More Than One Celebrity in the Parade

John 12:9-19
Palm Sunday
March 29, 2026
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!”

 

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!”

 

Palm Sunday is a favorite day in the church year. For many, this is a day they do not want to miss. But how much do you really know about Palm Sunday? Here’s a little quiz.

• True or false: Jesus rode a donkey downhill into the city of Jerusalem. True – all the accounts say that, although the Gospel of Matthew suggests he rode two animals into the city.
• True or false: The crowds sang a Passover psalm, as Jesus arrived in the city. True, Psalm 118 is the psalm. Passover was the reason a crowd was gathering in the city.
• True or false: All the versions of the story say the crowds waved palms as Jesus arrive. False, only the Gospel of John mentions the palms.
• True or false: Palm branches had a political overtone. True, in the Maccabean Revolt, 176 BC, Jewish rebels waved palm branches as they rose up against the Greek emperor Antiochus Epiphanes. It was the original No Emperor Rally.
• True or false: There’s evidence that Jesus didn’t want people to wave palms. True: In the Greek text of the account we hear today, there is word for “but,” as in “they waved palm branches, but Jesus chose a donkey.” For some reason, it doesn’t show up in the English translation but it’s there. 
• True or false: On Palm Sunday, everybody wanted to see Jesus. Partly true: According to John’s version of the story, they also came to see Lazarus, who was with him. How often do you see somebody raised from the dead? There was more than one celebrity in that parade.

Clearly there was a lot going on. The crowds swarmed the city for the Passover, a holiday that celebrated freedom from political oppression. The Roman Emperor positioned soldiers to keep a lid on the noise. Word was spreading about the raising of Lazarus from the dead, who now walks beside Jesus. The Temple leaders were desperate to maintain the status quo. And Lazarus? What’s he doing there? I guess if your friend got you out of your own tomb, you’d want to stay close to his side.

 

It’s no wonder the Gospel of John says, “His disciples did not understand these things at first.” That’s the best understatement for Holy Week. Who understands? Who sees clearly? And Jesus mounts the humble donkey and rides right into the whole mess.

 

Palm Sunday invites us to step into the ambivalence. We’ve been positioned through our own history to see this day as a great triumph. “Here comes Jesus, riding down the hill from the Mount of Olives. He will show those Romans a thing or two!” But what he shows them is vulnerability. He is defenseless. He carries no weapons. If he has any power, he withholds it. He chooses to ride into the city.

 

The religious leaders saw Jesus as a threat. Of course they did. They posed themselves as the Guardians of the Present Order. They believed in custom, stability, order, ritual, repetition, to say nothing of their own particular slant on power. They had a different kind of authority over the people, guarding the public access to heaven. And here comes Jesus. He was strangely indifferent to their inherited positions. He had no regard for the riches they gained by running the Temple. He had access to Holiness that they could not manage or control.

 

So, John tells us they decided to get rid of Jesus. Rub him out. Erase him from history. They had been fuming about him from early in John’s book. The clarity comes by chapter five, as they argued with Jesus in Jerusalem. They pick it up again in chapter seven as the Festival of the Booths. They tried to stone him in chapter eight, cursed him in chapter nine, tried to arrest him in chapter ten, and condemned him in chapter eleven. Their fury does not come out of nowhere. They felt threatened by him. Yet he shows them freedom. He is not intimidated by animosity.

 

And then there are the crowds. Back in chapter six, a huge multitude formed around Jesus. He gave the sick free medical care and the crowd increased. They had no food, so he “took the bread and blessed it, and broke it, and gave it to them.” There was more than enough free food. What did the crowd do? They cheered, and praised, and wanted to forcefully make him their king. Just like they said on Palm Sunday: “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord – the King of Israel!” They call him their king…

 

…but… Jesus won’t be that kind of king. He did not come to hand out freebies on demand. He came in the glory of God, with grace in one hand, truth in the other. And they did not understand. Nobody understood, not until his death and resurrection, which John calls his “glory.”

 

In the version of the story that we receive today, John offers a diagnosis of the human situation. It’s simply stated: “They came, not only to see Jesus, but to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.” They came to see the spectacle. They came to see the celebrity, not one but two.” And this was powerfully compelling.

 

Ever see a famous person? Most of us have, I suppose. One of the young adults in our family worked in a hotel downtown. Notable people checked in and out all the time. She met presidential candidates (they all come through Scranton), airline pilots, and rock stars staying under assumed names.

 

One night a bus rolled up to the door and forty-two professional wrestlers stepped into the hotel. Her job was to take their names and check their ID’s. One of the wrestlers pushed to the head of the line. She said, “Name and ID, please.” The man said, “Don’t you know who I am?” “No,” she replied, “my brother would know you, but I need to see your ID.” He got pretty hot about it. Turns out, his stage name was different from his driver’s license.

 

Think about that question: “Don’t you know who I am?” As if everybody should know, and many people will. Whenever I wait to get my hair cut, I usually pick up a People magazine and thumb through it. Maybe it’s my age, or my increasing indifference, but I don’t know who most of those people are. Young starlets, ready to be consumed by the publicity machine. Aging actors, scrambling for a comeback, attempting one more notable role. Pop musicians and rappers, most of whom I’ve never heard of; am I the only one in the room who flips through the Grammy awards and has no idea who these celebrities are?

