Is There Another Way?

John 10:1-10
Easter 4
April 30, 2023

William G. Carter

 

(Jesus said:) “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” 

 

Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them. So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

 

 

John says, “They did not understand what he was saying to them.” That’s a typical reaction, and I think we know why. This is one of those passages that we think we understand - and then it goes out of focus.

 

We hear Jesus speak of “sheep” and “the Shepherd,” and it transports us the 23^rd Psalm. The Good Shepherd knows the flock. He calls each of the sheep by name. The sheep recognize his voice. He leads them toward the green pasture and the still waters. They follow him to the pasture because they know his voice. Everybody knows a safe pasture has a gate.

 

Then Jesus pulls the fleece over their eyes and declares, “I am the gate.”

 

Well, which is it? Shepherd or Gate? A few verses later, he goes on to say, “I am the Good Shepherd.” But before he gets there, he says, “I am the gate. The sheep must pass through me to find pasture.”

 

It’s one of those Bible passages that provokes a bit of twitching. As if to say, “Nobody gets to the pasture unless they go through me.” As if to say, “There’s no other way to the life of eternity without passing through me.” Next week, we will hear it again, when he says, in chapter 14, “No one comes to the Father but through me.” (14:6).

 

Pushed to its extreme, twisted out of context, verses like these have often been used to push a brand of exclusivity. I’m thinking of those churches that declare, “No one gets to the Father without passing through us.” We have several churches like that, even a few in this town. Actions speak louder than words, but listen to their words: “Your baptism doesn’t count unless you’ve been baptized by us. Your communion doesn’t count unless we give it to you. We are the beginning and the end of salvation. Can’t get to heaven unless you go through us.”

 

After Easter, I find this a comical claim. Jesus is raised up as the Lord over all. Not merely as the benefactor of the First United Agree-with-Us-Or-Be-Damned Holy Roller Church. He is Lord over all. All. And he is the Gate, not any of us. His words are not so much exclusive as they are universal. Jesus is the Gate to the pasture, whether you know him or not. Of all the various paths, his path is the true path. People are free to pursue other paths, and many do, but sooner or later, every path leads through Jesus.

 

It's like going through the Lehigh Tunnel on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. There it is, waiting for you. You must pass through it. It’s silly to attempt driving over the mountain when the way has been established. In this sense, Jesus is the way. Ultimately, finally, without any input from us, he’s the way. That’s what the Good Shepherd is telling us: he is the Gate.

 

The Gospel of John is not particularly interested in shutting anybody out. Over in the Gospel of Matthew, we find some of that, but not here. John tells us, “God so loved the world that he sent his only Son, so that whoever trusts in him will not perish but have the life of eternity (3:16).” It does say “whoever.” It does not say “only the left-handed” or “only the Baptist” or “only the Orthodox” or “only the Presbyterian.” The promise is for “whoever.”

 

Which is to say if Jesus if the Gate, there is a lot more hope for the world than we might have thought. Some of us might have a chance at getting in. It’s his grace that is the ticket, not our achievements or good moral habits.

 

At the same time, don’t miss what he says. As surely as the Gate welcomes the sheep, it can keep some counterfeits out. John calls these “thieves and bandits.” Their intent is to plunder and steal. They want to break in to grab what is not theirs. And they will sneak in any way they can.

 

Maybe you’ve heard the story of a woman who was awakened one night from a deep sleep. She heard a man’s voice calling for help. The voice was muffled, but she could hear it. “Help! Help!” Thinking it was her husband, she shook him vigorously, only to discover he was sleeping – and he wanted to stay that way.

 

She wondered if she was dreaming, rolled over, and shut her eyes. Then she heard the cries again, “Help! Help!” She got out of bed, put on her slippers, and padded downstairs. Turning on the light in the living room, she heard the voice get louder. “Help!” “Where are you?” she asked. The voice said, “In the fireplace.” There, dangling in the fireplace flue, was a burglar stuck upside down. Police and firefighters eventually got him loose, but only after pulling out some bricks and ripping out the mantle.

 

The best part of the story was what she did while she waited for help. She turned on all the lights, reached for her cell phone, and recorded the scene. Her husband was still snoring in the bedroom as she filmed the upside-down burglar at two o’clock in the morning,

 

The only thing better would have been if she gave him a severe reading of John 10: “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. Jesus said, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

 

The joy of God, the life of God, the eternity of God comes through proper access. There is no counterfeit entry. There’s no open window in the basement to let you sneak in. Abundant life does not come by stealing from others, or breaking and entering, or looking for shortcuts. And most of all, the abundant life Jesus offers does not find us if we are fearful or stingy toward others.

 

I’ve noticed that whenever the church is fearful and afraid, it attempts some gatekeeping. To hear some folks talk, “The only way to get through our gate is by getting through our team of bouncers.” Admission is granted to the virtuous and the few. You must agree with us on all points. You must do what we tell you before we let you get close to the Christ that we are guarding. You must talk like us, pray like us, and buy our version of the Bible from our approved list of publishers.

 

Sounds like a lot of good old-fashioned fear. Could it be that some Christians are afraid that Jesus might actually be a nice guy? Or to put a theological coat on it, that grace might triumph over judgment? OR that love might win over fear?

 

I remember the meeting when I served on a committee for presbytery. We got a report that a few people in one of our churches were furious because the minister was allowing too many people to come to the communion table. The problem wasn’t crowding, you understand. It was access. By all reports, too many sinners were trying to get close to Jesus. According to the New Testament, this is not a new problem.

 

Conversation ensued. We began to name all the things that Presbyterians have come to believe about the Lord’s Supper. That it’s a privilege for the unworthy rather a right to be earned. That none of us could ever be good enough to earn a place at the Table – or admission into the green pastures and still waters. Yet we are welcomed to come through a Christ who is ever more gracious than we are.

