The Question That Nobody Asks

John 17:1-11
Easter 7
May 21, 2023
William G. Carter

After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.

 

”I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them.

 

And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

We have just heard the opening words from the final prayer of Jesus. The Gospel of John remembers Jesus giving final instructions to his friends and then lifting his eyes toward heaven. He has told them not to worry. He has commanded them to love one another. He warns them of a hostile world that he has overcome in his cross and resurrection (16:33). Now, he seals his work by offering this prayer.

It is a long prayer, longer than the other prayers recorded in the New Testament. You remember the Lord’s Prayer, taught in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, and offered in Luke’s gospel as a model for prayer. There’s the prayer in Gethsemane before the cross, “Father, let this cup pass; but your will, not mine.” (Matthew 26:29) And there’s the prayer from the cross, “Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

The Bible describes Jesus as a person of prayer. He prays at his baptism (Luke 3:21), prays before selecting his disciples (Luke 6:12), prays before his transfiguration (Luke 9:29), prays before raising the dead (John 9:41-42), prays before breaking the bread (9:16). It comes as no surprise that Jesus concludes his ministry with a prayer.

But this prayer of his raises a question that I’ve never asked out loud. I’ve thought it many times through the years, but never dared to ask. When I was a teenager, taking Jesus Christ seriously for the first time, the question bubbled up – but I worried I might get in trouble for asking it. Maybe it’s a question that I alone have pondered. Maybe it’s a question you’ve never thought about.

Well, here it is. Ready for the question? When Jesus prays, who is he talking to?

Ever think about that? First time that I tuned into the question, I thought, “Here is a human being talking to God in heaven.” That’s what I was taught about prayer. We are down here; God is somewhere up there. Tell God what you need. I didn’t probe the issue too deeply. It had not yet occurred to me that God knows what we need even before we ask. Prayer was asking for what we did not have within ourselves.

In this line of reasoning, Jesus was praying to select the right people as disciples. He was asking for permission and power to feed a hungry multitude. He wanted God to forgive the world that put him on a cross. Likewise, when we pray, we ask for strength in trying times, for bread when the cupboard is bare, for the capacity to love those who do not love us, and for the teenagers to return home safely from prom night. The fragile and needy humans turn toward a strong and generous God. That’s prayer.

But when Jesus prays, particularly the Jesus of John’s Gospel, to whom is he speaking? John tells us outright: Jesus is divine. He and the Father are one. So some time in my irreverent youth, I recall the moment when a sassy answer surfaced in my brain. When Jesus prays, is he talking to himself?

It seemed a fair question. Quite a few times, John tells us that Jesus knew what he was going to do before he did it. Like when he fed the multitude (John 6:6). Or before he washed the feet of his friends (John 13:3-4). Hypothetically speaking, if you are the Christ and you know what you’re going to do, why pray? Why speak to the hidden Father with whom you are one? Sassy, yes, but I thought it was a good question.

And then we landed on the prayer for today, the long prayer that constitutes the 17^th chapter of John. Interesting, isn’t it, that Jesus doesn’t pray for us until verse eleven, the final verse for today? No, the first part of the prayer is a request that his words and actions will glorify the Father (17:1). Then he says, “Father, I have glorified you in the work that I’ve done.” (17:4) His prayer requests, then names, what has already been accomplished.

He speaks to the Father, so it’s obvious that Jesus and the Father are distinct from one another. He’s not talking to himself; he’s praying to God. Yet then he says, “I pray that they may be one, as we are one.” The Father and the Son are separate – but they are united. In fact, four time in this chapter, he declares to the Father, “we are one.”

Suddenly the light goes on, at least for me. And I realize that whenever we hear Jesus pray, we are lifted into the mystery of the Trinity. Jesus and the Father are united in relationship (The Holy Spirit too, but we’ll hear about that next week). The Jesus we’ve heard about, the One who walked the earth on Palestinian feet, was – is, and ever shall be – united with the Creator of the world. They are distinct yet there’s no daylight between them. One is on earth, the Other in heaven, yet they inhabit the same space, the same life, the same purpose. Prayer, for Father and Son, is a form of communion – of being together.

Now these are big thoughts. It’s so much easier to regard Jesus as the One down here and God as the One up there. Trinitarian thinking is multidimensional and so much harder to nail down. That’s why I called it a mystery. Or as one of you once said to me, “Whenever I think about the Trinity, it makes my head hurt.” Fair enough.