 

Then there are those who are “famous for being famous.” What have they done with themselves? Put on makeup, pranced in front of the cameras, and trafficked in inanities. And when their star faded, let’s ignite a scandal to get back in the headlines. This is deemed “entertainment.” I will die happily someday, in the knowledge that I have never watched “Survivor,” “The Apprentice,” or “Keeping Up with the Kardashians.” Daily life is challenging enough without chasing after fake situations and fake human beings.

 

And then, the crowd said, “Look, there’s Lazarus. He’s back from the dead. Let’s go see him.” Maybe we can shake his hand, see if it’s still cold. “And there’s Jesus, the miracle worker. Maybe he will sign my Bible.”

 

… But … Jesus does not seem the least bit interested. Back in chapter six, the crowd wanted to force Jesus to be king and he hid. In chapter eight, the religious leaders picked up stones to throw them at Jesus and he disappeared. Now they saw him, then they didn’t. Revealed and concealed. He will not be “captured.” But he may come to teach you about yourself – and then show you something about God.

 

This has been John’s theme all through out the season of Lent. We can’t make a celebrity out of Jesus. He slips away. We can’t even make a celebrity of Lazarus. This is his final named appearance in the Gospel of John. Raised from the dead, walked into town beside Jesus and his donkey, then never heard from again. What was that about? Not about his celebrity status. It was always about the glory of God, and only about God.

 

Jesus comes to your town. Something happens, then he’s gone. He doesn’t stick around for photos or autographs. But he has come. And his coming has punctured everything that once seemed important.

 

This is so hard for us to comprehend, especially in the world we have constructed. We would really like to meet somebody famous, because we could tell people about them, and that would make us famous. Famous, as in, a little bit more notable than ourselves. A little bit taller, a little bit bigger. And then if somebody really important comes to town, the excitement can carry us for quite some time.

 

“Look,” they said, “here comes Jesus. And there’s Lazarus, whom he raised from the dead.” The buzz intensified. Everybody was talking. The noise grew so loud that the Temple Keepers turned around, saw what was happening, and started shaking in their boots. They agreed: “Jesus has to go because look what he did to Lazarus. Lazarus has to go, too.”

 

Of all the stupid things spoken in the Gospel of John, that has to be the worst. They wanted to kill Lazarus because Jesus raised him from the dead. Wow, just wow. If they kill him, won’t Jesus raise him again?

 

And they wanted to kill the One who gave life back to Lazarus. Whew. Don’t they hear what they are saying? Don’t they understand? No, of course they don’t understand. None of us will comprehend until Jesus dies, and Jesus is raised, and then we begin to understand his death and resurrection are the glory of God. We cannot comprehend until we perceive his death reveals the truth about us and his resurrection reveals the grace of God. Death and resurrection, truth and grace.

 

Welcome to Holy Week according to the Gospel of John. It’s not about celebrity, but humility. Not about drawing more attention to us but pointing to the One who is the source of all life. It’s not about eliminating threats to exalted status but welcoming every intrusion that exposes all that is fake, false, and temporary. It’s not about using violence to exert control, but about choosing the alternative of quiet service. Just like Jesus.

 

“And they did not understand.” Not yet. But Friday is coming, then Sunday. Perhaps this time light will penetrate the darkness. What do you think?

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

It's Better for One Man to Die

John 11:1-53
Lent 5
March 22, 2026
William G. Carter

Many of the Jews, therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did believed in him. ⁴⁶ But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done. ⁴⁷ So the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the council and said, “What are we to do? This man is performing many signs. ⁴⁸ If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place^[a] and our nation.” ⁴⁹ But one of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, “You know nothing at all! ⁵⁰ You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed.” ⁵¹ He did not say this on his own, but being high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus was about to die for the nation, ⁵² and not for the nation only, but to gather into one the dispersed children of God. ⁵³ So from that day on they planned to put him to death.

 

It’s a long story, so it may signal a short sermon. The problem is, there’s so much packed into the story, it’s hard to know where to start. Or how to finish. 

Let’s start with the ending: “They planned to put Jesus to death.” It’s a signal that the religious leaders had enough. The conflict had been building for quite some time. Ever since chapter two, in fact. John tells us that Jesus disrupted the Jerusalem Temple from early on. As far as the religious leaders were concerned, the Temple was the center of the universe. That’s where the animal sacrifices atoned for sin and marked moments in human life – and Jesus turned over the tables.

Obviously, the leaders of the establishment set the tables up again as soon as he left. They rebooted business as usual. Yet Jesus was a marked man. They had him in his sights. And the stories began to accumulate. Up in the little town of Cana, he filled the purification jars with fresh wine. He healed a young boy at the point of death. He lifted up a man who hadn’t walked in thirty-eight years – and did so on the Sabbath. They perceived Jesus didn’t respect the customs of the people. He didn’t act as if he was bound by rules and rituals.

John’s gospel repeatedly tells us that Jesus was strangely indifferent to his own Jewish religion. Those who maintained the religion, who wanted to manage it, grew weary of this Galilean preacher and healer. The tension kept building. As we heard last week, Jesus healed another man on the Sabbath. The man extolled him, praised him as Messiah, and promptly got thrown out of his synagogue. Jesus found him, expressing in effect, “You don’t need a synagogue if you have a Messiah. Or if the Messiah has you.”