 

As that conversation churned along, I reflected on a funeral that I’d preside. A family wanted to remember their mother. They asked for the Lord’s Supper, even though we usually don’t do that at a funeral – and even though they knew it would be a mixed house. “We want everybody to know they are welcome,” they said, “because Jesus loves us all.” So that’s what we did. We don’t have an altar call in the Presbyterian Church, primarily because it puts too much emphasis on the individual. What we do is invite people to the communion table - for at the Table, the emphasis is on the open arms of Jesus Christ. He is the access between heaven and earth.

 

According to the tenth chapter of John, there isn’t much for a gatekeeper to do. In verse three, the gatekeeper opens the gate. Period. He doesn’t charge for admission. He doesn’t check for a backstage pass. He doesn’t screen or sort the crowd. He simply opens the gate. The shepherd can pass through. The sheep can pass through. And listen to this: the sheep have the freedom to come and go; that’s one of the remarkable features of this text. The sheep can choose the protection of the shepherd. The shepherd doesn’t have to slam the gate and yell for them to stay inside. The gate stays open. And the only way in is through the gate.

 

Green pastures, still waters. We’ve been announcing them for three thousand years. As witnesses to the Risen Christ whose arms are open wide, our job is to keep the Gate open, and let others know that it is for them as much as it is for the rest of us. Jesus is our Access to what God intends for all people. He reveals the grace of the Father. He welcomes those who love the Lord their God and those unwanted by anybody else. This is the good news.

 

The only requirement laid upon the Sheep is to listen. To listen for the Shepherd to call their names. It is a Voice unlike any other. It does not sound fearful or suspicious, like the other gatekeepers. It is cynical or snide, like those seeking spiritual shortcuts. It is a Voice of grace, a Voice of welcome. As the Good Shepherd says a few minutes later, “I have other sheep who are not of this fold, and I must go and get them.” Can you hear that invitation? Then the Voice is calling for you.

 

For years St. Anthony’s Catholic Church in San Francisco has served meals to people in need. Over the doorway to its dining room the church has posted a sign bearing the inscription: Caritate Dei. One day a young mechanic, just released from jail and new to St. Anthony’s, entered the door and sat down for a meal. A woman was busy cleaning the adjoining table. “When do we got on our knees and do the chores, lady?” he asked. “You don’t,” she replied.

 

“Then when’s the sermon comin’?” he inquired. “Aren’t any,” she said.

 

“How ‘bout the lecture on life, huh?” “Not here,” she said.

 

The man was suspicious, “So what’s the gimmick?” The woman pointed to the inscription over the door. Caritate Dei. He squinted at the sign. “What’s it mean, lady?”

 

“Out of love for God,” she said with a smile, and moved on to another table.[1] You know, that’s not a bad inscription to put over our door.

 

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

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[1] Peter Marty, “The door to abundant life,” The Christian Century, April 17, 1996.

B.Y.O.F.

B.Y.O.F.
John 21:1-14
Easter 3
April 23, 2023

After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off. When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.

I wondered how to begin the sermon today. And then, a chance conversation opened the door. Yesterday morning, I took part in a book signing event for local authors. It happened down the hill at the Gathering Place, on the corner, and a few of you stopped by.

In a stroke of wisdom, the organizers put me at a table next to a retired firefighter who published stories of disasters and rescues that happened on the job. He was on one side. On the other side was a woman who published accounts of ghosts, hauntings, and other paranormal activity. It was a perfect location for a preacher with a few volumes of overcooked sermons.

I sat there and pondered how I don’t get out very much. A very pleasant man stepped up to begin a conversation. After chatting for a minute or two, he asked my name and what my books were about. “They are reflections on Bible passages,” I replied, “and I hope they are helpful.” He immediately took a step back and said, “I’m an agnostic. I’m sure you don’t want to talk with me.”

“Oh, I’m glad to talk with you,” I said. “Maybe you don’t,” he replied.

“Try me,” I said. “Well, I grew up Catholic, strictly old school,” glancing across the street at Our Lady of the Snows. “The old priest was strict,” he added, “and said I would go to hell if I didn’t repent of my sins.” With this, he glanced at the firefighter’s books. Then turning to paranormal book table, he said, “I don’t know if I believe in any of it.”

“Well,” I said, “if you’re looking for a sermon from me, here are four books of them.” He laughed nervously but didn’t step away. Then I added, “To tell you the truth, I think it’s truly human to have a lot of doubts.” You do? “Of course I do.”

He said, “Well, none of us were there, to see the crucifixion and all of that.” “If we were,” I replied, “that might have been all we saw – the execution of a good man. And we would have totally missed the resurrection.” He stopped in his tracks, gazed at me, and said, “You’re not like any priest that I’ve ever known.” And I thanked him for saying that – because it would later dawn on me that is a perfect setup for starting a sermon like this.   

Easter was two weeks ago. The flowers are gone. The crowd has tailed off. We’re singing some of the second-string Easter hymns as the holy day fades away. And if we are honest, every Easter is an exercise in memory. We remember the death and resurrection of Jesus which we did not see. Contrary to the old spiritual, we weren’t there when they crucified the Lord, and we weren’t there either when God raised him from the dead. 

The Gospel of John knows this. That’s why old John wrote his book. That’s why he brings his long account to conclusion in chapter twenty with a beatitude, “Blessed are you who have not seen and yet believe.” This is a book that recognizes the distance between then and now. As such, it doesn’t lecture us in a way to close our minds and shut us down. Rather, it points to something it cannot explain and invites us to take a look.

I think that’s why John added an extra chapter, chapter 21, much of what we’ve just heard. He didn’t need to do that. The story was completed. Yet John says, “No, not really, the story is still going on.” Easter continues. But you need to know where to look.

Jesus died, Jesus rose, Jesus disappeared, Jesus came back a couple of times, then he disappeared again. Just as he said, “I am returning to the Father,” wherever that is. So he’s gone. And after a while, Simon Peter says, “I’m going fishing.” Of course he did. He had to eat. He had to feed his family. He had to make some money to live. Fishing is what he knew how to do.

And it’s there – back on the job, back on the Sea of Galilee, that the events of this chapter take place. We can tell it’s a resurrection story. All the typical signs are there: Jesus shows up and they don’t know it’s him. They are afraid to ask if it’s him. Somehow, he knows where they are. He knows when to come. He knows them by name. Jesus is not bound by time nor location. It’s a bit frightening.

