor, for their central leader was in heaven. But they had the Word of God and they had one another.

According to the account, they were instructed. The scriptures were opened, and Christ was proclaimed. The learning happened through a flattening of authority, as fishermen told stories about Jesus. This is what he did. This is what he said.

There were signs and wonders, as the church lifted up those who believed they couldn’t walk and spoke up to those who thought that they could put others down. The church kept doing what Jesus had done. Those were the every-day signs and wonders!

Most remarkably, they shared what they had. They make sacrifices for one another. They refused to clutch daily goods at the expense of those who had nothing. They gave of themselves freely. This kind of generosity is as great a miracle as any other. It counters the natural selfishness that seems to be written in human DNA, and it is a Christ-like thing.

At the core of the church’s experience is a remarkable quality of community. There is one spirit, one mind, one heart. The phrase that Luke uses to describe it is one that we have all used: they had all things “in common.” That’s an everyday word, “common.” It is not flashy. It has no sparkle. It is easily dismissed. But in the New Testament, it is the basis of community. Common, community – at heart, it is the same word.

Community begins in the recognition that we are all in this together. It can’t work if someone is in it only for himself or herself.

With a pandemic going on, we know this to be true. While some have reacted to our circumstances with fear, hoarding the cleaning supplies and grabbing more toilet paper than they will ever use, there are remarkable examples of generosity and friendship. Some of our church families are delivering cookies on doorsteps. You are countering the isolation by calling one another on the phone. You are sending out all those greeting cards that were gathering dust in the closet. You are expressing appreciation and love. You recognize what we have in common.

One of our church members has been recovering from the virus. When we talked on the phone last week, he said, “You know, Bill, our church is truly a family.” I smiled and thought of some of the families I have known; most families have a crazy uncle or a neurotic cousin. Without naming any names, some would say that’s an apt metaphor for the church.

But our friend went on to express his deep appreciation for the care and support he has received: messages from friends, meals dropped off on the doorstep, regular reminders that our lives are never defined by our weaknesses.

Community is shaped by what we have in common. And what we have in is Christ, the Risen Christ, the Second Person in the Trinity who loves us all and desires our common well-being.   

So I am thankful for the church of which I’m a part. And I’m thinking about what kind of church we can be, during this sweep of illness, and beyond it. I believe we want to be the kind of Christian community where everybody is valued, and love is actively expressed. Even on a day like this, when we cannot physically take part in the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, we can still break our bread and share it with glad and generous hearts.

This is what builds up the household of Jesus Christ. It will catch the interest of those around us because it is exactly what the world needs.

One of my favorite writers is a young woman who died last year in an unexpected reaction to medication. Her name was Rachel Held Evans. She wrote about the church, even though she struggled for years to find a congregation that would accept her as a lamb of the flock. But she never gave up, because she trusted that the love of Jesus was at the center of all things.

Let me conclude with two paragraphs from her book, Searching for Sunday:

(The New Testament) word for church, ekklesia, was used at the time of Jesus to refer to the “calling out” of citizens for a civic meeting or for battle, and is employed in one form or another in both the Old and New Testament to refer to the people of God, assembled together. So church is, essentially, a gathering of kingdom citizens, called out – from their individuality, from their sins, from their old ways of doing things, from the world’s way of doing things – into participation in this new kingdom and community with one another.

She writes,

I’m not exactly sure how all this works, but I think, ultimately, it means I can’t be a Christian on my own. Like it or not, following Jesus is a group activity, something we’re supposed to do together. We might not always do it within the walls of a church or even in an organized religion, but if we are to go about making disciples, confessing our sins, breaking bread, paying attention, and preaching the Word, we’re going to need one another. We’re going to need each other’s help.”[1]

Friends, we are in this together, because Jesus is in it for us. All of us.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Rachel Held Evans, Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church (Nashville: Nelson Books, 2015) 255.