So, when Jesus returned to Jerusalem, the conflict reached a fever pitch. The religious leaders baited him, cajoled him, argued with him. He told them plainly, “I give the life of eternity to anybody I choose. I am the good shepherd, and my flock hears my voice.” Like a pack of wolves, they snarled at him. Growled.

Then he said it, “The Father and I are one.” With that, they picked up stones to hurl at him. They wanted to get rid of him, once and for all. Get rid of the troublemaker and things will get back to normal, isn’t that right? They reached out to grab him – and he slipped away. He went out to the desert where John the Baptist has splashed his water. This is where the story of Lazarus begins.

Someone found him to say, “Lazarus, your beloved friend, is sick. He’s not going to make it.” Jesus said, “OK, since he is sick, I’m going to stay right here.” It is a curious detail. But remember, in the Gospel of John, Jesus knows everything. He knows what he is going to do. He’s not going to rescue Lazarus. Instead, he is going to show everybody what kind of God we have. This has been his mission from the beginning. God is a God of grace and truth. He shows us who we are (that’s the truth). He comes to us in mercy (that’s the grace).

Now, this is a strange thing. All our lives, we have been trained by success stories. The plot goes like this: there is some kind of trouble, and the superhero comes to rescue us. Somebody is sick, he makes them well. Somebody is wounded; he lifts them up. Somebody is confused (like Nicodemus), or excluded (like the Samaritan woman), and Jesus makes it all better. But success is not the logic of the Gospel of John. Rather, it’s all about self-giving.

If you remember last week, in chapter nine, Jesus gives sight to man who has never been able to see. That’s when the man’s troubles begin. “Was blind but now I see,” and now I can’t go back to the way things were. And Jesus did that. He didn’t ask permission; rather, he took initiative. He healed – with grace – and life changed. Not because he was asked, but because he chose to do so.

It’s like that early story of the wedding in Cana. It must have been some blow-out. They ran out of wine. And the mother of Jesus (she’s never named in the Gospel of John, just the mother of Jesus) says to him, “They don’t have any wine.” What does he say? “Woman, what is that to me?” He doesn’t call her “Mama” but “Woman”! She says to the stewards, “Do whatever he says,” because he is the one in charge. What does he say? “Fill up those unnecessary ritual jars with water.” Out comes the best tasting wine anybody has ever had. Not because someone told him to do it – not even his Mama – but Jesus chose to do it.

So, Mary and Martha say, “Come quick. Our brother is dying.” To which Jesus says, “This is not going to be a rescue, but a revelation. I’m going to show you God is the God of the living. He is the God of life eternal. God is the fountain of generous life.” And each of the sisters says to him, “You know, Lord, we were hoping you got here in time to rescue him. He’s the one you love. You know, the beloved one.”

What they see is something more than that. Never before has anybody been raised from the dead! Revived, perhaps. Rescued just in time, sure. But never before raised. Yet this central to the Gospel story because Jesus is the One who gives life. As he said, just a few verses before the story began, “I give the life of eternity to the world.”

The problem is this world is a world of death. This world wants to run by control and force. This world operates on brutality and pain. The leaders of this world have no desire to be interrupted by grace or truth. In fact, they make fun of anybody who would hold them accountable, saying, “Good riddance, they deserve to die, I’m glad they are dead.”

But here comes Jesus, from the will of the Father. On behalf of the God of eternity who gives life, Jesus pierces the illusion of control. He offers freely what brutality can never manage. He raises Lazarus from the stone-cold tomb. By choosing to do that, he chooses to enter his own stone-cold tomb. This is how the world obsessed with death will treat the Author and Giver of life. And such a world will continue to mislead itself into thinking it continues in control.

As we hear today, Jesus raises his friend from the dead – and the world decides to kill him. It’s the only thing the world knows how to do. This is the truth Jesus has come to reveal. It’s not the end of the story, of course, but it is the truth about where we live and how things usually operate – by self-interest, by greed, by the intoxication of control.

By self-interest: the high priest Caiaphas says, “It is better to get rid of him so we can stick around.”

By greed: Caiaphas and his priestly bunch were the richest folks in all of Jerusalem.[1] They wanted to stay that way. Rome could ensure that.

By the intoxication of control: the religious priesthood had a relationship with the Roman Empire, a toxic marriage of religion with politics. In that agreement, religion was not allowed to critique politics. In turn, religion got a piece of the power. It was a dangerous game. I hear it still goes on in some places.

This is the deadly mix that led to the death of Jesus. This is why Jesus wept. If it were a matter of compassion, grief, losing his friend, Jesus could have hurried up to rescue him. Yet it was not a rescue story. It was a revelation. What was revealed was that this world is no friend of life – and yet Jesus continues to be the giver of life. That is why he has come, so that whoever trusts in him will receive life, here, now, and forever. 