And he arrives without an invitation. They weren’t praying for him to come. They didn’t expect to see him. No, this appearance catches them totally by surprise. It is pure gift, pure grace, pure initiative from heaven not earth.

It’s a story with a lot of shiny objects, any of which can distract us. Here’s one: there’s a short list of disciples. Where are the others? Simon Peter, of course, but where is his brother Andrew? James and John, the sons of Zebedee are in the boat; they were fishermen too. But what’s a landlubber like Nathaniel doing out there, or doubting Thomas? And who are the two unnamed disciples? Is John holding back on a big secret – or does he simply not know? We don’t know any of this.

We hear that Simon Peter is naked. The Risen Christ appears when Simon doesn’t have any clothes on. What was he doing? Working on his tan?

Then that ridiculous suggestion from the Stranger on the shore. They hadn’t caught anything all night, so he says, “Your net is not on the correct side of the boat. Drop the net over there.” That’s a big joke, right?

Then the fish start jumping into the net, big fish, too. John says, “There were one hundred fifty-three fish.” Who counted them? Why 153? Is there something symbolic about that number? You can poke around on the internet and get distracted by the number –

• one person says it was a metaphor referring to Archimedes,
• another says that’s how many known species of fish they thought existed,
• somebody else says if you add up the numerical value of the Hebrew letters that spell “I am God” the total is 153.

In other words, nobody has a clue about that number. Just means there were a lot of fish, and all of them a gift from the Risen Christ – it’s going to be a good day at the fish market in Capernaum. Thank you, Jesus!

And when they come ashore, Jesus is sitting at a charcoal fire. Where have we heard that before? On the night Jesus was arrested, on the night Simon Peter saved his own skin by denying he knew Jesus, he was warming himself by a charcoal. John said, just as Simon Peter denied Jesus three times, at this charcoal fire on the other side of the cross and empty tomb, Jesus asks Peter three times: “Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me?” On the shore of the Sea of Galilee, Simon Peter is rehabilitated. Any lingering guilt is forgiven. Love and friendship are restored.

We can tell it’s a resurrection story. There’s a lot going on in this story that continues. And with all those other potential distractions, it’s easy to miss a couple of details that jump into my net. On that charcoal fire, Jesus is broiling some fish of his own – where did he get them? And he has bread, too – wait a second, loaves and fish! Remember what he did with the loaves and the fish when surrounded by a hungry crowd? The story’s back in chapter six.

And then, if we miss the connection to chapter six, Jesus says one thing more: “Bring some of the fish that you just caught.” Bring Your Own Fish – that’s the sermon title, BYOF. Bring some of the fish, although he already has some, although he just provided 153 fish for you. That cohort of disciples are in the presence of a surprising abundance. And they don’t have to ask, “Who are you?” They know. Yes, they know.

How do we know Easter is all true? How can we tell Jesus is alive – even if we weren’t there? John has just told us where to look. In case you were snoozing, let me run through the list of reliable clues:

• Jesus goes to them, not in a temple, not in a church, but out in the world. When the boys are back at home and work.
• They see him but they do not recognize him. And there’s no judgement in this. He is a Mystery.
• When he speaks, there is the hint of good humor. “Hey boys, catch anything? Throw your net on the other side of the boat.” I’ll bet he giggled when he said that, for he is the Christ of Joy.
• He knows who they are, and where to find them, and picks up where he left off with them last time.
• Big clue, next: wherever he is, there is surprising generosity and astonishing abundance. Like the manna from heaven, it doesn’t last – but you know when there is more than you ever expected.
• Bigger clue: there is healing, forgiveness, restoration, and the reorientation of a life: “Simon, do you love me? Feed my lambs, tend my sheep.”
• Another big clue, perhaps the biggest: “Bring some of the fish you caught.” That is, to see Easter, you have to put some skin in the game. Don’t watch from a distance. Show up. Get engaged. Bring what you have - because it is what he has given to you. 

To sum it all up, Christ is pure grace. Jesus is a complete gift. He is the benevolent intrusion of the God who is kinder to us than we could have ever expected. And somehow, in signature moments, we know that life will turn out better than we thought it ever could.

This is the gift of God, the grace of Easter. We cannot predict it – but we can watch for it. And should we catch a glimpse of this goodness, we know the story goes on. Easter continues here, and now. Watch for it. 

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

Holy Halitosis

Bishop W.G. Mildew and Slowtu B. Leave

First Presbyterian Church, Clarks Summit, PA is one of many congregations that observe Holy Humor Sunday the week after Easter.  What follows below is A Chancel Drama co-written and presented by Jim Thyren and Bill Carter.  It followed a scripture reading from the Gospel of John,Chapter 20, verses 19-24.

Nate:  There are some conversations that didn’t get written in the Bible. And this might be one of them…between the disciples Nathanael and Thomas. 

Nate: Thomas, where have you been? We’ve all been hanging out together. 

Tom: Nathanael, I didn’t think that was such a great idea. I mean, if Judas told the authorities where to find us, don’t you think he gave them this location too?  Rounding you all up would be like netting fish in a barrel. So I decided to make myself scarce until things calmed down as the Passover celebrations drew to their close. 

Nate: Well, turns out they didn’t come after us, but you did miss a very important visitor.

Tom: And who might that be?

Nate: Jesus.

Tom: Who?

Nate: Jesus

Tom: Say that again!

Nate: Jesus!

Tom: No way!

Nate: Yes, the Way himself! I am telling the Truth. Our Life depends on it.

Tom: Okay, start from the beginning. Tell me everything that happened.

Nate: Well, you know how he is. He just showed up. Didn’t knock on the door…or use it that matter. He was just suddenly standing there, and the first thing he said was: “Peace be with you…”

Tom:  Peace? You mean the whole Shalom Alechem thing? That was his favorite greeting. Most people say good morning, or hi, or yo. Always Jesus loved to say “peace be with you.”
     
Nate:  Still does, apparently. Just like that night when he washed our feet. Remember that?

