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.

---

[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.

He Knew What Was in Us

John 2:13-25
Lent 1
February 22, 2026

William G. Carter  

The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, with the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this, and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.

 

When he was in Jerusalem during the Passover festival, many believed in his name because they saw the signs that he was doing. But Jesus on his part would not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people and needed no one to testify about anyone, for he himself knew what was in everyone.

Jesus showed up at the Super Bowl. Maybe you saw him. It was somewhere between the hot chicken wing dip and the cheesesteak sloppy joes. The television advertisement showed a series of images of people wanting more: more money, more toys, more possessions, more pleasure. Then the words pop up: “There’s more to life than more. What if Jesus shows us how to find it?” And the tag line: “He gets us.” 

The advertising campaign has been running for a few years now. It targets big events like the Super Bowl. The people behind it are in the shadows, but the stated intent is clear. “He Gets Us is a campaign to invite people to consider Jesus and why he matters today.”[1] It’s a wonderful intention. Some anonymous group is spending millions of dollars to advertise the Lord on high-profile sports events. And the connection is Jesus knows who we are.

According to the Gospel of John, however, that’s not necessarily a good thing.

In the story we heard today, Jesus begins his ministry by storming into the Jerusalem Temple. He flipped the tables, chased the merchants out of the temple, made whips, and shooed out the animals. “Stop making my Father’s house a shopping mall!”[2] Yes, it’s not about more, not about buying and selling, especially in the sacred building.

Then John lowered the boom. “Jesus did not entrust himself to them. He knew all people. He knew what was in everyone.” He knew what was in us. Here, on the first Sunday of Lent, it’s worth asking what he knows.

Maybe he knows what the book of Genesis knows. That we are born from the imagination of God, created for companionship, and placed in a lush garden – and it’s never enough. We reach for what we do not have. We have difficulty trusting what God provides. We hunger for wisdom and settle for a bite from an apple. And when our eyes are opened, we hide in shame. The Bible knows us.

When the rabbis would teach the Garden of Eden story, they often did so without judgment. They would say, “Just look at who we are.” Pushing against our limits, for better or worse. Wanting to know God’s secrets, without any sense of the consequences. Willing to lose our innocence, unaware of what that means. And we have never outgrown that ancient story. Oh, he knew what was in us.

What did Jesus know? According to John’s Gospel, he knew everything. He knew when it was time to act and when it wasn’t. He knew how long people had been ill or disabled. He knew whatever he was going to do and how he would do it. John says he even knew who was going to betray him, and when, and how. He knew when it was time to go, and he knew to send his Spirit after he departed. The fourth Gospel portrays Jesus as completely omniscient, from the Latin combination of “omni” and “knowledge.” All knowing.

So, he knew what was going on in Jerusalem. The Temple was the meeting place between God and the human family. This was holy ground. Life events were marked. God-given successes were to be thanked. Sins were to be confessed and forgiven. Relationships were to be renewed and restored. Every one of these events was to be marked by a sacrificial animal.

Yet you couldn’t simply walk in with your family sheep. The sheep had to be pure, so the sheep had to be inspected. You had to pay somebody to inspect it. If the sheep didn’t pass inspection, you needed to get another sheep. Fortunately, there were sheep for sale out in the courtyard. They were temple-ready sheep, which meant they were already inspected and pre-approved. That meant they were going to be more expensive. Someone had to raise the sheep, take care of the sheep, feed the sheep, and inspect the sheep, and that took some money.

And then if you decided to buy the sheep, rather than take your own imperfect sheep back home, you could not reach into your purse and pull out your shekels. The temple did accept the shekels. You had to use temple money. So, you had to cash in your shekels for some temple money. Fortunately, there were people set up to do the trade. And they expected to be compensated, of course. They weren’t going to do it for free. For all we know, they might have had to pay a fee in order to set up their money-changing table. The temple wasn’t going to let anybody change shekels into temple money. They had to be approved, I’m sure.

