Tag Archives: Lent 5B

Do We See Jesus: A Sermon for Lent 5B, 2024

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March 17, 2024

Among the many things that continue to fascinate and inspire me about our tradition, our worship, and our liturgical calendar, are the ways that themes reverberate and ring changes across the liturgical seasons and years. I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks about how my experience and practice during Lent have changed over the years. In fact, I remarked to some clergy colleagues that I just don’t seem to have the energy and desire to engage in the sorts of spiritual disciplines and activities that used to be a central part of Lent for me. I think a bit of that can be attributed to the way in which Lent has been shaped for me by the experience of the pandemic—the shutdown, the isolation, the widespread suffering and panic. 

Still, the themes of Lent have their way of working on me, sometimes quite subtly. It can be a hymn, or in today’s worship, Psalm 51. As we were reciting and chanting the verses from Psalm 51 this morning, I was reminded that we had said this same psalm on Ash Wednesday, after the imposition of the ashes. Then, I and you were hoping for a Holy Lent, a time when we might deepen our relationship with God in Christ, experience repentance and forgiveness of our sins and grow spiritually. Now, as Lent draws to a close, those verses remind me of all the ways my actions and discipline in Lent have fallen short of what I had hoped for, another missed opportunity. I am grateful again, and continuously, for God’s mercy and grace.

I doubt few of us are sad that Lent is drawing to a close. There’s Easter to look forward to and the excitement and new life that arrives with Spring. Today is the 5th Sunday in Lent. It was traditionally known as Passion Sunday,–and its focus shifts from themes of spiritual discipline and penitence, toward an emphasis on the cross and Christ’s passion. 

We are also at a turning point in John’s gospel. The Sunday lectionary doesn’t provide us with a lot of help in understanding the overall structure of John’s gospel, but our reading today brings to an end the first half of the gospel. In the first twelve chapters we are introduced to Jesus’ public ministry. We see him engaging with the Jewish authorities, with the crowds in Jerusalem and elsewhere. Today, we encounter Greeks. From this point on, however, Jesus will focus on teaching his disciples. In John’s gospel, the Last Supper extends for four chapters—from 13-17, with a lengthy Farewell discourse in which Jesus prepares his disciples for his departure from them. His only interactions with people other than disciples comes during his arrest and trial.

Even as this passage marks a transition in John’s gospel, it also returns us to the very first chapter; to the powerful and symbolic scene of the Jesus calling his first disciples. For Philip and Andrew appeared there as well, as the first two disciples mentioned by name. Now, Greeks come to them imploring them, “Sir, we would like to see Jesus.” Back in chapter 1, when Jesus discovered Andrew and another disciple following him, he turned and asked them, “What are you looking for?” They replied, “Where are you staying?” To which Jesus replied, “Come and see.” There’s something else fascinating about all this. Philip and Andrew—those two names are derived from Greek, not Hebrew or Aramaic, so are we meant to imagine that it wasn’t an accident that of all the disciples, the Greeks came to those two?

Now it is other seekers who come looking for Jesus, wanting to see him—Greeks, John tells us. It’s likely that either one of two possibilities are intended. Perhaps these Greeks were Greek-speaking Jews, having come from another part of the Roman empire to observe the Passover in Jerusalem. 

It’s also possible that they were proselytes—among those non-Jews who were attracted to the high ethical standards of Judaism, and while they hadn’t undergone full conversion, they observed some of Jewish law and worshipped in synagogues. Either is possible, and either makes John’s larger point, that this is the moment that Jesus’ ministry and message is expanding beyond the Jewish community, to the whole world.

What’s curious in this episode is that it’s not clear whether the Greeks are present throughout the scene. They are never mentioned again. We don’t know if they saw Jesus.

But that’s not really the point. It’s another, a final opportunity for the gospel writer, and Jesus, to reiterate central themes of the gospel. 

There is a great deal more I could say about these few verses, but I want to focus on Jesus’ final statement. The passage concludes with Jesus’ statement, “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” This is the heart of John’s gospel, the heart of Jesus’ ministry and person. In the cross, we see Jesus, in the cross, on the cross, Jesus draws us and the whole world to himself. In the cross, on the cross, we see God’s love for us.