Tom:  Of course I do.

Nate:  “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you…:

Tom: Well, he didn’t leave us with a lot of peace that night. I still have nightmares of the whole evening: Judas selling him out, Peter swinging the sword, the soldiers arresting him, the trials, the crowds wanting Barabbas instead of the Lord – and then the way the whole thing ended. Too much for me to take. I can’t sleep.

Nate: Tom, he’s back. 

Tom: What do you mean he’s back?

Nate: He’s alive. Breathing. Looking better than ever.

Tom: Nate, he may have pegged you as a man without deceit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be deceived.

Nate: No, Tom, he’s here.

Tom: Where?

Nate: Well, here… I guess he’s wherever he wants to be.

Tom: I find this impossible to believe. And I’ve about seen it all.

Nate: He showed us the holes in his hands and his side.

Tom: (pause). You’re kidding.

Nate: His wounds…from the crucifixion.

Tom: Ghosts don’t have wounds.

Nate: He’s not a ghost. Just like that night he sauntered across the water and jumped into the boat. Scared the life out of us, remember? I’m talking about Jesus, the real Jesus. Same Jesus. Same wounds in his wrists, same wounds in his ankles, and that big gash in his side. Remember?  John and the women told us all about that one.

Tom: Well, so much of this week’s stories come to us second hand. I still don’t believe it.

Nate: I understand. The rest of us are stunned, too. But it’s the same Jesus – alive! The wounds are the same that he endured last Friday. Inescapable! It took us a while to comprehend what we were seeing. Peter looked into his pomegranate juice, wondering if it was fermented. Andrew stammered, couldn’t find his words. James and John stood on each side of him to get a better look. Jesus laughed and said, “Stop staring.” The whole time, Mary Magdalene is over at the table, saying: “I told you so. I told you so.”

Tom: She can be so annoying. And this all sounds so impossible.

Nate: You know what they say: Nothing is impossible with God.

Tom: Yeah, but God is so invisible. I just can’t grasp any of this. Weren’t you all afraid?

Nate: Of course, we were. That’s why we were in that room. That’s why we locked the door.

Tom: Wait – the door was locked? Are you sure you weren’t seeing a ghost?

Nate: Listen, I saw him sneaking a piece of pita bread and dipping it in the hummus.

Tom: This is inconceivable.

Nate: Oh, I know. We were scared to death – of him, of his enemies, and then he has the audacity to say Shalom Alechem – peace be with all you. And it was him. I’d recognize that Voice anywhere. Never thought I’d hear it again. And there he was. And suddenly the laughter started bubbling up in our bellies. We were beside ourselves with joy. James and John were first. They started hootin’ and hollerin’ and stomping just like a thunderstorm. Mary Magdalene laughed so hard she farted. Matthew said, “Shh! Somebody is going to hear us.” Jesus waved him off, not a care in the world. Then he said a second time, “Shalom Alechem – peace be with all of you.” This time, it wasn’t a greeting. It was a gift.

Tom: Well, good for you. I’m glad you had that…experience. But do you think I can make any sense of this?

Nate: I tell you, Thomas, the room had changed. I don’t know how that happened. But the Word he spoke, it was like the first light of dawn, breaking through the gloom – yet inside that locked room. Peace, peace…in the middle of all that has happened. Later on, after he departed, Philip said, “It’s just as he promised, his peace is different than any peace the world can give. He’s alive, Thomas. Alive! That’s the truth of it. And that’s why the peace is so different, so real. It’s peace that stays with us. I saw him, the peace is still with me.

Tom: Well, good for you. It always came easier for you than for me. I tell you, unless I can poke my finger in his wounds and touch them myself, I’m not going to give into any of this. I need more proof.

Nate: But wait, there’s more!

Tom: I think you’ve told me enough.

Nate: Oh, wait ‘til you hear this. He lifted his hands and told us to get on with our work.

Tom: What?!

Nat: He said, “As the Father sent me, so I send all of you.”

Tom: Where?

Nat: What do you mean, ‘where’?

Tom: Where is he sending us?

Nate: Didn’t specify. Or rather, didn’t limit where we should go. But listen: how many times did he tell us and others that the Father had sent him?

Tom: Never kept track. Hundred times, maybe? It was a lot.

Nate: “As the Father sent me, so I send you…”

Tom: Well, that’s a bit troubling. Does he expect us to get arrested, beaten up, and crucified, just like him?

Nate: Oh, Thomas, get your head out of the dirt. Have you remembered nothing? How he lifted the little boy in Cana from his death bed? How he asked us to feed that huge, hungry crowd? How he took on all the nonsense of those dim-headed religious leaders? How he lived with us, laughed with us, challenged us – and how he kept forgiving us, leading us into the truth and life every step of the Way?

Tom: I thought all of that got buried with him, that the whole movement was over.

Nate: Not if he is alive again. He’s come to tell us to get on with his work. “As the Father sent me,” he said, “so I send all of you.”

Tom: Well, good for all of you. I wasn’t there. Sorry I missed all of that. And I tell you, not only do I doubt he’s alive, I doubt any of us could do his work like he did it.

Nate: Oh, Thomas. I’ll tell you one thing more. He showed up in a locked room, he wished us peace, he gave us peace, he showed us his wounds, and then – he took a big breath and puffed on us.

Tom: He…what?

Nate: He breathed on us…

Tom: What did his breath smell like? Fish? Stale Passover wine? Like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in three days? Holy Halitosis!

Nate: Oh, Thomas, ever the skeptic. As he breathed, he said, “Receive the Holy Ruach – the breath, the wind, the Spirit.” Right in our faces, a “breathe on me breath of God” moment. I was taken back to the beginning, when the Father scooped up some mud, formed an earth creature, and breathed life into its nostrils, and said, “Let there be Adam.” And I remembered dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones, when all of Israel’s hope had been slaughtered. And God asked Ezekiel, “Can these bones live again?” Then God blew the breath, the holy wind, and the ankle bone connected to the shank bone, and the shank bone connected to the knee bone, and all those bones started dancing. It was because of the breath, the Holy wind, the Spirit of the Living God. It brings us alive – and Jesus breathed it on us.