See what was going on? All you wanted to do was go to the temple to pray. To thank God for a new child. To celebrate an abundant harvest. To offer a sacrifice for the cancellation of sins. And the whole time, it was costing you a lot of money. You thought the covenantal love of God was free, right? But to get official access to that covenantal love, somebody was going to hit you up for access fees. An emporium, to be sure.

It’s like those horror stories some of us have heard from various religious communities. A man and his wife have a baby. They ask the man’s brother to be the godparent. He is deeply honored. He willingly goes to sign the paperwork. And then the guy in charge says, “How do I know you will be a good godparent?” Well, I will take responsibility for the little guy’s spiritual instruction.

Then the guy in charge says, “Well, how will I really know you will be a good godparent?” Then the truth dawns. Then the potential godparent says, “Uh, do you take Venmo, PayPal, or personal check?”

Just one more example of what Jesus knows is in us. Someone always wants to turn access to God into Pay-Per-View. So, we can understand why Jesus says, “Tear this Temple down. If you want access to God, you have me instead.” He is the New Temple, the living Meeting Place where God encounters the human family. And he knows us. Not only knows us – he knows what is in us.

And from the Bible story, we get a second piece of prevailing human temperament. The Temple Keepers of Jesus’ time yelled at him for what he was doing. “What sign do you have for doing this? Give us a sign?” They want a sign. They want a signatory miracle. They want him to prove he has the authority to destroy the merchandising system that they have put in place. After all, the gold has to be shined up, the silver must be polished, the clergy have to be well-fed, and someone must be employed to sweep up the cigarette butts in the courtyard. “Show us a sign. Give us a miracle.”

Like King Herod once sang to the Superstar, “So if you are the Christ, the great Jesus Christ, prove to me that You're no fool, walk across my swimming pool.”[3]

Jesus won’t give them any such thing. Miracles are gifts, not demands. Miracles will not be manipulated as weapons. Miracles do not have a lot of staying power, since they are usually once-and-done. Most of all, miracles are widely misunderstood.

Remember that wedding party in Cana, in the story right before this one? Jesus gave them a sign, a quiet sign. And all the drunks said, “Wow, this is the best Manischewitz we’ve ever tasted. And look how much more of it there is! Why were they holding out on us?” They did not get it. They didn’t comprehend – because that is what is in us. It is the same lapse as that is in Adam and Eve and all of their children: the incomplete understanding of the generosity of God. And they demand what is not theirs to demand.

“Give us a sign.” The sign he gives them is himself. “Destroy this temple and I will lift it up in three days.” They did not understand. Therefore, says the writer of John, “Jesus did not entrust himself to them…because he knew what was in them.” And what was that? Well, I can’t say yet, but we have six more weeks of Lent to figure that out.

What I can say is it’s a relief to know that we are known. Don’t need to fake who we are. You don’t need to hide behind a couple of fig leaves. Don’t need to put on airs or charge people admission to see God. If there is good news today, it is that Jesus knows us and doesn’t run away in horror. No. He chooses to draw near. He chooses to engage. He chooses to reveal just enough truth that we have to keep working on what it means.

This is how we grow up in the faith. This is how we learn to trust. Not by demanding that grace should pour out of the faucet – but by praying to see the grace that is already up to our ankles. There is goodness and truth and access to God, for Christ has given himself as the sign. He has been raised up on the cross to take our sins away. He is raised up in power to be completely accessible to all. Because he knows what is in us. He knows us.

Have you ever thought what a powerful gift it is to have somebody who knows you? This is the truth of where the Gospel begins, perhaps in its deepest expression in one of the psalms, Psalm 139. To hear it fresh, this is how Eugene Peterson translated some of it:

God, I’m an open book to you;
    even from a distance, you know what I’m thinking.
You know when I leave and when I get back;
    I’m never out of your sight.
You know everything I’m going to say
    before I start the first sentence.
I look behind me and you’re there,
    then up ahead and you’re there, too—
    your reassuring presence, coming and going.
This is too much, too wonderful—
    I can’t take it all in!

Is there any place I can go to avoid your Spirit?
    to be out of your sight?[4]

The answer, of course, is nowhere. There is nowhere we can escape God. There is nowhere we can hide. God knows us. And he comes because of it, in spite of it, and beyond it – for God loves a corrupt world so much that he sends Jesus into it. He knew what was in us. That’s why he comes. That is good news.

