January 20, 2008 + Epiphany 2, Year A |
Wicker Park Lutheran Church |
|---|---|
| John 1:29 – 42 | Pastor Julie Eileen Ryan |
Let the cosmos praise you, Lord!
You are holy, you are whole.
You are always, ever more
than we ever understand.
You are always at hand.
Blessed are you coming near.
Blessed are you coming here
to your church in wine and bread,
raised from soil, raised from dead. [1]
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb, and *saw* that the stone had been removed. She bent over to *look* into the tomb and *saw* angels; told them, “They’ve taken away my Lord—I don’t know where.” Mary turned around and *saw* Jesus standing there, but she *didn’t know* that it was Jesus. “Woman, why are you weeping? *Whom* are you *looking* for?” “Sir, if you’ve carried him away, tell me *where.*”
Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “*Rabbouni!*” (which means Teacher). Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have *seen* the Lord!”
That night, Jesus came to a house where doors were locked, out of fear. Nevertheless, he stood among the disciples and said, “Peace be with you,” and they rejoiced when they *saw* the Lord. But one of the disciples, Thomas, wasn’t there. So when the others said, “We have *seen* the Lord,” Thomas said, “Unless I *see* and touch the mark of the nails, I will not believe.”
One week later, the doors of the house were no longer locked, only shut. This time Thomas was present when Jesus came to stand among them and bless them with peace. Then Jesus said to Thomas, “Put your finger here *and see* my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side.” Draw close, draw near, and look. *Come and see.*
Before the crucifixion, during the last supper, they had kept asking him, “Where are you going?” and admitted that they had no idea even of the way, much less the destination. And Jesus had said, “You have pain now; but I will *see* you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.” But they hadn’t a clue what he’d meant.
At the last supper, it was all, “Where are you going?” At the tomb, “Where did they take him?” But in this morning’s gospel, they ask, “Where are you *staying*?” Where are you spending the sabbath weekend, Rabbi? Can we come with? It’s 4:00 in the afternoon, in the wintertime, and the sun is setting; soon it will be too late to travel. Can we accompany you?
It’s the flip side of the conversation along the road to Emmaus, between two crucifixion-shocked disciples and a stranger—the only stranger in Jerusalem, it seems, who doesn’t know the things about Jesus of Nazareth that have taken place over the last few days. As they come near the village, the stranger walks ahead as if he is going on. But they urge him strongly, saying, “*Stay* with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he goes in to *stay* with them.
At the tomb, Mary Magdalene perceives Jesus, supposing him to be the gardener, but doesn’t know him—doesn’t recognize him—until he calls her by name. At which she turns again, and exclaims, “Rabbouni!” “My teacher!” In this morning’s gospel, it is Jesus who *turns around* and *sees* the former disciples of John now tagging along behind *him*; and Simon to whom Jesus gives a new *name*: Cephas. Peter. “Rock.”
At the tomb, the risen Christ asks Mary Magdalene, “*Whom* are you looking for?” Today, the newly-baptized Anointed One—the Messiah, the Christ—asks his new followers, “*What* are you looking for?”
At the end as well as the beginning we have a searching, and a seeing without comprehension, perceiving without understanding; and then a calling by name and an invitation to draw near, and the whole world cracked open as never before: “My Lord and my God!” “I have seen the Lord!” “When Jesus was at table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.” “We have found the Messiah.”
At the end, as at the beginning—indeed, throughout the gospel of John—we have a turning, a movement, from not knowing to coming to know; from not seeing to seeing clearly; from not believing to believing and following and testifying in Christ’s name. [2]
Theologian James Alison wrote a book with a magnificent title: “The Joy of Being Wrong.” It’s about looking at original sin (you know: what keeps family therapists in business) through Easter eyes. The resurrection so completely re-orders reality that it’s no longer a threat to look *back* and *see* what we missed, how we failed, what we got wrong. We start from a completely new vantage point. We’re so amazed by the view that we can’t stop chattering about how it compares to the limited perspective we had before. We take delight in *looking back* over the journey of discovery. Death no longer has dominion. [3]
In today’s gospel, John the Baptist not once but twice says of Jesus, “I myself did not know him.” How about that! I even saw the Spirit descending from heaven and floating over his head, but I sure didn’t know what it meant until the God who sent me to baptize explained it to me in so many words. Isn’t that a hoot! Here I’d been, baptizing with water, *just* so he could be revealed—here I’d been, *talking* about the one who was before and ahead of me—and I didn’t even *recognize* him when he first showed up. But now “I myself *have seen* and have testified”: *LOOK*: this is the one, the Son of God. *Here* is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! Imagine that!