Tom: What is that breath like?

Nate: It was earthy, pungent and fertile, kind of sweet and kind of strong. It smells like the scent of the first daffodils on a morning in Spring, the smell of a charcoal fire on an Autumn evening. It is invigorating, bracing like a winter wind or the summer breeze that fills the sail and powers a boat across the water.

Tom: Well, I don’t know. Sounds like you were in the right place at the right time, if, in fact, all of this is true.  But I wasn’t there. I can’t be sure.

Nate: Oh, Thomas, sweet, thoughtful Thomas, I agree it was a “had to be there” moment. But I’ll tell you this. Since Jesus is alive, since he can come and go where and how he wishes, there’s a very good chance he’s listening in on this conversation. He could show up at any moment, in any place, but he’s not going to sit around and wait to show us proof. He sends us to get on with life – his life – and to share that life with everybody we meet, loving, forgiving, offering ourselves to the needs of the world. He breathes that life on us, into us, through us, in spite of us, ahead of us… He’s alive. He’s still breathing…

Tom: I don’t know what to say… I guess I wish that I could feel some of that Spirit breath, too.

Nate: Be careful what you wish for. In any case, it’s been a week since we saw him. Why don’t you stop by for dinner tonight? You know the place. Knock three times. We’ll let you in, and we’ll lock the door behind you.

Tom:      Can I bring anything?

Nate:      Just an open mind…and an available heart.

Written by Bill Carter and Jim Thyren, April 2023

Supposing He Was the Gardener

John 20:11-18
Easter
April 9, 2023
William G. Carter

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’ (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, ‘Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”’ Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

For all the hallelujahs and flowers for Easter, there’s something curious about the Bible passage. You already know what it is. Mary Magdalene doesn’t recognize Jesus when he is raised from the dead. She supposes he is the gardener. 

No doubt she’s in shock. The evidence is there. She sees two angels inside the tomb and doesn’t even blink. They sparkle in white; they sit where his body had been, and then they speak to her. She doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. All she wants to know is where the body of Jesus has gone. Was it moved? Was the stolen? They don’t answer.

Then she turns – and Jesus is right there, upright and alive. She sees him, but she doesn’t see him. Of course, her eyes are scalded with tears. She’s distraught. She’s confused. He’s standing right in front of her, and she doesn’t know who that is. Is this the gardener?

When he speaks, she doesn’t know the voice. He asks two gentle questions – Why are you weeping? For whom are you looking? She says, “Sir, if you did this, tell me, and I’ll take him.” She says this to his face, the same face, but that face is unknown to her.

It’s worse than one of those high school reunions, when once-familiar classmates are unrecognizable. Jesus has been gone for only a couple of days. She had traveled with him, been by his side for years. She stayed at the foot of the cross until the end. She heard him take his last breath.

And here he is again. Clothed, risen, alive, breathing, apparently not too disheveled. She supposes he is the gardener. This is one of the strangest details of the Easter story.

There’s a similar story over in the Gospel of Luke. A stranger joins two disciples as they travel toward the nearby town of Emmaus. He leads a little Bible study for them, gives them a guided tour of the prophet Isaiah’s writings, and they don’t know who he is until he breaks the bread in their home – and promptly disappears.

And it happens again in the Gospel of John. A few disciples returned to Galilee to go fishing. A stranger stood on the beach and yelled, “Hey boys, did you catch anything?” He tells them to throw the net in the water on the other side of the boat - a ridiculous suggestion – until a hundred-fifty-three fish jump into the net. Then they know who it is.

This mysterious, anonymous Savior is one of the unusual aspects of Easter. He shows up. Just shows up. His own people don’t know who he is.

I suppose the Gospel writers are giving a little elbow to the insiders. After all, John begins his Gospel by saying, “He came to his own, and they didn’t receive him.” I guess that wasn’t true only for his birth or his ministry; it’s also true for Easter.

In fact, I’ll bet there are some people present here today. They love the music. They drink in the joy. They celebrate the optimism. And they wonder if all of this is true. This Easter sermon is for them. The rest of you can listen in – but this is for them. Because I want to affirm that there’s something slippery about the nature of faith. The Easter stories tell us this is just the way it is.

You heard about the Gospel of Luke. In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus doesn’t appear at the tomb. An angel says, “He’s alive, just as he said. Go to Galilee. You’ll see him there.” The women run away too terrified so say anything. According to the Gospel of Matthew, a strong angel came down to roll away the stone and two guards passed out and fell over. When the Jerusalem establishment heard about it, they paid the guards a lot of hush money and said, “Keep this quiet.” You can guess how that turned out – Matthew said the Easter story “has been disputed until this day.”

So take heart if you find this to be a slippery story. Mary Magdalene thought he was the gardener! And let’s see if there are any lessons in that for us. I can think of four.

Here’s the first lesson, and you already know it: most of the time, we see only what we expect to see. Mary expected to see the sealed grave of her friend. When she arrived, the tomb had been opened. Without even looking inside, she ran back to tell a couple of disciples, “They stole the body.” Who did? “You know, they did.” So Simon Peter and another sprint to the grave. They look inside, see there’s nobody there, and they leave.

As for Mary, Raymond Brown, the Catholic scholar, pointed out, “Magdalene is looking for the dead Jesus; (instead) she will find the living Lord.”[1] Or better yet, the living Lord found her. I can understand why she didn’t recognize him. Easter is shaped by expectations. A friend of mine expects to receive a basket full of marshmallow Peeps - Is that all you expect for Easter?

In a broader sense, the church can tell you, “Keep your eyes open.” Enlarge your expectations. True enough; yet if you don’t expect to see Christ risen, you won’t. Not yet.

There’s a second from this text, and it emerges from page after page of the Gospel of John. John tells us there is an elusive nature to religious experience. Faith can come and go. It sparks, and fades, then brightens, and might fade again. According to Jesus himself, faith blows in like the wind. “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes (3:8).” So it is with the life of the Spirit. Faith is not something you catch – rather, faith catches you.