The concept of Trinity is more than we can take in. As one of our resident scholars asked recently, “Did God die on the cross? Or was that Jesus alone?” He paused and said, “If Jesus is God, didn’t God die?” I suggested he take a breath and have another sip of coffee. Then I pointed out that all the accounts say, “Jesus was raised from the dead.” It’s passive language, suggesting Somebody else (like God the Father) was doing the raising.

I’ve been doing this work for nearly thirty-eight years, and I don’t have it figured out. Whenever I try to explain the Trinity to kids, I oversimplify it. Then I go back to the books and discover I was teaching a fifth century heresy. I was trying to make Monophysites out of little kids.

Like I said: Trinity is a capital-m Mystery. The 17^th chapter of John is ushering us into it. Jesus, distinct from the Father, prays in communion with the Father. They are distinct and they are One. I get it, mostly. This is big, really big. I take it as truth, but I don’t entirely understand.

But here is I do understand: prayer is the practice of relationship. Through Jesus, God has reclaimed us as the Beloved Children. We belong to God, distinct from the selfish and destructive ways of the world. Because prayer practices relationship, it’s possible to pray without words. There’s a kind of dwelling. Or what Jesus calls “abiding.” It’s being still, being quiet, being held. In this quiet, we trust. We release our worries and fears. We open our hands – and therefore our hearts and minds – to the Presence which is best described as “life.” The life of eternity.

When the well-intentioned Baptists down my street ask, “Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ,” I return the smile and say, “I pray.” Prayer is the relationship. These days, my prayers are a lot less verbal, a lot less verbose, and have more of a sense of hovering, of seeking the Presence of God and remaining within it. If there’s a need, I bring it into the Presence. If there is somebody in need, I carry that person into the Light. The God I’ve met in Jesus knows what they need, knows what is best. What he desires for them is what he desires for all: Life. Abundant, Everlasting, Well-Illumined Life.

This is what is on my mind and on my heart, on the day when we “set aside” normal Presbyterians for service as elders and deacons. We ask a lot of them: care for our people and reach out to our community, plan worship services and deliver the flowers, oversee budgets and encourage the rest of us to underwrite them, take care of this building and build the people who pass through its doors.

Yet we ask at least two things more.

The first is the most obvious. They are called to serve as leaders of the church. On the face of it, the church is a very human community. There are differences of opinions in any group of people. Different points of view, different experiences, different joys and sorrows, different stations in life. Diversity is a given. Monoculture is impossible. How can we possibly remain as one?

The answer is in this prayer from Jesus. He prays it on the eve of his cross, the singular event in which he takes away the sins of the world. What holds us together is self-giving love of God shown through Jesus, by which we are claimed together as a community. We are not here because the shape of this building, the songs that we sing, the ways that we worship, the economic status of those who are here, the places where we serve, or the adjectives that the world foists upon us. All of us are here because we are forgiven and loved. Elders and deacons don’t let us ever forget that. We are included in God’s Beloved Community.

The second thing we ask of our elders and deacons is keep us in prayer. To pray for us, of course, and for the rest of us to pray for them – yet greater than this, it means to keep us grounded in the continuing relationship with Father, Son, and Spirit. The great invitation of the Gospel is to dwell in the Presence of the Holy One-in-Three who is Three-in-One. With words, silence, or deeds, to abide in Jesus as he offers to abide with us.

This is to know God, and to know God is life eternal.

To that end, let us pray: (after silence) Holy One, grant us the fullness of your presence, that we may know you, the only true God, now and forever, and that we may know Jesus Christ whom you have sent. In the light of your Spirit, we pray. Amen.

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

Abide with Me

John 14:1-14
Easter 5
May 7, 2023

William G. Carter

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.

And you know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”

I don’t know what you were talking about this week, but I overheard conversation about King Charles III, freshly crowned yesterday. The topic was not the coronation ceremony, which was opulent, extravagant, and included more fancy hats than the Kentucky Derby. No, there was curiosity about where the King would reside.

Buckingham Palace is the official royal home in London. It’s a modest residence of 829,000 square feet and has 775 rooms. Sadly, it’s going to be renovated for the next three or four years, so the King and his bride need another place to live.

Fortunately, he has some options. There’s Balmoral Castle, up north in Scotland. That’s a family house which he inherited when his mother passed. When Charles visits there, he becomes a temporary Presbyterian. The house is smaller, but there are 150 other buildings on the 50,000-acre estate. Lot of room if he chooses to go.

There’s also the Windsor Castle, a favorite residence of his mother, the Queen. Or there’s the Holyrood house in Edinburgh, the Highgrove House in Gloucestershire, among others. In all, King Charles now owns seven palaces, ten castles, twelve homes, and 56 cottages. And I’ll bet he has enough money to afford a night in any Holiday Inn he desires. Frankly, I don’t care.

