Yeshua meets John The Baptist

At this point in the season of Advent, the figure of John The Baptist features. The Gospel readings for Advent 2 & 3 both feature him, and although the focus and theme last Sunday should really be on the Prophets, I decided to do something a little different. I again used some material from the work that Debbie had put in towards writing a life of Jesus in the form of a novel "Yeshua"- some written during her illness. As she put it, she wanted to get away from "men in tea-towels" saying "yea, verily" to genuine characters - inspired by how Hilary Mantel had depicted Thomas Cromwell in Wolf Hall. 

Sadly she only got about half-way before she died. I previously read a section out in church back in 2022 and many people valued it. It was strange reading her words out loud again - especially to a room where no-one present ever met her. However, the feedback afterwards suggested that her writing could still bring new insights and inspiration to a familiar gospel story. 

We pick up the action as Yeshua [Jesus] is on his way to meet his cousin, John The Baptist.

Chapter 4 - Baptism

He had never seen the roads so quiet. He knew the road to Jerusalem like the back of his hand, but he had only ever travelled it at festival time, caught up in a crowd of noisy pilgrims. This silent, solitary journey was a new experience.

He was used to time alone, of course, in the workshop; but there was something different about the act of walking; something that focussed the mind and the heart. One step, then another, then another. One landmark reached, then the next. Each day, a day’s journey nearer to whatever it was that was waiting for him.

Once he was in the hill country, he asked anyone he passed if they had news of John, and it wasn’t long before he began to build up a picture. Exactly how long he had been living as a solitary no one was sure, but it was clear he’d been in the wilderness for some time before his first explosive appearance at the palace in Herodium.  Apparently, he’d thrown himself into the path of the royal carriage, and quoted the scriptures at Herod for a full ten minutes, denouncing his adulterous marriage and warning him of the wrath to come. This, while wearing nothing but an animal skin, and shaking his Nazarite locks like a lion tossing his mane. Why Herod had not locked him up on the spot no one knew. The story was that he was terrified.

That was the start of it, and now, it seemed, he was everywhere; intercepting travellers on the desert roads, going from village to village, warning people of the dire state both of the nation and of their own lives. And people were listening. Well, he’d known that anyway, from what Levi had said. But now it was clear that Levi wasn’t exaggerating.  

He seemed to think something momentous was about to happen; something – someone – was coming.

“John? He’s the hope of Israel. Our leaders have sold us down the river to Rome – but John is calling us back. No more collusion! Blessed be the name of the Lord!”

“He’s preparing the way – a new Exodus from the oppressors!”

 “The Lord is on the move!” An old man gripped his wrist, his eyes staring as if he’d seen an angel, or a ghost. “That’s what he said. He has seen him! The time of our occupation will end – and it will end in fire. He has seen it all.” 

“Where will I find him?”

But the old man was muttering to himself, no longer listening.

He was just south of Jericho when, finally, a group knew where he was. Young men – no more than fifteen or sixteen, most of them – running, shouting, reciting psalms. Punching the air.

“Do you know where I’ll find John?” he called out to them.

“The Baptiser? Just keep going. Head towards the river, follow the crowds. Everyone’s out there.”

“He took us through the river – just like Moses.  We’re the new Israel!” Whoops and cheers from the rest of the group.

“No more lies from Herod. The snake!”

“We’re going to bring down the city with fire!” 

“God in heaven,” he thought to himself. “What is he saying to them?”

He was off the main road now, following the well - worn tracks towards the river, through the groves of date palm, out onto the lush green of the flood plain. In less than an hour, the sandy path had turned to mud, churned by the feet of others searching for the preacher everyone was talking about. 

He could hear them before he saw them. A general hubbub at first, echoing around the valley; then one voice, clear and sharp, splitting the air like an axe. 

“Children of Abraham! Do you think your ancestry is going to save you? Clinging to the past saves no one. Look at these stones – do they not have more of a history than any of you? Do you not think God could take them and make a thousand new children for Abraham if he pleased?”

He stopped in his tracks to listen.

“Do you know what we have become, Children of Abraham? We have become stones on the road; debris, litter, blocking the path of the One we say we worship. And do you know what time it is? It’s time to clear the road. It’s time to change. Time to stop talking about who we are, and start living it. Because believe me, there’s a judgement coming. And what I’m doing here is only the start.

You think I’m the one who can save you? Oh no. Think again. There’s one coming after me, and when he comes, you won’t know what’s hit you. All I’m doing is getting you ready for him. I’m washing you with water. When he comes, he’s going to bathe you in fire.

So come on, come into the water now. If you’re ready to confess, to turn yourself around, then come and do it now. Get washed in this water to show that you’re ready. Because the time is now, do you hear me? The time is now.”

Something inside him was moving, breaking open. They were children again, he and John, sitting in the Temple courts; he all questions, John all certainties. Everywhere there were walls, barriers. Keeping Israel pure, John said.  He had kicked the walls and hit the barriers till his hands were sore, but they had not moved, and he had been shamed into silence. 

But now, moving inside him was a spring. Bubbling up under the Temple floor, a trickle first, and then a stream, and it was welling up between the walls, pressing through the cracks, dislodging the stones, forcing a way from court to court until it was flooding every colonnade, washing over every altar. And now it was a river, hurling the rocks that had once been walls down the Temple Mount and out into the desert. 