So, Jesus weeps. In the Gospel of John, this is his Gethsemane moment. This is the moment when he faces what he must do and what it will cost. He chooses to give life to Lazarus, to give life to the world, and he chooses to do it by giving his own life so that all of us will live.[2]

It is an astonishing story. More than a miracle, it’s a sign of what kind of God is sending Jesus to us. As we will hear next week and beyond, the story goes on. Yet for a moment, the conclusion is already clear. Jesus is more than the final resurrection. He is the Living One, the Life of God, our Life, Eternal Life. He continues to live.

By contrast, John says, “Caiaphas was high priest that year.” Actually, the high priesthood was a lifetime appointment, but John says, “that year.”[3] It’s his way of giving an elbow to the cruel and greedy leaders of this world. All of them have an expiration date, while Jesus Christ continues to be completely, thoroughly alive.

This tired old world can do whatever it wishes to the Messiah. Yet even with his wounds, Jesus comes to us, breathes on us, breathes his life, and says, “I do not give to you as the world gives.” For it is his life given to us. This is what he chooses.

And Jesus says, “Very truly, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and does not come under judgment but has passed from death to life.”[4]

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

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[1] See, for instance, “Profiteering in the Temple,” https://thingspaulandluke.wordpress.com/2020/11/27/profiteering-inside-the-temple/

[2] See Fred B. Craddock, “A Two-Fold Death and Resurrection,” online at https://www.religion-online.org/article/a-twofold-death-and-resurrection-jn-1125-26/

[3] Gail O’Day, “John,” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume VIII, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2015) 697.

[4] John 5:24

The Trouble Jesus Causes

John 9:1-41
Lent 5
March 15, 2026

William G. Carter  

 Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”

It’s a long story, but it reminds us of what we already know. People see what they want to see. People hear what they want to hear. People convince themselves they are right. 

The basketball team is down, 120 to 63. The coach calls a time out to give them a pep talk in the final minutes of the game. “Come on, team! We are the champions. We are going to win this game.” Well, no. Not today. But you can’t tell him otherwise.

The business executive is told by her team that pursuing a certain direction would be a catastrophic mistake. “Thank you,” she says, “but you are wrong. I know what I’m doing.” Guess what happens. The company gets sold off for parts. The executive gets a pay-out and flies off to Tucson. And she was right. Just ask her.

And then, there is the fateful story of Captain Edward Smith. They warned him there were icebergs in the North Atlantic. Another ship sent a message, “Just saw an iceberg. Watch out.” He shrugged it off, declaring, “Our ship is unsinkable.” Famous last words from the captain of the Titanic.

Self-deception seems to be woven into our genetics. We are born with information filters. We act out of our opinions and convince ourselves they are facts. We reinforce what we are predisposed to already believe. And praise the Lord, there are hundreds of cable channels to tell us what we already think we know.

The ninth chapter of the Gospel of John is the story of a man born without his sight. He cannot perceive colors, recognize faces, or predict the pitfalls right on his path. The more I think about it, this is more than the story of a single beggar on the street corner of Jerusalem, banging his offering plate, and dependent on passersby. Oh, this is a story of the whole human race.

Everybody in this story is without sight. Everybody except Jesus. He’s the One who came for those who cannot see. John tells us how he spotted a man who could not see. The twelve disciples believed he must be a sinner, and if not him, then his parents. “Nope,” says Jesus, “it doesn’t work that way. No, look at him. Take a good long look: he is here for God to work in him.” Then Jesus gives him sight. The blind man doesn’t ask for it. He doesn’t expect it. Jesus takes the initiative and just does it. Then Jesus disappears. He doesn’t stick around. He goes out of sight. All that, by the middle of verse six.

The next thirty-five verses are a reaction to what Jesus did for the man. And you heard how everything unravels. The religious experts interrogate the man. They argue with him. Jesus gave him the ability to see – and that stirs up trouble. The religious experts interrogate the man’s parents. They are too frightened to stand up for their son. So, the experts drag him in for more questioning. “Who did this? Why did he do it on the sabbath when he should be sitting still?”

Back and other, bickering, arguing, until they throw out of the synagogue. When John wrote down this story, some sixty years after it happened, a number of people had been thrown out of the synagogue. You want to guess why? Because Jesus also gave them the ability to see. That became the crisis – the division of the house! Some could see. Some refused to see.

And see what? God has come into the world through Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus has come to help and heal, to restore what is broken, to lift up what is diminished. He has come to reveal the kind of God we truly have.

And the Pharisees say, “No, that can’t be right. God doesn’t let anybody get healed on the wrong day of the week. There are six days to do all your work, and we rest on the Sabbath.” Well, just like another Sabbath healing that Jesus did in chapter five, God is not limited by the weekly calendar. God is free to come, to heal, to bless.” But they couldn’t see it. They didn’t want to see it.

That seems to be the human dilemma. Like those Pharisees in the story, who are overdrawn caricatures of actual historical Pharisees, we can be so careful to determine where God can act and where God cannot act that we miss seeing God acting right in front of our noses. Like John tells us: people see only what they want to see.

And do you know what it’s called when people won’t see what God is doing in Jesus? In the fourth Gospel, that is the definition of sin. Jesus does something, like heal a man born blind, or feed a multitude with a few fish, and the reaction is, “Well, that wasn’t God at work. That was something else. We don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t God. Jesus can’t really be God.” The Gospel of John says, “That is what sin is all about.”