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

---

[1] From www.HeGetsUs.com.

[2] The Greek word is “emporion,” or “Emporium.”

[3] Andrew Lloyd Webber, “Herod’s Song” in Jesus Christ Superstar.

[4] Eugene Peterson, The Message, portion of Psalm 139.

Don't Tell Anybody About the Light Show

Matthew 17:1-9
February 15, 2026
William G. Carter

Day of Transfiguration

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became bright as light. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will set up three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah."

 

While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!" When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, "Get up and do not be afraid." And when they raised their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.

 

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, "Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead."

 

“Tell no one.” It was one of the more curious things Jesus ever said. Especially in a moment like that. They saw Jesus standing on the mountain, his face shining like the sun. His clothes began to glow. It is one of the biggest razzle-dazzle moments in the Bible. And Jesus says, “Don’t tell anybody about it.”  

Picture it: a major light show. High on a mountain, visible for miles around. Difficult to hide from the curious public down below. Impossible to cover up. The sort of moment that grabs attention and doesn’t let go.

Like that night in northern New Mexico. I was retreating out in the red rocks, not far from where the Road Runner cartoons were filmed. The sun had set. The wind was whipping across the desert. On the horizon, there was an enormous flat-topped mountain named Pedernal, about ten thousand feet high. Pretty soon it was dark, then suddenly it wasn’t dark at all. The top of the mountain was all fired up.

There was nobody up there. That wilderness is rugged. But lights were flashing. Thunder crackled, even though there was no rain. Lightning zig-zagged. It was going sideways. What was it? Did a flying saucer land up there? Or something worse? That mountain is about fifteen miles as the eagle flies from the national atomic laboratory at Los Alamos. Later on, one of the locals called it an electrical storm. That seemed too small, and superficial. I don’t know what it was.

Jesus says, “Tell no one what you saw on the mountain.” Well, I’m telling you. Although I am not sure what I am able to tell you.

When the great preacher Barbara Brown Taylor stood in the pulpit one time, she read the story of the Transfiguration, then said, “Don’t say anything at all.” She stood there, looked up, wiped her brow. It was good advice. Jesus burst into flame – and then returned to normal. Those who saw it didn’t return to normal. Their perception of him changed dramatically. Matthew says it nearly scared them to death. Lights, dead people appear and start talking, then the Voice from the Bright Cloud. Who has the words to capture what this was? None of us really.

It’s almost a distraction from the story Matthew tells immediately before this one. In that previous episode, Jesus told the disciples something they didn’t want to hear. “I must go to Jerusalem,” he said, “and there I will suffer, be killed, and later on be raised.” Simon Peter said, “Not you! That isn’t going to happen to you.”

Jesus, said, “Hush up, boy. You’re on the wrong side of things. The way of God is all about giving yourself. Not about saving your own skin but giving yourself away.” They didn’t get it. One more thing, it’s so hard to understand. Then this moment. They didn’t understand that, either.

Then, right after this bright mountain moment, Jesus says it again. “I will suffer.” Just like the great prophet Elijah, he will suffer. And they didn’t want to hear it. They resisted before they climbed the mountain. They refused it on the way down the mountain. And in between resistance and refusal, they have this moment. That’s how the story is told.

Peter, James, and John climbed the mountain with their Master. When they got to the top, there was a bright light and a big Voice. If they could remember their Bible stories, it was just like what happened to Moses. He climbed another mountain all the way up into a cloud. And the book of Exodus says, “The appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain in the sight of the Israelites.”[1] 

Now, catch that little detail: “in the sight of the Israelites.” That is, everybody saw it. It’s impossible to hide such an amazing light show. 

And Jesus said, “Don’t tell anybody about this. Not yet.” Why not? Well, the scholars seem to agree the razzle-dazzle transfiguration could be a distraction. After all, what did the big Voice say? “Listen to him.” Not “look at him,” but “Listen to him.” And what has he been saying? “I am going to the cross and then beyond it.” That is Christ’s mission. He has something to accomplish in Jerusalem. They don’t know what it is yet. How can they understand? It’s too early.