He began to walk, and then to run, and the great, heaving sob welled up from the depths of him and shuddered through his chest. He struggled for breath. The sob ached in his throat.

The time was now. It had always been now. 

They were gathered just past the place where the river divided. The main branch flowed on down towards the sea; John was standing up to his waist in the stream that filled the wadi. Half the men of Israel seemed to be in the water with him. Yeshua watched them wading towards him, one by one. 

As each one approached him, he reached out and grasped them by the shoulders. Sometimes, there was conversation; sometimes, just his eyes searching their faces. Sometimes, he called out a scripture. Then he looked up, and prayed, and plunged them down into the muddy water, and up they came, gasping like new-borns, spluttering for breath. 

Yeshua left his outer garment and his bundle on the bank, and waded into the stream. His tunic dragged, his sandals filled with water like leaky boats. He made for a boulder, sat, pulled off his sandals and threw them back to the bank. Then he waded on, into the midst of the crowd. So many men. Boys scarcely more than children; old men who needed help to stand. Rich, poor; hard to tell with their garments shed on the river bank. Some praying; some talking; some larking around. Some desperate to be there; some just following the crowd. The river levelled them all. He was jostled and trodden on, his wet skin rubbing theirs, squelching the same mud, splashed by the same gritty water. He watched, and he waited.

And then at last John’s hands were on his shoulders. His arms seemed nothing but bone and skin and sinew, as if everything else had been melted away. Yeshua looked up, and let him stare into his face. The piercing eyes widened, then blinked. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. Then let go of his shoulders, and nodded. “I knew you would come,” he said. 

He turned away, and began to wade upstream to where the rocks divided the river. Yeshua waded after him. They leant against the rocks, as the flow of the water tried to tug them back towards the crowd.

“This is about you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know”. And he did know, although he scarcely knew what he was saying.

He wanted to say more, but the words bubbled, broke, spilled unformed into the stream. He lost all sense of how long they had been standing there. John’s face seemed to be unmaking itself, like the face of a dying man.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Baptise me” he said.

A frown. John’s eyes, confused, searching his.

“Am I wrong then?” 

“No.”

“Then I can’t baptise you. I need you to baptise me.”

He watched the clear fresh water foaming over the rocks, sparkling in the sunlight, then immersing itself in the flow, down into the mud and grit, the sweat and the spit and the dirt of his people. 

“It has to be this way. Come with me now.”

He turned towards the wadi and waded down, past the place where John had been standing, right into the midst of the crowd.  People were watching, wondering what was going on, what the Baptiser was going to do next.

“Here”, he said.

And now John’s hands again, on his shoulder, his back, and the relief of letting go was all there was, all he could feel, all he could know, and the voices around him were lost in the overwhelming of the water, and his ears were full of it, a mighty rush like the wind, and then, for a heartbeat, the sound of silence.

He let God look at him.

He was every mother’s delight as she holds her baby, every coral red sunrise over every tranquil bay. He was every flower, every tree; he was the song of every bird. He was the first day of creation, pure and flawless and good. He was what it meant to want nothing and need nothing else. And now, he was a shoot uncoiling, pushing  back up through the water to break the surface, new and yet who he had always been. He took a great gulping breath, and shook the water from his hair. Then he threw back his head, and laughed.

John was a boy again, poised on the threshold of himself, gazing into another world. “What do I do now?” he asked.

Yeshua looked at him, and his heart was filled with such tenderness he could hardly bear it. 

“Get some rest. Eat. Know that you are loved beyond all imagining.” He laid his hand on the skinny arm as gently as if John were a child, an injured bird.

“And then?”

“Keep watching. Wait. I don’t know yet.” 

“Will you stay here?”

He gazed across the wadi; so many people, so much need. He shook his head. “I have to go. The next part, I need to do alone. But I will come. I promise, I will come.” 

What did John see, as he watched him wading back to the bank? A shadow? A trick of the light? A projection of his own exhausted dreams? All of these, perhaps. He only knew that it shone, and hovered, and its presence lingered like the scent of lilies even when it was gone. 

(c) 2016 Debbie Peatman

Monday of Holy Week

 12¹ Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’

9 When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ¹⁰So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, ¹¹since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.   [NRSV]

 

One of the slightly odd things about the schedule of Bible readings that we use at this time of year is that most of this passage came up as the Sunday reading on the 3^rd of April. However, that gives us an opportunity to take another look at the reading and explore some different aspects to its message. We also get verses 9-11 as a bonus.

As we saw last time, the centre piece of the reading is when Mary breaks her jar of perfume and anoints Jesus’ feet, and we considered how investing anything in worship – whether time, energy, skills or money and precious possessions makes no sense outside the context of faith. If there were no God, then the accountants (represented here by Judas – sorry if you are an accountant!) would be right. However, if all things come from God, then of His own do we give Him.

So let’s go back and get another perspective. The Gospels suggest that Mary, Martha and their brother Lazarus have been friends of Jesus since before his public ministry began. Unlike disciples (who are friends through becoming followers) they may have known each other since they were young, although that is not recorded. In the previous chapter (Jn. 11), John has reported that Lazarus has been brought back from the dead by Jesus in an extraordinary miracle.