Curious, isn’t it, that this long story offers a peculiar conversation about sin? The disciples said, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born without sight?” Jesus says, “No, you goobers. Sin has nothing to do with making somebody blind when they were born that way.” No, sin is refusing to receive and trust what God has come to do in Jesus. At this point in the larger story, the jury is still out whether the disciples can understand this.

The Pharisees, representing all religious professionals in all times and place, are also certain the man-born-blind had committed many sins. That’s why they investigated. They had to know what they did not know. What they cannot know. The man had not sinned, but they keep telling themselves he must have sinned. He must have done something wrong.

So, the Experts turn on Jesus. He must be the sinner. He healed on the Sabbath, so he broke the Sabbath. What they cannot see, of course, is that he’s the One who created the Sabbath. Back in chapter one we heard, “He’s the One through whom all things were made.” Even the Sabbath. Yet if they knew that verse, and they didn’t, they would not believe it because they would not believe that the living God was working in the life of Jesus.

This is the crisis, the present day of judgment. Either you see this or you don’t. Either Jesus is showing us the true nature of God or he’s just some other miracle guy. This one from Nazareth in the middle of nowhere, the one with a dirty tunic and carpenter splinters in his hands. Is this the prophet of God? The Messiah? Everybody has to decide.

This is John’s particularly unique understanding of sin singular (the refusal to accept who Jesus is) and sins plural, those infractions against religious law over which the Pharisees have appointed themselves as moral guardians. And it helps to clarify something Jesus will say later in the book, in chapter fifteen. As he sums up his ministry at the Last Supper, he says, “If I had not come, if I had not spoken to them, they would not have sinned.” (15:22)

The point is he has come; he has spoken, he has acted – and to dismiss him, to trash him, to push him away, that is the depth of human sin. And it wouldn’t have happened if he had not come into the world. In fact, if he had not come, the world would have remained a closed system, a death spiral of despair. And to quote an old phrase that becomes quite poignant, it would be “blind leading the blind.”

I reflect on these things as I listen to people out in public who talk as if they know what they are doing. Especially when it becomes painfully obvious that they don’t. And then they lie, or spin, or create new rationales, or say “Look over there!” to cover up a great deal of ignorance that ends up hurting a lot of people. It is a recurring human situation without a shred of humility or self-awareness.

And should anybody be called out for it, like the first century Pharisees, they defend themselves. “You’re not saying we are blind, too, are you?”

Jesus sighs once again. His retort is the same: “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”

Take a moment to look around. Go ahead, look. We find ourselves in the company of those who have had their eyes opened. Maybe not the whole way, maybe just wide enough to perceive God is real, Christ has come among us, and the Living Spirit continues to bless and challenge us; once again, grace and truth. The true Christ follower is the one who sings, “I was once was blind, but now I see.” (No, we are not going to sing that one today. We’ll sing another one in just a minute. But the sentiment is the same.)

Think about what we do, in the light of the story John tells us. We keep coming together on Sunday mornings, on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Wednesdays and whenever else, and the point of it all is to keep looking for Jesus. To share field reports of when and where we’ve experienced the grace and truth that come as gifts from heaven.

And it doesn’t come all at once, not for most of us. Like the man who had his eyes opened for the first time, the Christian life is one of growing clarification.

We study together, we serve the neighborhood together, we live our lives together, we pray for one another. And we do it because we know there is light that has come into the darkness. We keep at it because we are not alone. Never alone.

Without asking for it, a man is given his ability to see. For the first time, he can see. So, when Jesus finds him again and pops the question, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” the man says, “Who is it?” And Jesus says, “You have seen him.” Your eyes have been opened. Your heart has been opened. He’s standing right in front of you – which is where he was always been.

Today we baptize a mom and her four kids. We tell them the truth about God’s grace: you all belong to God. Our task as the household of God is to celebrate the vision God has given to us and to help one another to see. We point to the promise of living with Jesus, and we welcome his life to live through us. We notice the things he cares about. We pay attention to those huddled on the street corners that others don’t see. We call out hypocrisy and do our best to live in humility. And we wait for him to show more and more of himself.

This is the trouble Jesus causes. It’s good trouble, the best kind of trouble there is. And as we step into it, we do so in the full assurance that we are not the people we once were. God is at work among us.

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

Well, That Was Embarrassing

John 4:1-42
Lent 3
March 8, 2026
William G. Carter

Read the scripture text here.


Well, that was embarrassing! A number of people in that Samaritan town began believing in Jesus – and it had nothing to do with her. She told them about him. They went to check him out for themselves – and then they dismissed her. They weren’t even nice about it.

Know what they said? “It’s not because of your ‘la-la-la-la-la’ that we believe.” That’s the word in the original text. “La-la-la-la-la.” They heard what she said and treated it as chatter. They dismissed her. And now, that anonymous woman remains anonymous. It was one more embarrassing moment in what might have been an embarrassing life.

We don’t know much about her, this woman at the well. We are not told her name. We are not told her name. What we are told is that she went to the village well when nobody else was there. Where are the other woman of the village? Well, they would have come first thing in the morning. Or they would have come as the hot sun was setting. That would be a time to socialize, to check in with one another, to share the latest news of what was going on in the small town of Sychar.

