Lent 5B – 2006, Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 51:11-16, Hebrews 5:1-10, John 12:20-33 April 2, 2006 The Rev. J. Brian Ponder Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen. I must be honest with you. I found today’s Gospel lesson somewhat hard to take on. At Monday’s staff meeting, the time when we as a staff usually consider the upcoming Gospel lesson in the context of noonday prayers, today’s lesson from John got very little response from my colleagues. I think I said something like, “The whole thing just sounds pieced together.” And Bill said something like, “I don’t remember ever preaching on this one!” … It was quickly pointed out that he’d missed the opportunity yet again, since he and Diane are overseas today! After that and a chuckle, we all just kind of sat with it for a moment or two and then continued on with our prayers. Our usually fruitful conversation concerning the text seemed a little less fruit-filled than I had hoped for … especially since I’m the one standing here today! … We’ll see where the Spirit takes us this morning! As we consider this passage from John’s gospel, there are some things you should know. Perhaps most important is that this moment, this encounter and what turns into a soliloquy of sorts by Jesus marks the beginning of the end of Jesus’ public ministry. It’s a timely vignette with which to be presented on this the fifth Sunday of Lent. Our calendar moves us closer to the marking of Jesus’ final days on earth, and Jesus now reaches the final days of his ministry—no coincidence. Here at the outset of the lesson, Philip and Andrew meet a group of Greek-speakers who want to meet this Jesus. They have heard about him. They want to see for themselves. They want to see with their own eyes, to know Jesus—or at least they think they do. We’re not sure whether these are Greek-speaking Jews, or if they’re Gentiles, or if they represent a mixture of folks. We’re just not sure. … They are however, as we’re told, a group of Greeks who want to keep the Passover festival. … They want to celebrate, so we know at the very least, they are “seekers” interested with the keeping the tradition, they’re concerned with participating in the proscribed rituals, and they’re seeking connection. … I wonder just what it was what they were looking for! … Philip and Andrew probably wondered the same thing. Philip and Andrew are the two of Jesus’ 12 disciples who had Greek names, so perhaps it’s not strange that they are the ones given some prominence in the story. What seems odd though, is that Philip, when approached by the crowd, isn’t quite sure what to do with them, or himself. He fumbles. He stumbles when the Greeks come seeking Jesus, and it’s almost as if he’s got to get Andrew’s permission, or better yet, Andrew’s counsel, in order to make the next move. … He seeks out another in order to fill in the gaps—not tension that the Greeks have created by their asking to see Jesus, mind you, but “gaps” in the response to the request. … Philip just isn’t clear about what he should do. He’s wary, guarded … perhaps of intentions, or motives. … They’ve come seeking something—further knowledge, teaching, healing, a miracle, who knows what—and Philip, at least in my take of the story, doesn’t consider himself, singularly capable of clearing way—of making opportunity for the introduction. … It makes one wonder just how well Philip (or Andrew) knew this Jesus … just how “real” this Jesus was to them! It’s not clear just how close the Greeks were able to come into Jesus’ presence that day, because we’re told that the two followers went to tell Jesus of the wishes of the crowd. The two made their way to Jesus. … We do know, however, that the crowd did come into the very presence of God that day, through the booming, thunderous voice that resounded there. … My guess is that they got more than they were bargaining for, … but as usual they just didn’t get it. The Greeks didn’t get it. The disciples didn’t get it. … Only Jesus gets it. He, it would seem, was the only one fully open to receiving something that day—not as a novelty, not as something that could be possessed or owned, but something real, a kernel of truth. … This is what makes the monologue so important to the story. It’s not about disjuncture, after all, as I had thought of it in staff meeting. The aside is necessary as an unfolding in the moment, foreshadowing that which would unfold in the coming days … people coming into presence and not getting it, or maybe only getting it at some point down the road and in so doing, being for ever blessed by it all. I’ve come to an understanding that we can’t consider this text, this lesson, this rich part of our story without some understanding of the theology of the Cross—just what it meant, just what it accomplished, just what it continues to reveal in this world of ours. The Cross is the place of death. … It is that place of shame and ridicule and hatred and suffering and torment and indignity and the worst that humankind can offer or withhold or conjure, depending on the vantage. It’s the place of compromised and lost humanity. It’s the place of degradation and everything wrong with this world of ours, and this, my friends, is that to which we, only a few weeks ago, were again called to take up in this world of ours, to own, to carry in these very lives of ours. … The Cross is the place of complete disparity and total depravity. And the placard affixed to the Cross is not only the charge, the indictment against Jesus, but the joke as well. … This is the Cross. … But there’s so much more. The Cross, just like the sown grain, is that which bears new life. It is the place of light and life. It is place of redemption and wholeness. It is the place of complete parity and total righteousness. It is the place of atonement—“at one-ment”—of re-membering, of connection, of equality, of reconciliation of true and utter blessedness. It is the place from which Christ is glorified. It is place from which Christ reigns … reigns over all, because the placard is also truth—much more so than joke or indictment. … It’s all in the vantage, isn’t it? When approached about Jesus, Philip doesn’t know how to respond. When Andrew is approached, he’s not sure how to respond. … The two talk between themselves, and they’re still not sure just what of this Jesus they’re willing to share. Only after conversation, do they dare approach Christ, the first Vestry meeting maybe—putting their heads together about what’s best, or how to proceed. … And the Greeks, I’m not so sure they really knew what they were asking for. … They got a direct audience with God, and they just didn’t get it. … “It was thunder!” some of them exclaimed. “No, an angel!” others shouted. … The missed opportunity, folks, was that they didn’t “get it” that the voice was for them, and not Jesus. … Jesus was confirmed in the knowledge of who he was, and this was something that Philip and Andrew couldn’t control by acting as gatekeepers, deciding who to let in or keep out and at what moments. And it was something that the would-be believers would either believe or not believe for themselves … if they would, if they could, be open enough to the workings of God in their world—in our world. We’re now five weeks into this Lenten journey. What have we learned from it all? Our Good News is that this is our story, our inheritance, not ours for the keeping, but ours for the sharing. Our Good News is—and this lessons helps seal the deal—that Jesus is for all, not ours to be wrapped up in neat little packages, not ours to decided who’s let in, not ours to confine, but our Jesus to which and to whom we are invited to become conformed. … That’s the other juxtaposition of the Cross … The Cross is about humility. It’s about vulnerability. It’s about reverent submission through the sacrificing of one’s self for others. It’s about realizing that we do not belong to ourselves. It’s about willful obedience—not Jesus giving up his will to that of God the Father, not ours either, but finding freedom of being in the context of conformity of wills, so that the wills become discernable, realizable … that they become one. That’s the blessedness of reciprocating obedience … of covenant, mutuality and restored relationship … indeed our calling in the name of Christ. And it compels us to live beyond ourselves. The Cross compels us to show this forth in our own day, bearing much fruit in our little corners of the world, bearing witness to the work of redemption in this world, the reign of Christ from all places of death and degradation … for you, for me, for us, for them (whoever “they” may be) … for all. May we ever strive for Christ-likeness. May we ever walk in the shadow of the Cross. Amen.