We should remember that women were very vulnerable in that society – often essentially being the possessions of men and depending on them – so it is no surprise that the two sisters were especially distraught when Lazarus died. Not only were they suffering an acute bereavement, but their homes and livelihoods were seriously in question. They were also angry that Jesus wasn’t there. Now, following the raising of Lazarus, all has been restored.

In another incident in Luke’s gospel, Martha is described as the activist and Mary is the one who listens to Jesus (causing tension between them), so it is no surprise that Mary is the one who demonstrates her devotion to Jesus here. She has a very expensive jar of perfume, which may have effectively been an insurance policy. It was something she could sell in an emergency to get 300 denarii (a year’s wages) which could see the family through a difficult time.

Breaking the jar open and using it in this scene means that she is letting go of that potential material security. It is a picture of her saying to Jesus that she places her trust in him over the security she could derive from ‘stuff’. How often do we worry about out material security over and above our spiritual well-being? And note that it is Mary’s to give; she feels empowered to make this extravagant gift and symbol of devotion and love.

Meanwhile Judas is a complete contrast. The Gospels are never going to give him a good press, but John seems especially keen to point out all of his shortcomings – that he would betray and that he had already stolen. But here Judas objects to the valuable perfume being used in this extravagant way. But notice that use of the perfume is not his to decide, and the anointing costs him nothing. I get a sense from this scene that we have a man with little regard for women, who thinks he should decide how they should act. And I think that’s why Jesus’ first response is “leave her alone” to defend her freedom. It’s easy to decide what other people should do when we don’t have live with the consequences or pay the cost. This was Mary’s perfume, Mary’s gift, and Mary’s worship. It was none of Judas’ business.

His defence is to point out that the poor could have been fed, so Jesus responds with the much misunderstood “⁸You always have the poor with you” (John 12:8)

In fact, Jesus’ words come from the Old Testament: Deuteronomy 15:11

“There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore, I command you to be openhanded toward your fellow Israelites who are poor and needy in your land.”

The context makes it very clear that the permanent presence of the poor is not commended or in any way defined; it is a reality. This legislates for generosity and support sitting alongside rules about cancelling debts every 7 years. We should note that this is in the legal code of the Israelites, so it isn’t just a moral lesson for a minority of charitably minded people; it’s legislation demanding a response from everyone with the capacity to do so.

To me, Jesus is saying that there is an ongoing responsibility for all to be generous to the poor that will never go away, and which we have a lifetime to fulfil. Quibbling over Mary’s act of devotion misses the point: the poor are always with you, so always be generous to them.

This was Mary’s moment to show what Jesus meant to here, and furthermore the symbolism of what she did points forward to his burial in the tomb. Luke (23:56) reports that women prepared spices and perfume for the burial of Jesus’ body after he had been crucified, but the Sabbath meant there was a delay in using them, and the resurrection meant they were no longer needed. It is almost as if this moment is an anticipation and almost a substitute for that moment.

Mary is empowered – deciding to use her most precious possession and her insurance to show her trust and love for Jesus, and yet paradoxically also anticipating something that was to come. Judas tries to control her – as men frequently have – and for a range of dubious motives. That reveals his lack of understanding, his lack of grace, and perhaps some clues as to why in the end he gives up on Jesus, whereas the women will be the ones standing at the foot of the cross, staring the pain of it in the face, and tending to Jesus' body in the aftermath.

 

 

 

Sermon for Second Sunday of Easter: John 20:19-31 Thomas

Sermon for Second Sunday of Easter: John 20:19-31   Thomas

¹⁹ When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ ²²When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.’

²⁴ But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. ²⁵So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said to them, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.’

²⁶ A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ ²⁷Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’ ²⁸Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’ ²⁹Jesus said to him, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’

³⁰ Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. ³¹But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.  [NRSV]

Writing or making a sequel can be tricky. In the record industry they talk about the “difficult second album” where an artist has had a very successful debut album, using all their best material from before they were signed up. They then have to produce a follow-up, and unless they are particularly talented, it can be a challenge. Tapestry by Carole King is the best example I can think of as an exception to the rule.

The same can be true of movies, although again there are some that break the pattern, especially when it’s clear there was a plan to make a whole series. Some of the later Harry Potter films are better than the first one, for example, and some critics regard the Empire Strikes Back as the best of the original Star Wars trilogy.

This all came to me as I read our Gospel reading for today from John. Last week we had an extraordinarily dramatic scene. Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb, filled with grief, and finds to her horror that the stone sealing the tomb has been rolled away. She summons help, and Peter and John discover that the tomb is empty. Mary is then left on her own, encountering a stranger who knows her name, who she assumes to be the gardener. Then there’s the big “reveal”. Mary has in fact met Jesus, risen from the dead, and he’s talking to her first out of all of his friends. The scene ends with her unable to cling on to him; instead she follows Jesus request to go and find the disciples and tell them what has happened.

It’s interesting to see how the other Gospel writers deal with the problem of bringing the story to a close. As we have it, Mark leaves us with a cliff-hanger – the tomb is empty and that’s it (the oldest manuscripts don’t go beyond verse 8) Matthew and Luke take us through appearances of Jesus to the episode we call the Ascension – the final farewell to Jesus in bodily form on earth.

John gives us a sequel to the Easter account here in the passage for today, and there is a further sequel in chapter 21 (many believe it was written by someone else as verses 30 and 31 of today’s passage read like a conclusion). Now whenever you read anything from the Bible, a good question to ask is why is this here. Why was this incident or episode included in the overall narrative. Put bluntly, why did John think it necessary give us the story of Thomas? What’s the message of this story?