But she doesn’t come to the well with the others. She comes by herself. Is she excluded? Or does she exclude herself? We don’t know. That’s one of those little details that folks like us might pass over – but those in her village would understand all too well. She comes to the well at noon. All by herself. No one comes with her. No one will be seen with her.

Maybe you remember what that’s like. No friends. No acquaintances. No nobody, just you, alone. All by yourself. The last kid on the playground to be picked for kickball. The one who grew too quickly or didn’t grow quickly enough. The one who is shut out or abandoned. Like the little kid from my house – “Why are you moping around?” She said, “I’m not one of the popular kids.” But you are only in second grade! “Doesn’t matter.”

So, this woman comes to the well alone. In the middle of the day. We can’t tell if she is rejected, ignored, or chooses to go alone. And Jesus is sitting nearby. He is also by himself. The disciples had gone to find some food. It may take a while; they are Jews in the middle of Samaria.

It’s a distinction not lost on the woman. Jesus says, “Give me a drink.” She says, “Why is a Jew like you asking a Samaritan like me for a drink? Why are you saying anything at all?” Jews and Samaritans didn’t talk to one another. Not only are there religious differences, racial differences, there are also gender distinctions. Jews didn’t talk to Samaritans; men didn’t talk to women. Not in public. Not out in the middle of the day, in the center of town. Yet Jesus speaks to her.

He mentions “living water.”

She says, “Where is your bucket? You don’t have a bucket.”

He says, “Everybody who draws from this well will get thirsty again.”

She says, “I don’t want to keep getting thirsty. I don’t want to keep returning to the well.” 

Then he says, “Go, get your husband.” This goes right to the heart. At least, to the broken heart. She’s been married five times, each marriage concluding in one form of pain or another. Now, she’s with number six. I think we can guess why she goes to the well alone. Nobody wants to be seen by her - except Jesus. And he knows this. How could he know this? Two reasons. First, it’s high noon and she comes to the public well by herself. Second, this is the Gospel of John, and in the Gospel of John, Jesus knows everything.

Up in Galilee, he could see Nathanael under a fig tree before Nathanael could see him. Over in Cana, he could see large stone jars that could hold new wine for a wedding. Down in Jerusalem, he could see how the Temple of God has become corrupt, so he chased away the “loan sharks.”[1] The storyteller says, “He knew what was in them.” Then, as we heard last week, Nicodemus appears from the shadows to say, “How do you do what you do?” Jesus could see his misunderstanding, and said, “You are a Bible teacher, and you don’t know?” Of course not. Only Jesus knows – and he knows everything.

He knows this woman comes along to the well because she has to. The neighbors won’t give her any other options. She won’t give herself any other options. Her whole life has been one of embarrassment. That’s why she comes at noon. Jesus knows this.

He also knows she has been married five and a half times. And he says it, says it out loud. He is a stranger to her, yet he knows. He knows everything. What everybody else in that village knew, this Jewish stranger also knows. There was no place to hide. Not at high noon in the center of the town.

Ever been exposed in public? It is a disorienting experience. To know that everybody else knows. You can’t hide. You can’t even lurk in the shadows. At least Nicodemus, the man we met last week, could return to the shadows. Not the woman at the well.

Imagine the family whose teenager is arrested for selling meth and it ends up on the front page. Or the investment advisor who is revealed publicly for making shady deals. Or the politician whose secret love nest is announced? There is nowhere to hide anymore. They can hide, they can distract, they could say, “Look over there!” But when the truth is known, it’s out there for everybody to see. And that’s embarrassing.

There’s one thing Jesus does, according to the Gospel of John: he tells the truth. He reveals the truth about God and the truth about us. Truth is truth, even there are some who say, “There’s no such thing as truth.” We know that’s a scam. It’s one more evasion of what nobody want others to find out.

Here is how John Calvin, the great reformer, begins his four-volume explanation of the Christian Gospel: “Our wisdom, in so far as it ought to be deemed true and solid Wisdom, consist almost entirely of two parts: the knowledge of God and (the knowledge) of ourselves.”[2] And they are connected. Those are the first words on the first page. If you truly know yourself, you know that your life comes from God – and that your life has moved away from God. And if you know this, you recognize your need for God. This is exactly the plot of this chapter four in the Gospel of John.

It doesn’t happen without an argument. This saucy woman, accustomed to making her way on her own, tries to pick a fight with Jesus. “You Jews believe you can only worship in Jerusalem, but we Samaritans have our own mountain where we worship.” Jesus replies, “Lady, it’s time to worship God, not here, not there – but through the Spirit of God who can find us anywhere. God is Spirit, not confined to a location. We must worship God in Spirit, and worship God as Spirit.”

Not only that, says Jesus, “We must worship God in truth, in the truth about ourselves, in the truth about our need, in the truth about all our embarrassments.” From what we can tell, this seems to blow her spiritual circuits. All she can say is, “I know Messiah is coming.” Lay down the defenses. Tear down the wall. Turn off the sirens, and all their distractions. Get right to it: “Messiah is coming.”