Yet when Jesus says his Father has a big house, I lean forward. Why? Because he promises a place there for you and me. It’s an extraordinary promise. For many of us, it was fueled by the King James Version of that verse, “In my Father’s house are many mansions.”

Wow, just imagine that! If it is God’s house, it must be a magnificent house. Extravagant, opulent. Marble staircases inside, sidewalks of gold outside. It must be enormous, if as the King James Bible said, it’s going to contain many mansions within.

That word “mansion” has sparked a lot of wishful thinking, especially for those who live in a shack down here. How many sermons have preached heaven as a reward? You can hear them now: “Life may be difficult this time around, but when we get to heaven, it will be magnificent. You may be poor, needy, or sick, but after you die, welcome to Downton Abbey.”

This hope has fueled all kinds of Gospel songs. Here is one song from the 1880’s:

  A mansion is waiting in glory, My Savior has gone to prepare;
  The ransomed who shine in its beauty, will dwell in that city so fair.
  Oh, home above, I’m going to dwell in that home;
  Oh, home of love, get ready, poor sinner, and come.[1]

Yet imagine the dismay when the National Council of Churches commissioned a new Bible translation in 1952. The Revised Standard Version rendered the verse differently. Instead of offering many mansions, the RSV promised “many rooms.” In my Father’s house, there are many rooms. That makes more logistical sense. A house has a lot of rooms. In an ecumenical age, there can be a Presbyterian room, a Roman Catholic room, a Baptist room, and as many rooms as God will provide.

For some believers, this had to be a letdown. Just imagine some poor soul inquiring at St. Peter’s gate, “Where is my mansion?” And Peter replies, “Sorry, pal, all you get is a room.” The reservation has been downgraded. Oh, it’s still a luxury resort: the food is fine, the weather is magnificent, and every golf swing makes a hole in one. And it is God’s house. It must be better than our houses. The hope is still there.

And yet, did you hear how the verse was translated today? “In my Father’s house, there are many dwelling places.” Dwelling places – that’s how the 1990 New Revised Standard Version renders the text. “Many dwelling places.” Where does that come from? Where indeed?

Here’s the answer. It comes from the rest of the Gospel of John. If you read the book, John is always talking about dwelling places. 

It’s there as early as chapter one. Two of John the Baptist’s disciples see Jesus. They ask, “Rabbi, where is your dwelling place?” He invited them to come and see, so they went to his dwelling place and there they dwelt with him (1:38-39). It is the same terminology as our text.

And it emerges from a central theme in the Gospel of John. In the opening paragraphs of the book, the Gospel writer says Jesus didn’t stay far off in heaven. No, he came down here. Quite literally it says the Word of God “pitched his tent among us.” His dwelling place is right here. That is the great truth of John’s Gospel – the incarnation, the Son of God dwelling with us.

When the word translated as “dwelling place” becomes a verb, it becomes one of John’s favorite verbs. He uses it no less than 41 times. To dwell means to abide or stay or remain. So, Jesus looks at his disciples on their last night together, and says, “I am the Vine, you are the branches. Stay with me and I will stay with you (15:4-7).” It’s the same word. Stay with me, dwell with me, remain with me. 

You may notice that Jesus is not deferring a promise until we die. He is making an invitation here and now, a present-tense offer to live with him, and for him to live with us. What Jesus offers is not a reward but a relationship. He is not pitching an imaginary castle on a cloud. Rather he invites us to a continuing friendship as One who loves us. 

There is a dwelling place because Jesus goes to prepare it for us. The words we hear today are Last Supper words. In that context, his “going” means his going to the cross. His “coming again” is his return after the resurrection. He goes to prepare for us, and returns to claim us as his own. His cross and resurrection are the Way he welcomes us to share his life. 

Does this mean we don’t get a castle after we die? I can’t say; answering that question is way above my pay grade. What I hear Jesus promise is what the scriptures have promised to us elsewhere. Like the last line of the beloved 23rd Psalm: “I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” His promise, his invitation, is to live with God.

Now, when I heard that verse as a child, I groaned. “Dwell in the house of the Lord forever”? My parents were among the last to leave coffee hour on Sunday mornings. I never thought I would get out of that church. It seemed I would dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

What further study revealed is that is the Jewish way of describing the relationship between the Eternal God and God’s people. It doesn’t mean you will be crazy-glued to a pew and stuck there forever. No, no, it is a way to speak of living in “the Way” of God, elsewhere described as a “walk.” Walking in God’s Way is the way we live. God’s life becomes our life. All other distractions fall away as we dwell in this truth.