Frankly, that’s good news for me as a professional Christian. The truth of the Gospel doesn’t depend on how big of a show we put on today. I confess a bit of jealousy that some of our neighboring congregations have booked all the trumpet players for over a year – and most of them have been on automatic contracts for over a decade. And I whine, “Can’t we get a few trumpet players for Easter?”

The real Easter is not a show. It’s a mystery. It sneaks up on us. Easter is that moment, when all evidence to the contrary, our souls are opened to the possibility if not the reality that God is here, that Christ holds everybody that he loves, that the Spirit of God does land on us from time to time. And for no obvious reason, we are surprised to discover again that everything turns out better than it should. There is grace in the world, even if it is mysterious.

A third lesson will come when Mary Magdalene compares her experience of the Risen Christ with the other disciples, and the lesson is this: everybody does not come to faith in the same way. For some, faith is a lesson to study. For others, faith is a commitment of the heart. For some, faith is something that prompts us to pray. For others, faith is something we do. Is one way better than another? No, of course not.

Here’s what happens in chapter 20 of the Gospel of John. Mary tells the disciples that the body of Jesus is missing, and the two of them run to see. One of them sees the linens that covered the body; they are folded neatly, and this disciple instantly believes. The other, Simon Peter, sees the same evidence, but doesn’t yet believe.

Mary encounters Jesus individually. It’s one on one. That night, the disciples are hiding out in fear when Jesus appears to the whole group. They come to faith as a community. Of course, Thomas wasn’t with them, so he doubts the whole thing, saying, “I won’t believe until I can stick my finger in the nail holes.” He wants physical proof, so Jesus shows up to him, saying, “Put your finger right here.” Apparently, he was listening in.

The lesson here: everybody does not come to faith in the same way. One size does not fit all. That’s why, some sixty years after the Resurrection, John remembers how Jesus had said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” That’s a blessing for all of us.

Fourth, and finally, faith becomes real when we have the sense that the Risen Christ knows us and meets us where we are. For Mary Magdalene, the last thing she ever thought she’d hear again was the voice of Jesus. And like a sheep who recognizes the voice of the Shepherd, hearing her name - “Mary” – meant he had found here. Right there, soaked in tears, worried and anxious – and he was there. Right there.

This is the promise of Easter. If you have doubts or questions, join the rest of us. Doubts don’t mean the whole thing isn’t real. It only means you’re waiting to be found. And I’ll simply say, “Here you are.” In a church without trumpets, here you are. You are in a safe place, surrounded by people who are doing what they can to love God and other people. There are no marshmallow Peeps, but the coffee’s pretty good. And you may come to discover that you are loved.

So I offer a bit of wisdom from a photographer named Dewitt Jones. He’s shot thousands of photos for National Geographic. One of the things he says, “If you want to shoot a good photo, he says, put yourself in the place of most potential.” That’s the wisdom.

If you want to see salmon fishermen on the River Tweed, go to the River Tweed. Get there at dawn. You’ll see them. And where is the place of most potential for seeing Jesus? Jesus lived out of the scriptures. So find a group of people who love the scriptures. And Jesus taught people of all ages. Why not take what you know and offer it as a gift for others to learn? And Jesus fed large groups of hungry people. So if we feed the hungry – we might see him in the breadline. And he served people in need, wherever he was. So we can step out of our own comfort and go where people need us. The place of most potential.

And in case you forgot, today is Easter. Jesus shows up outside of a tomb. It’s a place of fear, a place of dying.

There’s this woman I know who volunteers for a hospice facility. It’s a place where people pass away. She went with some anxiety, with a vague sense that she could help with some paperwork or something. It was vague. As she kept going, the busywork became respect, deep respect for the caregivers, even deeper respect for those receiving care. She stopped in to tell me about it, and said, “At this point in my life, I need to be there.” 

Why?

“Would you believe me if I told you that God is alive? And I know there is a resurrection.” I nodded yes. Didn’t need her to explain. But it was clear to me: the Risen Christ had called her name. She recognized the Voice.

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

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[1] Raymond E. Brown, A Risen Christ in Eastertime (Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 1984) 71.

Do You Know What I Have Done to You?

John 13:1-12
Maundy Thursday
April 6, 2023

William G. Carter

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. 

 

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.” After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you?”

That’s the question of the evening. “Do you know what I have done to you?”

Simon Peter wiggled his toes, still stunned by the action.
What was Jesus, his Lord and Master, doing on his hands and knees?
It was beneath his dignity, beneath his station, doing what a house servant would do.
Jesus kneels, cups his hands, lathers the gentle soap, rinses each foot, then wipes them dry.
How could one so exalted come down so low?
Jesus said, “Later you will understand.”
Later, indeed, he might perceive what Jesus had done by coming from the Father,
Starting so high, descending so low. It was the sweep of his entire life.
But in the moment, he could not, did not, understand.

Andrew watched nervously as the Master made his way around the circle,
uncertain if he would accept this invasion of his privacy.
His feet were his feet, all his, carefully guarded, just like his heart.
It was embarrassing to see Jesus caress his brother’s foot,
Rubbing the street dust from between the toes, then rinsing slowly.
Too close, too intimate. He was anxious about anyone encroaching on his heart.
There had been opportunities before, from some of the women of the night.
Virtuously he held them off, pushed them away.
To one, he said, “If I wanted my feet clean, I would stand in the sea.”
Andrew had no intention of allowing Jesus to come that close.
He chose to misunderstand. He needed to refuse, even if Jesus insisted.

Young John scratched his head, then had a glimmer of understanding.
The Master acted like a Servant. Like a servant… Ahh! There’s a lesson in this.
Traveling with Jesus for three years, he saw the Master leaning down frequently.
The crippled beggar, lifted up. The diseased woman, restored.
The blind man, honored and opened to sight. He served those in need by drawing near.
Sometimes it was stunning how Jesus could be so sensitized to so many in need.
He rarely passed by anybody, pausing regularly, giving each one time,
Gifting back their humanity, setting them free, restoring their lives.
No one could do what he did without choosing to be a Servant.
It was inspiring. John wished he could serve as Jesus serves.
“I wish I could be like him,” he thought, if that were what Jesus was modeling for all of them.