Then, in Hebrew speech, Jesus says, “I am.” Yahweh. Right there, far from Jerusalem, beside the village well, to a woman with a tangled past and a broken heart. “I am.” With this, she runs off. She has to tell people about him. And did you notice from the story? She leaves behind the water jar. She doesn’t need it. She can come back for it later. She must return to the community that has shunned her and tell them about this One who knows her as clearly as she knows herself. “Come see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?”

As we heard, the twelve disciples show up to say, “We’ve finally got some food. Eat, master, eat.” He says, “I have a banquet that you can’t see.” And true to John’s sense of irony, they whisper, “Did somebody bring him food?”

And as we heard, the small-town community is divided. Some take the woman at her word, invited Jesus to spend a couple of days with them, and then they begin to trust in Jesus for themselves. Yet true to their own unfinished faith, they dismiss the woman’s testimony, saying as we began, “We don’t need your la-la-la-la-la.” They have a habit of dismissing and disrespecting her. It may take a while for that to change.

Yet something has changed. Not completely, but the transformation has begun. In her conversation with Jesus, her understanding grew. Remember what she said?

            “How is it that you, a Jew?”

            “Are You greater than our father Joseph?”

            “I perceive you are a prophet.”

            “I know that Messiah is coming.”

Step by step, climbing the ladder of comprehension. Her faith is unfinished, as it is for any of us, but it is growing. Faith is getting clearer, bigger, more expansive, more portable, more personal, more universal. For she has met the One who knows her, the One who tells her the truth that she already knows about herself.

And as he comes with that truth, he also comes with grace. Cleansing, forgiving, transforming grace. Always grace, always truth. Truth and grace. That is the gospel of Jesus Christ in three words: grace and truth.

I’ll never forget the man who told me how embarrassed he was. There was a major failure in his life, and it was published in the newspaper. He said to himself, “It’s been coming for a while, but now everybody knows. I’m so ashamed. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can show myself in public for a while. Maybe I’ll just hide and stay out of sight.”

While he considered this, there was a knock at his door. Two people from his church stood there. “Can we come in?” They entered, closed the door. One said, “We won’t stay long. Wanted you to know we saw the piece in the news. Also wanted you to know we have been through the same kind of embarrassment.” He looked at them and couldn’t believe it. They were both so admired, so respected, so put together.

And the second one said, “We’ve been through what you are going through. And you are not alone. In fact, we are going to see you through this tough season as we have gotten through it.”

As he told me the story, he said, “When the truth about me was published, I believed I was stuck forever in my shame. But they came alongside, walked with me, pointed me toward God’s enlarging presence in my life. That is when I first understood what grace is all about.” Grace and truth, truth and grace. It’s always grace and truth.

She said, “Come and see a man who told me everything about myself. He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” He could be, but you will have to work it out yourself. So go and listen to what she has to say. On your way, you may pass the bucket she left behind.

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

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[1] Eugene Peterson’s translation of John 2:14-15 in The Message.

[2] John Calvin, The Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 1, Chapter 1. Page 1.

Old Dog, New Tricks

John 3:1-15
March 1, 2025
Lent 2

William G. Carter

 

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with that person.” Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ 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. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”  Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you the teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

 

“Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen, yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

 

The committee meeting was over. The church had calmed down after a busy night. It was a Thursday. Since I try to take Fridays off, Thursday begins my weekend. My desk was still covered with papers. As I began to put everything away, I heard the side door open and close. I stood instinctively to look out into the parking lot. Didn’t see any vehicle except my own, so I sat back down, then called out, “Hello?” 

A cheerful face appeared at my door. I’ll call her “Emily.” Hey Emily, what’s going on?

“I saw the light, and realized I had food to drop off in the narthex. I’ll be right back.”

Emily hadn’t been part of the church family for very long. A few months, maybe. She had appeared quietly in a worship service, came back a few times. She disappeared for a bit, and then had returned pretty regularly. I didn’t know her very well. I don’t know if anybody did. She kept her identity close to the chest.

“Glad you were still here,” she said when she reappeared. “I hope I’m not keeping you.” Oh, glad to see you. I’m clearing off my desk before I went home.

“Thanks, Rev. I won’t keep you.” It’s no problem at all. It’s good to see you.

She said, “Well, it’s taken a while for me to connect around here. But I like it very much. Worship gives me something to think about. The music is great.” She paused, then added, “Never thought I’d find myself back in a church.” Oh?

“Do you mind if I sit for a minute?” Not at all. Have a seat.

“Well, it’s all kind of awkward. You’ve probably never heard a story like mine.” I looked at the papers still on my desk, then sat down and said, “What kind of story do you have?”

“It’s long,” she said, glancing toward the window, “and it’s getting late.” Oh, I’m not in a hurry.

“Well, I got involved in a church sometime back. The church where my mom took me as a child closed down, so we didn’t go anywhere else. Years went by, and then some friends at work invited me to another church with them. One of them was kind of cute, so there was that, too. Turns out, he had his eye on somebody else and that didn’t go anywhere. But I kept going. It was interesting, lot of energy, people were nice. And it never quite clicked.”

The church?

“Yes. Looking back on it, the preacher and the people kept saying the same thing over and over again. It was like a drum beat: you must be born again, you must be born again. Over and over. The same message. The church where my mom took me never talked like that.”