First let’s remind ourselves of the background we have on Thomas. He’s described as a twin, but we don’t know the name of his twin. Thomas is in the lists of disciples in Matthew Mark and Luke. We also know he’s with the disciples meeting after Jesus has ascended in the first chapter of Acts.

Uniquely in John, we actually hear from Thomas on 3 occasions. The first is just before Jesus and his disciples set off to Mary, Martha and Lazarus.

Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him. (John 11:16)

I’ve often wondered how exactly we are meant to read that. Is Thomas just a bit of a miserable sort, or is he a bit cynical. Perhaps he’s just saying what everyone is thinking. After all, Lazarus has died young, which may have been due to a communicable disease, so going straight there could expose them all to infection. It all sounds strangely familiar in this present context. Whatever the tone of his voice, Thomas is clearly someone who will speak up.

The second occasion is in John 14 when Jesus is speaking to his disciples and trying to get across to them the explanation and meaning to his predictions of death and resurrection. To illustrate this, Jesus talks about his death as a journey.

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?” (John 14:3-5)

Perhaps we have a hint here that Thomas likes things literal and concrete. It’s no good Jesus talking symbolically about death being a journey to a place he has prepared, Thomas wants to know where it is, and what the route is. Whether he found Jesus’ answer of “I am the way, the truth and the life” satisfactory, we are not told. That suggests that what we know of the background on Thomas points to him liking things concrete and clear, and he’s quite a realist.

So, it’s not entirely surprising that he is the one who features in this resurrection story – the sequel to last week. However, in doing so he adds a new dimension to the story; this is not just a repeat of last week.

First of all, Jesus appears to his followers in their hideaway. The doors are locked, and they are afraid. John says they are afraid of “the Jews”, but we have to remember that Jesus and all of the disciples are also Jews. From this, it is clear that John uses the term to describe the religious authorities, and not to mean all Jewish people. This is an important distinction to make, as it has sometimes been used to fuel anti-Semitism. Here Jesus appears to the disciples and shows them his wounds, and they are delighted.

I think we are to conclude that John wants to confirm Mary Magdalene’s story. Her testimony would have been suspect for some people, but John narrates the story in a way that shows that her report to the disciples that we heard last week is entirely reliable. We usually think of Luke’s gospel as the one that values women, but here John affirms Mary in a very significant way.

However, Thomas wasn’t there. Whether it was overwhelming grief, or fear of being caught, or just that he found being back with his family more comforting we are not told. Whatever the reason, he missed this vital encounter, and so a week later Mary and 10 disciples have experienced something he hasn’t. Thomas’ response is the classic one of a practical, concrete, empirical sceptic. Unless I see… The evidence he wants is not testimony or reports, he wants to see Jesus for himself, see the scars, touch the wounds.

However, he is sufficiently curious to be with the disciples the following week, and this time he is offered exactly what he asked for by Jesus. The only response that John records is an extraordinary one. Thomas makes a declaration of faith that goes way beyond anything any of the other disciples have come out with. He says to Jesus “My Lord and my God.” That statement is a remarkable departure from what the disciples would have been brought up to believe in a Jewish community.

John is narrating to us a moment of revelation. Back in chapter 1 he describes Jesus as the Word made flesh. Here Thomas calls Jesus Lord and God, and then John in his original conclusion says that he wrote the gospel to persuade us that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God. In that sense everything he has recorded in the rest of his gospel account is the explanation and justification for these statements which act as kind of bookends.

Thomas is often described as doubting Thomas, and that is the English word used in this translation. A more literal translation would be “stop unbelieving and believe”. It’s almost as if Thomas is being presented to us as an example of what putting faith in Jesus looks like. And to confirm that, it’s almost as if the last part of what Jesus says is directed at us, rather than Thomas. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (v.29)

The story of Thomas is indeed a great sequel, as it takes the story to new depths and new levels, and we can see why John thought it was important to include:

• It affirms the witness and testimony of Mary, even though many might have felt they had reason to doubt her.
• It shows the first real declaration of faith in Jesus as we understand him – the Son of God – God with us.
• It emphasises that we, who don’t have the opportunity of meeting Jesus in bodily form, are blessed even though we have not had the privilege of that experience. John connects what has taken place with where we are now.

As sequels go, today’s reading is a pretty special one. John doesn’t just report events that have taken place, he makes the connection with whoever may be reading in whatever age, asking us whether we follow Jesus and whether we believe, and reassuring us that if we do, we are as blessed as the disciples.