Ponder that statement a moment, “And I, when I am lifted up, will draw all people to myself.” Do you get the significance of it? We’re inclined to think salvation is something we need to do, to get right, to believe the right thing. We are inclined to wonder whether we are saved or not, or if we certain we’re saved, whether those people over there are or should be. Jesus, the cross, are often divisive rather than uniting but here Jesus says two things of significance: first, that it’s for everyone, and second, that he is doing the work, he is drawing all of us to him, to the cross.

These are words of great comfort, of reassurance. They remind us that the cross is about love, God’s love for us, Christ’s love for us and for the world, and that the power of that love is drawing us, all of us, the whole world to the cross, to Jesus, to God. That is the God, the Christ we see on the cross.

Did the Greeks see Jesus? In the gospel of John, “seeing” is a prelude to faith, at most, it is an inadequate, partial faith. It is a first step, an entrance and first exposure to the abundant life that is offered through relationship with and in Jesus Christ.

Do we see Jesus? Do we see Jesus in our shared life and worship as the body of Christ, do we see Jesus in the bread and wine of the Eucharist, in the proclamation of the Word of God. Do we see Jesus in our outreach in the community? Do we see Jesus?

What do others see when they come to us? Do they see, in the quality of our relationships, in the way we support and help each other, in our interactions with each other and with our neighbors, do they see Jesus? 

People come to us asking, sometimes overtly and openly, but more often quietly, leaving the question unspoken; they ask “We wish to see Jesus.” Do we even hear them? And if they are persistent, if they have the courage to ask the question out loud, what is our response? Embarrassed silence? 

As we continue to explore our mission and ministry in this neighborhood and city, as we seek to reach out to our neighbors, I would hope that these questions are at the heart of our work and our reflection. To those who come seeking Jesus, wishing to see Jesus, I hope that we can show them in our common life and in our work, that Jesus is present among us fills us with life and love, and that through us, they may not only see Jesus but enter into the abundant life that comes through relationship with him.

And for those who do not come in search of Jesus, who are blinded or scarred, uninterested or opposed, are we able to show them that their assumptions are wrong, that among us, in us, through us, Jesus offers new life and hope.

Can we see, know, and share, that when Jesus is lifted up from the earth, his love draws all people to himself? 

We would see Jesus: A Sermon for the 5th Sunday in Lent, 2021

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5 Lent—March 21, 2021

Where are you spiritually today? Are you, like so many others, in a place of darkness and despair—the pandemic continuing, a return to life as we knew it a year ago apparently as far away as ever? Is your despair or hopelessness related to news this week, the continued suffering on our borders as people seek a better life? Or are you, as so many of us are, devastated by the senseless and racist killing of Asian-American women in Atlanta suburbs, a heinous crime perpetrated by yet another good white boy who “just had a bad day.” Are you wondering about the future of our country, our neighborhood, our congregation?

Or are you in a very different place? It’s spring after all, and in spite of the snow we had earlier this week, it feels and looks a bit like spring today. We are emerging from the pandemic, perhaps you’ve been vaccinated and are eager to reconnect face to face, with no masks intervening, with family and friends you’ve not seen in person in months or over a year.

We’re in something of a holding pattern. We know that it’s likely the pandemic will lose its grips as more people get vaccinated and we approach herd immunity. It’s likely that everything we’ve put on hold for over a year, whether it’s school, or a vacation, or a meal inside at a favorite restaurant, is not too far away. We even expect that one Sunday, in the not-too-distant future, we will be able to gather for public worship here in Grace Church. 

It may be, in fact, that there’s so much going on in our lives and in the world around us, so much to worry and wonder about, jobs, school, our personal, family, community’s, nation’s future, that little time is left for us to think about or focus on our own spiritual growth or that of our families. We may even be catching this service at a free moment in our lives a day or two from now, when there is a moment of unexpected or unplanned peace and quiet in our lives. In the unfamiliar world we are negotiating right now, the sure foundations of faith in God and a relationship with Jesus may seem more elusive than ever.