She paused. Then she said, “I kind of know what they were getting at. They kept talking about how Jesus will give you joy. That sounded appealing, but they weren’t really very joyful as a church. In fact, they weren’t as nice as they first appeared.” Oh?

“No. In fact, they could be pretty rude. One lady asked what I did. I told her I’m a counselor. Then she said, ‘It must be a privilege to teach Bible verses to the people who see you.’ I said, ‘Why would I do that? I’m there to listen, not to teach.’ She spun around and walked away, like I said something wrong. When I saw her again and tried to explain myself, she ignored me and walked away. It left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“After that, I began to see a lot of these people weren’t very happy at all. They had a lot of rules, a lot of expectations. Some of them were happy to tell others how to live. One man stood at the door one Sunday and handed out flyers telling people how to vote. It was like they were scared of the world. And so cautious about doing something that others would judge as wrong. I felt like I was suffocating.”

“One Sunday morning, I decided to take a break. Sleep in, like a lot of people do. The next week, I decided to do it again. It felt good. So that’s why I stopped going to that church. It was too much.”

Do you have any regrets? “No, not at all. In fact, one day at the grocery story I saw the lady who had given me a hard time about the Bible verses. Know what she said? “I haven’t seen you at church.” Not “Hello,” or “how are you,” or even “What is your name?” I just looked at her, sadly. Then she said, “Maybe you’ll be back when you’re born again.” Rev. Bill, I don’t even know what that means.”

Well, Emily, I suddenly feel like I’m inside a Bible story. Let me offer just a couple of things. First, that phrase “born again” comes from the story of Nicodemus, third chapter of John. Some might not tell you this, but the phrase “born again” is a very slippery phrase. Which is why Nicodemus didn’t understand it. In fact, in the Gospel of John, a lot of people don’t understand Jesus, much less understand what he says.

She looked at me, curious. “What do you mean by ‘slippery’?”

For one thing, the Greek word translated as “again” has more than one meaning. It can also be translated as “from above,” born from above.

“OK,” she said slowly, “but what does that mean?”

It’s slippery, but what I think Jesus is talking about those occasions – and they happen more than once – when God wakes up our faith. When the Holy Spirit stirs our spirits. When Jesus becomes real and the whole thing makes sense – and then it slips away again.

“I’ve had moments like that,” she said. “Last month when I was here for communion, you said, ‘Take, eat, this is my body,’ I had this moment when I sensed Jesus was in my hands, and I took him in. Time seemed to stop. Then the organ started to play and the moment went away.”

Yep, that’s how it is sometimes. Faith comes, then it goes. It’s like the wind. You know it when it blows against your face, but you never see it. You can see what the wind does or has done, even if it’s not happening to you. There’s no telling when this is going to happen. It comes from above.

Emily looked intent. She said, “I remember some of the Bible story. Wasn’t Nicodemus born again? I mean, born from above?”

There’s no evidence, really. He was curious. He came to Jesus after dark. That might signal he was still in the dark. He had loads of religious training. Every Pharisee did. Yet there was something missing at the center of it all.

“Didn’t it help that he went to see Jesus?”

Actually, we don’t know. The Gospel of John is full of unfinished stories. They start and we don’t know what happens what’s next. Like the story of Nicodemus. It begins with this conversation, then it starts to sound like the Gospel of John is giving a speech. Or Jesus was. Can’t really tell. There are no quotation marks in the Greek text. Nicodemus kind of disappears, back into the shadows.

And then, he comes back, not once but twice more. In chapter seven, he shows up to defend Jesus against false charges (7:50). Just out of the blue! Then at the end of the book, Nicodemus returns again, after Jesus has been crucified. He shows up with a hundred pounds of embalming spice for the body of Jesus (19:39). That’s a whole lot more embalming spice than anybody would have needed.

Emily started laughing. What’s so funny? “And Jesus didn’t stay embalmed for very long, did he!”

No, I’m glad you catch the comedy of that. It’s an unfinished story of a man with an unfinished faith. Just like the rest of us. But we have these moments, sometimes even seasons, when everything locks into view. And they are always about Jesus: who he is, the kind of God that he reveals, the power of his Spirit when it comes to us. One moment after another leads to growth. We learn to trust the Unseen God that Jesus comes to reveal. That’s the ticket you know: trusting who we cannot see. This is what John calls “faith.”

We sat in the quiet for a moment. Then Emily said, “I’ve had more of those moments than I realized. That’s why I keep coming here. I want to be part of that, whatever it is. That’s why I come to worship whenever I can. That’s why I brought groceries to drop off.”

There’s a word for it, you know.

“A word for what?”

For the thing you want to be part of. The whatever it is. The word is “basileia,” which means “kingdom” or “dominion.” As in the “kingdom of God.” It’s wherever or whenever God is ruling over us. We can’t manage it or control it…”

“You mean, control it, like that born again church I went to?”

Well, I can’t say that. But I can say is that faith is a gift from God. It’s not a human achievement. It comes from above. It can feel like a birth. Mostly, though, it feels like a life. A whole lot of life. And Jesus is at the center of it all. Always at the center.

We sat in more silence. Then Emily said, “You know, if I keep at this, I might end up believing in God. Thanks, Bill. Have a good night.”

With that, out she went. And it didn’t seem like night at all. 

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