Washing Hands and Feet - Thoughts for Maundy Thursday

Washing Hands and Feet - Thoughts for Maundy Thursday

John 13:1-17;31-35

13¹ Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ²The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper ³Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, ⁴got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. ⁵Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. ⁶He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’ ⁷Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’ ⁸Peter said to him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.’ ⁹Simon Peter said to him, ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ ¹⁰Jesus said to him, ‘One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.’ ¹¹For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, ‘Not all of you are clean.’
¹² After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? ¹³You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. ¹⁴So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. ¹⁶Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. ¹⁷If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

³¹ When he had gone out, Jesus said, ‘Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. ³²If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. ³³Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, “Where I am going, you cannot come.” ³⁴I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ³⁵By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.’  [NRSV]

Washing has become very topical in these last few weeks. The advice is that spending at least 20 seconds washing your hands thoroughly with soap removes contamination. So, wash your hands before and after going out or any contact with others or the outside world. It’s taken on the nature of good or virtuous behaviour; some soap and water could save a life – either yours or someone else’s. This is not entirely new, of course. Hospital wards have had signs up about hand washing or using sanitiser for years to control infection, and those of us involved in pastoral visiting will be very familiar with that. Going further back, many of us will remember when we were children being reminded by our parents to wash our hands after every trip to the loo, stroke of a pet or play in the garden. In the story of Holy Week – the events leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus, there are two stories of washing; one of feet, and one of hands. They have a very different significance and meaning, yet they both help to explain something of what is unfolding.

The Last Supper is the setting for the washing of feet. It was a task usually assigned to slaves, and always done by someone understood to be of lower status than the recipient of the washing. But here, Jesus takes the responsibility for himself. This episode occurs before Judas leaves the meal (v.30) and so we might assume that even he was included in this.

It’s a remarkable act, turning social conventions upside down – as Jesus often did. He behaves in a way that is entirely in keeping with a man who eats and drinks with ‘sinners’, speaks with lepers, touches the sick, champions Samaritans, tells us to prioritise children because they understand, and heals people on the Sabbath.

However, if that isn’t enough, we need to remember that when we’re reading John’s gospel, nothing is just face value. When Jesus washes the disciples’ feet, he is looking ahead to the purpose of his mission, and the meaning of the death he is about to face. Somehow in the mystery of all that the crucifixion means, there is a true washing and cleansing. The power of the selfishness, guilt and shame that plagues humanity and mars our relationships with God and each other is about to be broken. Receiving that is going to feel a bit like having Jesus – the most important person in the room – washing your feet. Finding forgiveness and healing can be a process that involves awkward moments, embarrassment and unease. Yet it is ultimately the true liberation we all need.

Little wonder, then, that Peter protests. He also protested when Jesus was much more explicit about what was going to happen – that he would be arrested, tried, executed and then rise again (Mark 8:31-33). Subconsciously, perhaps Peter has made that connection. However, when Jesus says it’s important, Peter characteristically overreacts and asks Jesus to wash more of him. It’s a comical moment in what is otherwise a very serious episode. It’s not about how much of the water in this bowl you get, Peter, it’s about the much bigger themes that it points to.

This washing symbolises Jesus taking responsibility for doing what is necessary for reconciliation and forgiveness to be achieved, and he accepts that will be at a great cost. The contrast with Pontius Pilate’s bowl couldn’t be starker. “Washing your hands” of a situation has entered our language as shorthand for someone refusing to take the responsibility, the consequences and the cost of a difficult decision or action. Pilate’s public action is his attempt to disown the decision of the mob to crucify Jesus, but we know he can’t. Only the Romans can execute and he is the governor, so the responsibility remains his, whatever he does with a bowl of water.

One bowl is a vain attempt to disown a decision, as a result of fear of the crowd and losing face with the emperor. It’s a face-saving and expedient manoeuvre to try and maintain a façade of peace. The other bowl is a costly act of service, symbolising a genuine cleansing of sin and its consequences, fully embracing the pain of the way of service, and taking on the full responsibility of what the fulfilment of that action will require. This is Jesus rejecting the way of power, preferment and status that Pilate is so locked into. 

In the next half an hour, most of us will wash our hands – and for good reasons. Try making it a moment for prayer and reflection as you take responsibility for the safety of yourself and others. Use it as a moment to think about Jesus washing his disciples’ feet, his commitment and love for all of them – even his betrayer. Take a moment to give thanks for the cleansing and reconciliation he chose to bring – and at what cost. Pray for all those in positions of authority, influence and power – who like Pilate might be tempted to do what is easy and expedient, rather than what is difficult and right. And pray for those you seek to protect by washing your own hands – those who are vulnerable, those who work in our health services and need us to keep the demands down, and also and particularly for all who are suffering, and those who grieve as a result of this pandemic.

One Of You Will Betray Me

Wednesday in Holy Week: One of You Will Betray Me

John 13:21-32 [English Standard Version]

²¹ After saying these things, Jesus was troubled in his spirit, and testified, “Truly, truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.” ²² The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he spoke. ²³ One of his disciples, whom Jesus loved, was reclining at table close to Jesus, ²⁴ so Simon Peter motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. ²⁵ So that disciple, leaning back against Jesus, said to him, “Lord, who is it?” ²⁶ Jesus answered, “It is he to whom I will give this morsel of bread when I have dipped it.” So when he had dipped the morsel, he gave it to Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot. ²⁷ Then after he had taken the morsel, Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, “What you are going to do, do quickly.” ²⁸ Now no one at the table knew why he said this to him. ²⁹ Some thought that, because Judas had the money bag, Jesus was telling him, “Buy what we need for the feast”, or that he should give something to the poor. ³⁰ So, after receiving the morsel of bread, he immediately went out. And it was night. ³¹ When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him. ³² If God is glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself, and glorify him at once.

We have all been let down by someone, sometime. Perhaps we have been let down by family, or by our friends, or by people we looked up to, or by politicians we voted for, or by our employers, the education system... However, when it’s an individual, and especially when it’s someone close it really hurts. When it’s someone you placed your trust in, and shared something of yourself with them, then it’s hard. It leaves you with a sour taste in the mouth that won’t quite go away. You start asking questions like: “Was our friendship ever genuine? Were they just playing me along to get something? Was I fool to place any trust in them?”