Still there’s that longing in us, the desire to connect with something deeper, a yearning for God that may be often unexpressed or even unnoticed but still beckons to us, even as we feel guilt that we aren’t able to make the time, find the energy, or, as I talked about it in my sermon on the first Sunday in Lent, to observe a “Holy Lent.”

To us, to the world we live in, to the spiritual chaos some of us may be experiencing, today’s gospel reading speaks with comfort and hope. 

The disparate way we encounter the Gospel of John in the Sunday eucharistic lectionary prevents us from comprehending its overall structure and discerning its deeper themes. We read from John each year during Lent, often during the season after Epiphany, on the Sundays of Easter, and this year, Mark’s year, we will hear a series of readings from John 6—the discourse on the Bread of Life. Our reading today comes from chapter 12 which is a transitional chapter. So far in the gospel, we have been introduced to Jesus’ public ministry of healing and conflict with the religious elite of Palestinian Judaism. He also has a series of encounters with individuals like Nicodemus to which we alluded last week, and the Samaritan woman. Beginning with chapter 13, there’s a very different focus. The scenes are first of the last supper and then of Jesus’ arrest, trial, and crucifixion, and finally, of course, his resurrection and appearances to the disciples.

So what we have before us today is the end, perhaps the climax of Jesus’ public ministry. It occurs just after Jesus’ triumphal entry, in the runup to the Passover, which is the festival mentioned in the beginning of today’s gospel. Some Greeks come to Jesus’ disciples Philip and Andrew, and ask “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” This is one of those details from John that I find endlessly fascinating. Philip and Andrew both appear in chapter 1, as disciples called by Jesus. Their names are both Greek in origin, as well. While Jesus told Andrew when Andrew asked him where he was staying, “Come and see,” now it is others, Greeks, who want to see Jesus.

Just as in chapter 3 and the encounter with Nicodemus, it’s not quite clear from this text that the Greeks actually do see Jesus or are present for Jesus’ words. Now there’s a great deal that could be said about Jesus’ statements here, a great deal about what they tell us about the gospel’s overarching themes and how it relates to the other three gospels, but I don’t have time for any of that. Instead, I would like to focus the rest of our time on a single verse: “And I, when I am lifted up, will draw all people to myself.” 

This is the heart of John’s gospel, the heart of Jesus’ ministry and person. In the cross, we see Jesus, in the cross, on the cross, Jesus draws us and the whole world to himself. In the cross, on the cross, we see God’s love for us.

Did the Greeks see Jesus? In the gospel of John, “seeing” is a prelude to faith, at most, it is an inadequate, partial faith. It is a first step, an entrance and first exposure to the abundant life that is offered through relationship with and in Jesus Christ.

I see myself, I see us and hear us in the Greeks’ plea, “Sir, we would see Jesus.” Separated from each other and from the body of Christ, encountering one another only virtually, seeing, experiencing Christ through the mediation of technology with all of its noise and frustration, we would see Jesus. We long to see Jesus. We struggle to make sense of the devastation of the pandemic, the deaths of 530,000 Americans. We struggle to make sense of the deep divisions in our nation and community, the violence that erupts from and deepens those divisions. We struggle to make sense of the pain experienced by people of color, by African-Americans, Asian-Americans, the deep racism that pervades our society. The heart of our nation is breaking; the heart of American Christianity is breaking.

We would see Jesus. Jesus, lifted high on the cross, the victim of imperial violence and oppression, the victor over hate and oppression. We would see Jesus, but our eyes are blinded by tears, and by our own insensitivity to our participation in the oppressive and violent systems in which we live and from which we profit.

We would see Jesus but our own blindness and self-interest clouds our vision. Nonetheless, Jesus, lifted high on the cross, draws all people to himself. His outstretched arms beckon to us, invite us in, welcome us

May we see Jesus and may his love heal our hearts and our vision, that we can see our fellow human beings with love, lament and repent our sins, and create the beloved community to which we are called and in which all can flourish.