Brian Greene is a physicist who writes for the rest of us. In “The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time, and the Texture of Reality,” he says, “Progress can be slow. Promising ideas, more often than not, lead nowhere. That’s the nature of scientific research. Yet, even during periods of minimal progress, I’ve found that the effort spent puzzling and calculating has only made me feel a closer connection to the cosmos. I’ve found that you can come to know the universe not only by resolving its mysteries, but also by immersing yourself within them. Answers are great. Answers confirmed by experiment are greater still. But even answers that are ultimately proven wrong represent the result of deep engagement with the cosmos—an engagement that sheds intense illumination on the questions, and hence on the universe itself. Even when the rock associated with a particular scientific investigation happens to roll back to square one, we nevertheless learn something and our experience of the cosmos is enriched.” [4]
“In pushing the rock up the mountain, we undertake the most exquisite and noble of tasks: to unveil this place called home, to revel in the wonders we discover, and to hand off our knowledge to those who follow.” [5] “To unveil this place we call home”: “Where are you staying?” “To revel in the wonders we discover”: “Come and see.” “And to hand off our knowledge to those who follow”: John the Baptist pointed out Jesus to people who had been followers of his own; after Andrew had begun to follow and stay with Jesus, Andrew went and *found* his brother and brought him along as well.
“What are you looking for?” Jesus asks. “Where are you staying?” they respond. “Come and see,” he beckons. Come closer. Hang around. Find out. And in finding out, they discover that what they’ve *found* is the Messiah—and then they can’t wait to *find* other people and bring them along so they can *come and see* for themselves.
The end of the gospel and the beginning of the gospel sound the same themes. Does this mean that we just keep going around in circles forever? Well, yes—in the gospel of John, everything is circular—and no. The beginning already points toward the fulfillment; and the simple words at the end mean so much more because of all that has happened in the meantime. The end is not just a repetition, the recapitulation of a theme. Death and resurrection constitute an utterly new beginning. And the simplest acts shine with glory.
Every year when we take the Christmas tree down we’re surprised all over again at how much larger the room looks. We see it with new eyes. Every year at this time the days get colder, but the day*light* is growing; and we remark to each other what a relief it is to be able to see so much better than we could just a month ago. We see the light!
And what we see through the light of this gospel is the holiness and the power in everyday invitations: “Want to come over this afternoon?” “Let’s have dinner together.” “Do you have a place to stay while you’re in town? You’re welcome here.” “Come on in and let’s sit around the kitchen table.” “Coffee? Tea?” “More pizza?”
“Where are you staying?” “Stay with us.” “Come and see.” And they took the time and blessed it and shared it as something precious, just as they took the bread and blessed and broke and gave it—and their eyes were opened. This is the way our faith spreads: in opening our rooms, our shelter. In sharing our table, our food, our warmth. In giving of our selves and receiving from one another.
Scripture scholar Sandra Schneiders, writing on the gospel of John, says, “Revelation is never… ‘complete.’ Rather, Jesus’ self-revelation is his ongoing and progressive opening to his disciples of his own inner life….which is infinite in its depth and breadth and richness.” [6]
You are holy, you are whole.
You are always ever more
than we ever understand.
“Ultimately, what Jesus knows and testifies to is that God so loved the world as to desire its salvation even unto the pouring forth of God’s very self….Jesus’ witness is an invitation to accept this unreserved divine love, to respond in love, and thus to create a shared life with God. God, says Jesus, desires intimate friendship with us. The ‘place’ of that relationship is Jesus himself, in whom God is present and available. The disciple is invited to a mutual indwelling.” [7]
You are always at hand.
Blessed are you coming near,
blessed are you coming here.
“The glorified Jesus, uniting his disciples to himself by his Spirit, is indeed setting up God’s sanctuary in the world. The temple is the community, the risen body of Jesus, which has replaced his earthly body, the temple destroyed by his enemies.” [8]
To your church in wine and bread,
raised from soil, raised from dead.
“The community, then, is the key to Jesus’ ongoing presence in the world. The task of the community is to *be*, through love, Jesus’ bodily presence, and thus the giver of his Spirit, to all who will come to believe down through the ages….The community is the place of encounter between Jesus and his disciples.” [9]
Location, location, location.
And Jewish scholar Rachel Adler writes, “My favorite of the talmudic names for God is HaMakom, ‘the Place.’ God is the Place of the universe….God is not contained within the universe. It is just the locus of our rendezvous. Just as the universe is the place where I meet God, so I am the place where God meets me. I can only talk about God and to God out of my place. That is what is so important about affirming that I am made in God’s image. It establishes that I am a place where God is. I then cannot talk about God’s goodness or God’s holiness without talking about mine or about yours, because your face, too, is a place in the universe where I can see God.” [10]
“Rabbi, where are you staying?”
“Come and see.”
Let the cosmos praise you, Lord!
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