Judas Iscariot leaned back into the shadows and shook his head with disgust.
He murmured to nobody in particular, “Here we go again.” Thoughts run though his head.
Just a few nights before, that woman in Bethany had massaged the toes of the Master.
She cracked open that jar of expensive perfume, splashed the whole thing all over his feet,
then let down her long hair and wiped the mess with her dark mane.
It was disgusting, appalling, inappropriate for a banquet.
Judas muses: I knew exactly what she was doing but wouldn’t say it out loud.
So I barked about the cost. Jesus said, “Leave her alone.” It was infuriating.
Now, it’s the Master’s turn to get down on the floor.
One after another, he cups his hands in the basin, spills the water on a fisherman’s toes,
Scrubs and rinses, pats them dry, and then moves on.

Simon Peter pushes back. Andrew looks nervous. John’s got that stupid beatific smile.
Enough of this, thought Judas, it’s time to force his hand. Time to push him into real action.

And Jesus says, “Do you know what I have done to you?” The same action prompts many replies: you’ve descended into servanthood, encroached upon our personal space, inspired us to be like you, all of which is true. But there’s one act at the heart of it all, one thing Jesus has done and continues to do, one gift he has offered that we never anticipated: Jesus has cleansed those who were willing to be cleansed.

Notice this if you notice nothing else: Jesus never asks permission to scrub them clean. He just does it. That’s so typical in the Gospel of John.

•  He steps up to feed thousands of people, never says, “Anybody want something to eat?”
•  He approaches the beggar with the useless legs, never asks, “Is it OK if I give you something more than a donation?”
•  He muddies up his thumbs, puts them on the blind man’s eyes, and never says, “Do you mind if I disrupt your life by giving you sight?”
•  He stands outside of a beloved friend’s tomb, fully aware of what might happen, and yells inside, “Lazarus, it’s time to live again.”
•  Now, he intrudes upon the twelve, pours water into a basin, and scrubs clean those whose hearts are filthy and whose heads are confused. He needs no permission. This is his work. This is what he was sent to do.

John the Baptizer, who washed other people all the time, saw him on the very first day, and said, “Here is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”[1]. That’s the story of our redemption, our Christian Passover. Jesus has “carried off” the sin. He has lifted it off the ground and high onto the cross. He has removed our transgressions from us as far as east is from the west.[2]

In this Gospel’s language, as Moses once lifted the bronze serpent to lift away the poison harming his people, the Son of Man is lifted up to give us life.[3] Or to dwell with the language of this evening, Jesus has washed us thoroughly, inside and out. This is God’s doing, initiated through him.

The only qualifying condition is whether we really want to be cleansed. As Jesus says to Simon Peter, “If you merely wish to be washed, take a bath. If you want to be cleansed, let me do it for you.”

In the Gospel of John, the scandal of Judas Iscariot is not that Jesus washed his feet, too, but that he refused to be cleansed. Immediately after the foot washing, he slips out the door to make his deal and turn Jesus in. For whatever reason, he cannot let the Christ come that close to his soul. We can only hope that Jesus will find another opportunity to chase him down in the shadows.

Years ago, there was a tradition at Elm Park church in Scranton as the season of Lent began. All the men of Lackawanna County were invited to a communion service in the sanctuary. Some of us remember the event at its peak, full sanctuary, hundreds of voices belting out, “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah, pilgrim in this barren land.” Before the tradition faded into the sunset, the organizers invited Tony Campolo, the great Baptist preacher, preach a sermon about prayer. He said yes, I lined up a sub for that Sunday so I could hear him, and I’ve never forgotten that sermon.

He didn’t talk about prayer in general. He talked about his prayers, specifically his morning prayer and his evening prayer. “In the morning,” he said, “I shut up and don’t say anything. I empty my mind of the hundred and one things that are spinning in my head. Then, focusing on Jesus, I let him love me. I wait to feel enveloped by his presence. I silently yield to being saturated by his Spirit. I say nothing, usually hear nothing. That’s my morning prayer.”

“At the end of each day, I number all the good things that I tried to do during the day. I thank God for the moments when I could be an instrument of love and peace. Only then, am I prepared to review my day a second time. This time, I recall every moment I fell short. I try to remember every hurtful word that came out of my mouth, every occasion when I fouled up the grace of God. And I ask not only for God’s forgiveness, but also for God’s cleansing. I ask Christ to reach out from Calvary, across time and space, and absorb out of me the sin and darkness that accumulated within me during the day. And whenever I ask him to do it, Jesus always shows up.”[4]

This is the Jesus who dwells with us tonight as we share the bread and cup, the Christ who is with us as we retell the story. He is the One who washes feet and asks, “Do you know what I have done to you?”

Yes, Lord, we know. You are here to scrub us free of our sin. And we are grateful.

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

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[1] John 1:29

[2] Psalm 103:12

[3] John 3:14-15.

[4] Tony likes to reuse his material. He writes about his prayers in the July 2009 edition of Sojourners, in “Let Jesus Love You,” online at https://sojo.net/magazine/july-2009/what-sustains-me

Cheering Jesus for All the Wrong Reasons

John 12:9-19
Palm Sunday
April 2, 2023

William G. Carter  

When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.

 

The next day the great crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord— the King of Israel!” (But) Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it; as it is written: “Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion. Look, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt!” His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written of him and had been done to him. 

 

So the crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus out of the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to testify. It was also because they heard that he had performed this sign that the crowd went to meet him. The Pharisees then said to one another, “You see, you can do nothing. Look, the world has gone after him!” 

If there’s anything we know about the human animal, it’s how deeply attracted we are to celebrities. Maybe at one point famous people were mere mortals, growing up in a town that nobody could find. And then something happens: a special achievement, a historic ascension, a moment of widespread recognition – and they become somebody special.