There’s no escaping the fact that it is painful. Experiences like that leave us questioning our own judgment and our own decision-making. Could I have done something differently? Could I have seen this coming?

In today’s gospel reading from John, we hear about Jesus being let down by Judas. To make matters worse, Jesus isn’t just failed by Judas, his friend actually colludes with the authorities in order to facilitate his arrest. It may be that Jesus had seen it coming, although we can’t be sure. It may be that he sensed Judas’ loyalty waning, that he perceived the discomfort, following the moment Judas had agreed to betray him to his captors. But Judas had also spent 3 years with him, sharing his life, teaching, healing, supporting and challenging. Did those years not count for anything? Had they not made any difference?

It's significant that Jesus gives bread to Judas. To share bread is a sign of hospitality, openness and welcome. It says to the person that they are part of the group, they are connected, and that they should make themselves at home. It’s remarkable that Jesus, probably suspecting the worst, shares his bread with Judas. What the Bible describes as Satan entering Judas is perhaps better understood as a reaction against this invitation. Satan means accuser, and at this moment, faced with the guileless, authentic and costly love of Jesus, it may be that Judas felt accused by his conscience, by what surrounded him, and all he could do was go and carry through what he had started. He could no longer bear to be in the presence of this goodness and hospitality.

We can’t know what Judas’ motives were. John’s gospel seems convinced that it was simply financial and driven by greed. Others have pointed to some circumstantial evidence that Judas was close to the Zealots – the freedom fighters who occasionally carried out guerrilla attacks on their Roman occupiers. They suggest that Judas might have become disillusioned with Jesus, disappointed that he chose not to lead an uprising that would oust their earthly rulers and restore a new kingdom of Israel. Some have suggested that Judas was trying to force Jesus’ hand into taking such action. We can’t know – all we do know is that he enabled the authorities to find Jesus and it ended in crucifixion for Jesus and suicide for Judas.

But before we demonise Judas, we should remember the others who stayed at the meal. Sooner or later, they would all disappear and hide, leaving the one they claimed to love and follow to his fate. Peter tries to see what is happening, but with a flurry of denials also disappears into the night, and only John is present with the women who attend the crucifixion. They all let him down in the end.

And yet, and yet, it is to this group of misfits and failures that Jesus entrusts these precious moments. It is to these people that he gives a new commandment; it is their feet he washes; it is to their memory that he commits the words “do this in remembrance of me”. He chooses to depend on them to tell the story of his life, teachings, miracles, death and resurrection for future ages.

We all let people down. We all let ourselves down. We all let Jesus down. But what he calls his glorification, which is actually his tragic death, is strangely and paradoxically his clearest statement that these failings can be overcome. This is not achieved by self-justification, or by argument, but by love and forgiveness. In the midst of witnessing Judas leaving the room, and knowing the other disciples will eventually leave also, Jesus looks out of the page at us. It is as if he is saying that nothing, not even betrayal and denial, is stronger than his love for us, and nothing can separate us from that love.

Monday of Holy Week 2020: Jesus at the home of Lazarus, Martha and Mary

John 12:1-11 

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’9 When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ¹⁰So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, ¹¹since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.  
[NRSV] 

Affection and loyalty come in many different forms. Worship manifests itself in diverse styles and manners – some effusive and outgoing, some practical and down to earth. Our Gospel scene lays out before us a spectrum of responses we might find in any gathering of people – what we might find in us. 

First we see Lazarus –a man who has just been through an extraordinary experience. He is Jesus’ friend, and we know he much he meant to him. In the previous chapter, John tells us that Lazarus died, and when Jesus eventually came, he wept at the entrance to the tomb where he had been buried. Despite the hopelessness, the emotions and the terrible smell of decay, Jesus restores his friend to life. And now, having had a little time to recover, in return Lazarus offers hospitality a few days before the Passover feast – the greatest party in the Jewish year. We might think that it was the least he could do, and in his culture it would have been expected, but this is not just a token gesture. All of Jesus’ followers were welcomed and accommodated and fed, which was no small thing, and yet for Lazarus it expressed his friendship and loyalty. 

Of course the hospitality isn’t just Lazarus’s to give, although he pays the bills. His sister Martha, ever the practical one, has made a meal. She was the one, when Lazarus died, who had told Jesus that he was late and that he could still do something about it. She liked action. She is always busy in the kitchen - sometimes too busy, as Jesus once observed. It’s true that on some occasions the busyness was an escape, an excuse to keep out of the way and avoid getting too involved. It was a useful distraction from things she didn’t want to think about. But today, for her, it was important that other people had the chance to share time, conversation and food without worrying about where it’s coming from. She prepares, she cooks, she clears away without complaining, and without really being noticed by most who are there. For her, these simple acts of practical service are her expressions of love. Today she’s serving Jesus, and her brother and the others there, but she’s listening, eavesdropping, taking it in. 

And we are also told that the disciples the disciples are all there. They are a funny lot. Some of them seem pretty rough - especially the fishermen. Some have clearly had a little more education, especially the one who used to be a tax-collector. And then there were one or two who were difficult to get near. Judas was an enigma. He was always around, but was restless, edgy, frustrated, impatient for something. It was just hard to know exactly what. On occasions it was even hard to know why he was there at all, but something continued to draw him to Jesus.