For the Gospel of John, the central invitation of Easter truth is dwelling with Jesus. He goes to the cross to prepare a dwelling place for us. He comes back, back from the grave, alive to invite us into his life. If we dwell with him here and now, we live with him forever. Life goes on, eternally with Jesus. We live with Jesus - who came from God to live with us. The promise begins now and continues even when this life concludes.

So how do we do this? How do we make our dwelling place with Christ? Not later, but now? How do we walk in the Way, receive the Truth, and live the life? The answer is not complicated. He has already given us three clues.

The first thing we do is listen to him. We listen. We pray to screen out all competing voices, and we listen. Today his opening word is, “Let not your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust in me.” This is where abiding begins. We listen to him. His Word gives us the freedom to look over the shoulder of all our pressing concerns.

Worry and fretting are natural human reactions to trouble, but God has befriended us in Jesus. As real as our worries may be, we hand them over to the God who is greater than ourselves. Trust is a matter of the heart. Trust can inform the mind and direct the will. So we listen, and we trust. 

There’s something else we can do, something more than listen. We can dwell. We can inhabit his words. We must stay where we are. There is a profound spiritual lesson, in an American culture that tempts us to flit around and never sink our roots into a single place. What if we were to inhabit the “dwelling place” Christ offers and truly sink into his words?

We might find that, rather than be confined, we are deepened. I like what Henry David Thoreau wrote about sinking into his hometown: “I have traveled widely in Concord.” Abiding there meant paying attention there. He noticed what he previously had missed. Imagine sinking into the words of Jesus, savoring a phrase at a time, chewing on each metaphor, receiving the wisdom. As we dwell in his words, we discover what the speeding tourist will never see.

One thing more: we live the life. We welcome the living Word of Christ, let it dwell in us. Then we get on with living. There are friends to love, enemies to forgive, bread to bake, music to create, lawns to mow, e-mails to answer, a forest to enjoy. Next week, we have mothers to remember and cherish.

I like the story the late Eugene Peterson told about his grandson. A preacher and a scholar, Peterson was highly regarded as a spiritual writer and Bible translator. His young grandson would visit and ask, “What are you doing, Grandpa?” He would tell him, and the boy would tootle off. After a while, the grandson returned with a baseball and glove, and said, “Come on, Grandpa. No more God-talk.”

They would go outside and play catch. Or go kayaking. Or go for a long walk. Or watch the bald eagles and the rough-legged hawks. No more God-talk. Let’s get on with living.

This invitation lingers for you and me. We can let our hearts be troubled, or we can trust God who comes before, dwells in, and follows after, all things. We dream for an escape from the troubles of this world, or we can welcome the One in our midst who still speaks in the power of his Word. We can jump around from place to place, looking for something, somewhere, that can give us peace, hope, and joy. Or we can sink our roots into Christ and find our home.

For as Jesus declares, “Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them. And we will come to them and make our home with them.” (John 14:23)

Easter reveals this promise. We don’t have to wait until the afterlife to dwell with Christ. Jesus Christ is our true Home. We abide in him, with him, forever. Can you trust that?

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

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[1] “A Mansion is Waiting in Glory,” D. S. Warner. https://hymnary.org/text/a_mansion_is_waiting_in_glory

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

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[1] “A Mansion is Waiting in Glory,” D. S. Warner. https://hymnary.org/text/a_mansion_is_waiting_in_glory

Is There Another Way?

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

William G. Carter

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

B.Y.O.F.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy Halitosis

Bishop W.G. Mildew and Slowtu B. Leave

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

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

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

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

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

Tom: And who might that be?

Nate: Jesus.

Tom: Who?

Nate: Jesus

Tom: Say that again!

Nate: Jesus!

Tom: No way!

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

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

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

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

Tom:  Of course I do.

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

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

Nate: Tom, he’s back. 

Tom: What do you mean he’s back?

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

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

Nate: No, Tom, he’s here.

Tom: Where?

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

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

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

Tom: (pause). You’re kidding.

Nate: His wounds…from the crucifixion.

Tom: Ghosts don’t have wounds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom: This is inconceivable.

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

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

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

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

Nate: But wait, there’s more!

Tom: I think you’ve told me enough.

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

Tom: What?!

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

Tom: Where?

Nat: What do you mean, ‘where’?

Tom: Where is he sending us?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom: He…what?

Nate: He breathed on us…

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

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

Tom: What is that breath like?

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

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

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

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

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

Tom:      Can I bring anything?

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

Written by Bill Carter and Jim Thyren, April 2023