For he said, “Don’t tell anybody about this until after the Son of Man is raised from the dead.” That’s why we are hearing about it today. We are long after that first Easter, which means we are long after the cross. After all,  that’s when the New Testament Gospels were written down: after the events they describe, sometimes long enough after the events that the church could begin to connect the dots between those events that otherwise wouldn’t seem to connect.

Here are two: the Mount of Transfiguration and the hill where Jesus was crucified. Did you notice the points of connection? Check these out:

 

·       Here, on a mountain, is Jesus, revealed in glory; there, on a hill outside Jerusalem, is Jesus revealed in shame.

·       Here his clothes are shining white; there, they have been stripped off, and soldiers have gambled for them.

·       Here he is flanked by Moses and Elijah, two of Isrrael’s greatest heroes, representing the law and prophets;

there, he is flanked by two [criminals], representing the level to which Israel had sunk in rebellions against God.

·       Here, a bright cloud overshadows the scene; there, darkness comes upon the land.

·       Here Peter blurts out how wonderful it all is; there, he is hiding in shame after denying he even knows Jesus.

·       Here a voice from God declared that this is his wonderful son; there, a pagan soldier declares, in surprise, that this really was God’s son.

As N.T. Wright puts it, “The mountain-top explains the hill-top – and vice versa. Perhaps we only really understand either of them when we see it side by side with the other. Learn to see the glory in the cross; learn to see the cross in the glory; and you will have begun to bring together the laughter and the tears of the God who hides in the cloud, the God who is to be known in the strange person of Jesus himself.”[2]

And we can talk about this. Since he has been raised from the dead, we can talk about this. Yet the paradox of holding together transfiguration and crucifixion is difficult to capture it with our own thin words. We are in the presence of a deep mystery.

That’s what John Burgess discovered years ago. John teaches theology at Pittsburgh Seminary. A lifelong Presbyterian, he took a year-long academic sabbatical and took his family to Russia. He’s long been intrigued by the faith of the Russian Orthodox church. And stepping into a year with the Orthodox Church was even more dramatic than stepping into a foreign country.

For one thing, he said, “There are icons of the Transfiguration everywhere you look.” The hardships of life in Russia are held in creative tension with the glory of Christ. They are inseparable. If life is painful, Christ is still there. And if all is going well for you, you are never far from Christ’s cross. We cannot separate them.

For another thing, he said, as a lifelong Presbyterian, he confessed that our religious tribe can be too chatty. We talk too much (and thankfully, he wasn’t talking about our sermons). His suggestion is to listen a lot more, to gaze in wonder, to look beneath the grimy surface and see the glory that’s all around us. Especially the glory.

Protestants spend an awful lot of energy living sideways – caring for neighbors, addressing injustice, opening our arms to the diversity of the world. That’s well and good, although the tendency is to make our message so appealing that it concerns itself only with filling the offering plate and keeping our aging buildings open.

John says we would be served well if we drew more energy by looking upward. By gazing toward the God we can never totally understand, by standing before his holiness, by listening deeply rather filling the air with a lot of chatter. And he may be right about that. If keeping Sunday holy means anything at all, it means being still, hushing up, taking in all the gifts of heaven, and then shining the light we’ve received back into the world. The world needs to be reminded of God’s exceeding beauty. And Monday will needs some holiness, too.[3]

“Don’t tell anybody about the light show. Not yet.” That’s the corrective for talking too much or moving on too quickly. Hold it, instead. Hold those moments of glory when your eyes are opened and your heart is available. Take in the light. And then, reflect it wherever you go. Because a world like this desperately needs to see a whole lot more light. You are the ones to bear it wherever you go. Shine on, friends. Shine on with the holiness of Jesus.

---

[1] Exodus 24:17

[2] N.T. Wright, Matthew for Everyone, Part 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002) 14-15.

[3] John P. Burgess, Encounters with Orthodoxy: How Protestant Churches Can Reform Themselves Again (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).