And then in the midst of it all there is Mary. She’s the one sitting at Jesus’ feet. It was a familiar place for her. She had been sitting at his feet learning, when her sister had reproached her for not helping. She had knelt at Jesus’ feet to plead with him to save her brother. She was always more emotional and demonstrative than sensible, practical Martha, so people expect her to be a bit more showy. But this time she still manages to shock everyone with what she does. In her hand is the most precious thing she owns – a jar of nard – the perfume of the lovers in the Song of Songs.  She has kept this safe for all of her life, ready for the most special of occasions. As she cracks it open, the room is overwhelmed with the extravagance of the perfume. As she puts it on Jesus’ feet, it seems to permeate every place it can find, however tiny and compact. Nothing can escape its blessing. For Mary her gift is pure worship – her most precious possession given to the person most precious to her. And she shocks the room with the intimacy of letting down her hair to wipe Jesus’ feet. 

But not everyone wants the blessing. Not everyone shares her devotion. Not everyone understands that love expresses itself in illogical, disproportionate, and even outrageous ways.  Judas looks on, disapproving, making excuses, failing to comprehend that love’s gifts don’t work by a set of accounts or the weighing out of gold or silver. Instead he complains about the extravagance, to divert from his own holding back. He points to the needs of the poor, when he’s been more concerned about his own needs, and although he’s intrigued and connected to Jesus, he doesn’t really understand what he’s up to. He just doesn’t get it. And because he doesn’t get it, he’s annoyed by those who do, and he’s annoyed by how they express it. 

I wonder whose eyes we have as we imagine this scene: 

• Is it practical Martha? 
• Is it hospitable Lazarus? 
• Is it disapproving Judas? 
• Or is it Mary, the one open with her emotions?

We’ve probably felt something in common with each of them as we pictured the scene. Perhaps today we can find a little time and space to reflect on how we bring our worship to Jesus, and also to reflect on the fears, the misgivings, and the inhibitions that hold us back.

Sermon for Lent 5: The Raising of Lazarus

Sermon for Lent 5 2020                The Raising of Lazarus    John 11:1-44

At first sight, the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead is a straightforward hero to the rescue story. Just like in lots of other tales of people with magic powers, Jesus arrives at a situation that is beyond the capacity of ordinary human beings to change, transforms it, and everyone lives happily ever after. Powerful, inspiring, encouraging… or is it?

The more I read the story, the more I find myself struggling with difficult questions:

• Did it really happen? There’s a lot of symbolism in John’s gospel, so should we see this as representing any actual event at all?
• If Jesus can do this, why didn’t he do it more often? What’s special about Lazarus?
• Why didn’t Jesus get there before he died?
• What are we to take away from a story that is at such a remove from anything we are likely to encounter? Or to put it another way, why did John include it in his Gospel as one of the “signs” that Jesus did?

Answering all of those in order would end up sounding more like an essay on John’s gospel than a sermon, but I’ll try and share some of my own ways of dealing with these as we go along.

First of all, it’s worth getting the scene straight in our minds, in order to understand what’s going on. This all takes place about half-way through John’s gospel, so that should give us a signal. Jesus is already under threat of arrest (John 10:39) and he and the disciples have taken refuge ‘across the Jordan’. The result of this episode is that the authorities plan for Jesus to be executed (11:53). Jesus makes a second visit to Bethany shortly after this in chapter 12, and then goes on to enter Jerusalem on a donkey, which we will be marking next week on Palm Sunday.

So, in John’s gospel this is a turning point, even though it is an event not recorded in the other gospels. [Martha and Mary appear in Luke, with the famous scene of Mary listening to Jesus and Martha doing the catering (Luke 10:38-42). Lazarus is only mentioned here, although Jesus uses the name in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31)]

And it is true that John likes to bring out the symbolism in events and locations, but that doesn’t mean we should dismiss his ability to record history. Around the end of the nineteenth century, his gospel was seen by many academics as being written long after Jesus’ earthly ministry, and they thought that John created a lot of the detail. Then archaeologists discovered the pool of Bethesda from John 5, and since then his historical information has been taken more seriously.

Whatever we think actually happened with Lazarus in this story, there is good reason to think that John believed he was recording events that occurred, as well as highlighting their meaning.

Now, if you heard that a close friend was seriously ill, you would get in contact with them or a relative. Maybe you’d try and phone, or perhaps send a card. Before the days of covid-19, you would probably want to visit, and the restrictions we are now under are placing a lot of strain on people who want to be close to critically ill loved-ones. It’s a natural instinct to want to be there.

If your visit could have a positive impact on someone’s recovery, you would make that visit a top priority, unless there were very good reasons to stop you. Why didn’t Jesus go when he heard the news? It doesn’t make any sense at first reading, unless you believe that poor old Lazarus had to die to serve the purpose of being a visual aid for Jesus.

In the sequence John gives us, Jesus only shares the news of Lazarus’ illness with his followers in verse 11, so the message came privately and he kept the news to himself. His stay for 2 days in the place where he was is described as being out his love for his 3 friends. I go with Tom Wright’s comments on this - that Jesus chooses to stay where he was (v.6) because he needed time to pray, to think and to wrestle with this terrible choice between two unpleasant outcomes. We know from the rest of the story that going to Bethany would set off events that lead to the crucifixion. The choice was to let his friend die, or endanger 12 disciples and himself.