I regale my friends with tales about the people who pass through our area. In election season, everybody claims to come from Scranton; there are frequent sightings of VIP’s. Or there’s a hot tip that a star player for the New York Yankees has just stepped into a watering hole on Courthouse Square. Or the night a young adult in my family was working at the front desk of a downtown hotel when a bus full of professional wrestlers rolled in. Her brother was impressed! Two mornings later, she had a sighting of rock star Gene Simmons in the hotel lobby. I was impressed.

Truth be told, a celebrity sighting will always turn my head. Some years back, I was on a minister’s retreat in Malibu, California. I know, somebody has to do it. We discovered a Starbuck’s within walking distance, so next morning, off we went. It was Malibu – I was on high alert. And there she was! A movie star in line for a latte!

Soon as we got outside, I said to my friend, “That’s Uma Thurman!” The friend said, “No it’s not.” “Oh, yes, it is. She’s gorgeous. Didn’t you see her?” The friend said, “Get over yourself. You wouldn’t have a chance, and what’s more, you’re married.” Ahh, the truth can deflate your hopes.

So we walked back up the hill to the retreat center. We passed the homes of James Cameron, Mel Gibson, and Britney Spears. When we passed the driveway of Dick Van Dyke, I bent down to tie my shoes. I took my time, one lace, then another. You never know if he might step outside to check the mail.

Think about the amazing people you have seen, even from a distance. There’s little chance we might strike up a conversation, much less befriend them. Yet we can’t stop looking. What is the attraction? Why do they turn our heads?

According to the Gospel of John, Jesus has become quite the celebrity. Word has gotten out that he’s coming into town. Forget what you’ve heard from Matthew, Mark, and Luke about the story. In John’s account, the singular reason the crowd is looking for Jesus is because he raised Lazarus from the dead. It happened in a little town just over the hill from the city.

Just last night, Saturday night, the family of Lazarus threw a dinner party to say thank you. Word got out about that, too, and a crowd began to form. Everybody had hopes that they might see him. They were camping out, keeping vigil, waiting to catch a glimpse of the miracle worker – while the religious officials snarled.

Next day, the door opened – there he was! Lazarus, too, standing on his own two feet. It was quite the spectacle. It’s not every day you see a dead man walking. And the miracle worker who raised him! Everybody cheered as the religious officials snarled.

Jesus began to move. The crowd oscillated around him. Most of the disciples formed a protective bubble around him, yet he was out in the open, smiling, waving, making his way to the top of the hill to head down. Then something happened to give him pause. A few of the young men had scaled a palm tree. They were cutting bunches of branches and dropping them to the ground, where well-wishers scrambled to pick them up. They began to sing and wave the branches.

And Jesus stopped. Do you know how I know that? It’s not because it’s written in the text. No, it’s because Jesus remembered what they remembered. Nearly two hundred years before, the Jewish nation had been overrun, not by the Roman army of Jesus’ time, but by a Greek army. Judas Maccabeus, a valiant Jew and a bit of a guerilla fighter, led a rebellion to chase off the occupying army. This insurrection was cheered on by crowds who waved palm branches.[1] Palm branches – as a sign of righteous violence!

And if that wasn’t enough, they changed the words of the Psalm they were singing to acclaim Jesus as their King. Waving the palm branches, naming Jesus as king. And Jesus had heard that before. In chapter six, he fed thousands of people, who swarmed him and tried to make him king. He wouldn’t have it. He slipped away.

This time, surrounded by an enormous crowd, there’s nowhere to escape. No large rocks to hid behind. Yet there is something he can do. He claims a donkey and climbs upon its back. It’s a different kind of spectacle. That humble donkey cancels the acclamations and counters the palm branches. It announces Jesus is not coming in triumph, which is what our Palm Sunday hopes get wrong. He is coming in humility. He descends downhill in vulnerability.

Jesus knows that giving life to Lazarus is the very deed that will sign his death warrant. The religious leaders fear what he has done; frightened that they’ve lost their grip, they want him gone. The crowds cheer Jesus but misunderstand who he is and how he comes to rule over us. Which is to say, Palm Sunday according to John is a lot more confusing than we thought it was.

When we see a celebrity, what is it that we want? Let’s ponder that question for a minute. Are we drawn to the glamour, the appearance, the larger-than-life persona? Do we want some of their luck to rub off on us? Do we vainly hope that some of their good fortune will trickle down to us?

And if we see a miracle worker, are we hoping he might do a few miracles for us? Of course we are. As other crowds shouted to Jesus when he visited his hometown, “Do for us what you have done for others!”[2] It becomes obvious why so many celebrities are so consumed with pleasing the public that they develop bad habits, destroy their families, and lose all their friends.

Truth be told, the only celebrities who have their heads on straight are the ones who choose to ride a donkey. And of all the celebrities I could ever dream of meeting, there’s only one man who fits that bill. Jesus will not be the King that the crowd wants him to be – forceful, strong, and authoritarian. Rather he will be the kind of King that God has sent him to be – humble, merciful, clear-headed, and truthful, giving his life for the life of others. And he waits for us to receive him on God’s terms, not our own.

According to the Gospel of John, nobody understands who Jesus really is. On the very first page of the book, a thematic statement is there for all to see: “He came to his own people, and they did not receive him."

• The crowds shout, “Hosanna! Rescue us!” and wave the palm branches of violent insurrection. They don’t understand.
• The religious leaders claim to love God. They are defenders of the faith, at all costs. Yet they cannot comprehend the One whom God sends.
• And it’s true of even the twelve disciples. John sums up the Palm Sunday scene by saying, “They saw what Jesus did – how he chose a lowly donkey over the strong white horse – and they did not understand.”

Yes, even the twelve were confused. Jesus has a way of exceeding our expectations. But then,

• when he was raised up to take away the sins of the world,
• when he was raised up to defeat the power of death,
• when he was raised up to rule over all who love him, as well as the world that still resists him,

they saw him glorified for who he truly is. Jesus is the King who comes in truth and grace. Always in truth, revealing who we are. Always in grace, revealing the mercy of God.

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

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[1] F. Dale Bruner, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (Grand Rapids, Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2012) 708-710.

[2] Luke 4:23.