All of us feel conflicted sometimes, but they seem very acute for Jesus. We see that in the Garden of Gethsemane when he is in anguish about whether to go through with things at all or run away. However we understand the idea of Jesus being human and divine, the gospels record deep struggles of conscience, and this needed time for prayer. And I find that strangely reassuring. It wasn’t all easy for Jesus, so that means he gets it when it’s not all easy for us. Jesus isn’t an alien being trying to be human, he is human and so somehow in the mystery of who God is, there is understanding for the difficult predicaments we get ourselves into.

Then Jesus decides: they’re going to Judea – to Bethany. The disciples clearly know the risks, and Thomas states it bluntly “let us also go, that we may die with him”. Whether it’s a statement of resignation and despair, or loyalty and commitment is hard to know, but Thomas seems to know the risks. Jesus knows them too, and he knows that confronting death at Lazarus’ tomb will be only a foretaste on the confrontation to come.

Then Jesus arrives, and Martha meets him outside the house. If we were Martha, I suspect we wouldn’t be able to control ourselves – who wouldn’t? “If you had been here, he’d be alive” is a brutal accusation. The Bible is full of people being honest and blunt with God about their feelings – just read a few psalms to see their despair, their needs and their fears. God wants honesty far more than he desires politeness, and Martha demonstrates this perfectly to us.

Notice that Jesus doesn’t rebuke Martha for speaking so boldly. Although their conversation reveals that Martha believes in resurrection one day – as many Jews did by the time of Jesus – that’s not what she wants at this moment. She wants Lazarus alive and well, as did her sister Mary, who restates Martha’s point. We know from Luke of her devotion to Jesus, and it seems to connect. John describes Jesus as deeply moved. In the 16^th century, when the Bible was given chapters and verses (they’re not in the original texts), it gave us the shortest verse in English bibles, John 11:35, “Jesus wept”. Just before the story moves on to what we call the passion, we see Jesus’ emotional state, as he sees the sisters and others there who were grieving, and he felt it too for his friends.

The next part of the scene prefigures Easter in a number of ways – a tomb made out of a cave, a stone needing to be rolled away, and linen strips binding the body. The body has been there 4 days (which some rabbis taught 4 days was the time needed to be sure someone was dead) and Martha, ever the practical one, warns against the smell. But the stone is rolled away, we hear of no smell, and Lazarus is summoned out. Lazarus emerges alive, still wrapped up in his grave clothes. Significantly, Jesus says “Unbind him, and let him go”. In other words, set him free!

What’s striking is how little fuss is made of this by John afterwards. The story moves straight on, once Lazarus emerges. We just get a note a few verses later that the authorities wanted to execute poor old Lazarus, too – as if he hadn’t been through enough!

So what does John want us to take from this story, given some of the problems it raises?

First, I think he’s emphasising the compassion of Jesus. It’s clearly not the norm for Jesus to go around bringing people back to life. The gospels record three examples. We might debate whether they were actually dead, but these events are unusual. This is the last time Jesus will see three friends, and his compassion means he does something unusual for them. Jesus didn’t cure everyone in his world, or bring everyone who had just died back to life. But in this place, and at this moment, this is how he communicated his compassion to his friends. And it meant him confronting and overcoming death in a specific instance, before he would do so comprehensively at the resurrection.

Secondly, it says something about his mission. What lies ahead of him is a terrible future. All of the gospels refer to Jesus speaking of what will happen. The thought to carry him through that, must be the hope of resurrection, which he also predicts in other places. This event serves as a kind of symbol of that. I don’t believe that Lazarus was a kind of pawn in a game, but Jesus must have hoped that by doing this exceptional act, he might point his friends to a hope for the future – that death need not have the final say.

Finally, (and this may sound strange) this is a resuscitation, not a resurrection. Lazarus will die again, and we don’t know when that was to be. Jesus has not taken away his mortality by restoring him; he has extended his biological life. Dying is an inevitable part of being human, and this miracle doesn’t do away with that. In a very sense, this miracle merely postpones what for all of us is an acute and profound issue – that of our own mortality.

Instead of taking away that mortality, what Jesus did come to bring us was something else – the message of resurrection. Denying the reality of death is to deny our humanity. However, what Jesus brings through his life, death and resurrection is the possibility of having the fear of death lifted from us. The raising of the Lazarus is not what opens up that possibility; it is what Jesus goes through himself.

There is something unique here in the Christian faith. We believe in a God who came in a specific contained human form, experienced all of the limitations that brings. He knew hunger, thirst, love, grief and pain from a human point of view, and then went through suffering and death and out the other side. He doesn’t come to take our humanity away, with all its complexities, but to transform our experience of being human, knowing we are loved to eternity.

That doesn’t answer all the questions. It doesn’t stop us sometimes feeling that life has treated us badly, that it’s not fair, or even questioning whether God is there at all. But it does help us not to throw everything away, and encourages us to hold on to the hope that in Jesus we don’t have a temperamental wonder-worker who sometimes delivers the goods, but that in him we have something truer and deeper. That in the love he revealed, our fears can be calmed, we can know we are loved, and we can trust that for eternity.