Sermon: Being one in prayer (May 24, 2020)

Easter 7A

May 24, 2020

John 17:1-11

INTRODUCTION

         This is the final Sunday of the Easter season, a season which lasts as long as Jesus walked the earth after his resurrection, plus the 10 days between his ascension into heaven and the coming of the Holy Spirit – fifty days total. So, at this point in the biblical narrative, we find ourselves in the 10 days between, this liminal time between when Jesus has left the disciples (again) and the arrival of this great gift he has assured them is coming “in just a few days.” I think remembering the context of this “in-between” place can help us to hear today’s readings.

         First, we will hear the story of Jesus’ ascension into heaven as told in Acts. Ascension Day is 40 days after Easter, so, always a Thursday, but the lectionary gives us a taste of the story today, too. The Acts version of this story (compared to the version in Luke) tells us about what the disciples did while they waited for the Holy Spirit that Jesus had promised them just before he ascended into heaven. Our second reading from 1^st Peter will speak to the suffering that is all too real – often, but perhaps especially during this liminal waiting time the disciples are feeling.

         And then in our Gospel reading, we hear the end of Jesus’ Farewell Discourse on Maundy Thursday: the High Priestly Prayer. This is a remarkable moment in which the disciples – and we, by extension – get to eavesdrop on an intimate moment between Jesus and his Father. And he uses this moment to pray for us! So enter into that prayer with him. Enter also into the anxiety of the disciples during this in-between time (that shouldn’t be too far a stretch for us). And of course, enter into the love Jesus has for us. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         What a gift John’s Gospel gives us in recording Jesus’ prayer on that last night of his life. How remarkable that we would get to eavesdrop and hear how Jesus prays, and what he and his Father talk about, and what is his dearest hope for us! In those moments when I may feel like prayer is difficult or the words don’t come, it brings me such comfort to know that Jesus prayed for me, for us, that night. What a beautiful thought!

         Jesus’ prayer, known as the High Priestly Prayer, that he prays on the eve of his death, set me down the path this week of thinking about prayer. But as lovely as I find this sharing of an intimate and prayerful moment with Jesus, I admit I was struggling to find an entry-point for preaching – I wanted just to savor Jesus’ prayer, not preach about it. Instead, where I found a way into thinking about prayer was in our reading from Acts, this retelling of Jesus’ Ascension. Jesus, having just spent 40 post-resurrection days with the disciples, has just told them, “Something big is coming, and it’s happening in Jerusalem, so don’t leave! Wait here for the Holy Spirit.” And then he ascends, leaving the disciples in this in-between space – Jesus has gone (again), and something that they don’t quite understand is coming, they don’t know when.

         So I just want to stop here and point out how much I resonate with this, most of all that instruction to “wait,” and in particular to wait for something that, I don’t really know what it is or what it will look like. After more than two months, we are all chomping at the bit to get out and do something. Go out to dinner, go to the playground or the beach, see our friends, go to worship with other people. But of course, we have to wait. Wait until it is safe. Wait until there is a vaccine or treatment or both. Wait until the data are clear and the testing and treatment are adequate and effective. Wait.

         So we, with the disciples, are waiting – both narratively, as we join them in this liminal space of waiting for the Spirit, and literally, as we wait for our lives to return to some semblance of “normal.” Now, I’m sure you are doing all varieties of things with your quarantine time (your quaran-time?), depending on your current life situation – maybe you’re walking, reading, doing house projects, perhaps working in the wee hours of the morning or late at night (Me! Me!). But I wonder how many have taken up what the disciples did. Luke tells us that the disciples, certain women, and Jesus’ brothers went to the upper room, and “were constantly devoting themselves to prayer.”

         Now, my guess is that most if not all of you have prayed in some way, for something. Likely we’ve all prayed for an end to this mess, and for the doctors and nurses and scientists working to treat or prevent this disease. We’ve prayed for our own sick loved ones, and for those who have lost someone. Those are all important prayers – please keep them coming!

         But I’ve been thinking about some of the other gifts of prayer in this time when we are waiting and watching. This past week we shared with you our council’s recommendation that we wait (there’s that word again!) to return to in-person worship until it is safe to worship once again in a way closer to that which is so fulfilling for us – hopefully with singing and communion and communal prayer and fellowship. And in the meantime, we will continue with our online service, sending the bulletin each week to members without internet access, emailing it to everyone else, and working to include more people in that service. I believe this is a faithful direction in this time when we want above all to love our neighbor by keeping them safe from the virus (I just read an article last night that said that worshiping in an enclosed space is one of the highest risk things you can do right now). Today after worship we’ll have the chance to hear some of your thoughts about it. I hope you join the conversation.

         But even though I believe it to be faithful and prudent, my heart also aches, because it is really hard to be one body united in Christ, to feel a sense that “we may be one,” as Jesus prays, when we may go months without seeing each other! Not to mention, the things that Christians have done for centuries to live out and celebrate our oneness are not possible right now – like partaking of the one bread and one cup at communion, and being baptized into the one Body of Christ, and lifting our voices as one in prayer and praise, and drinking together from the one coffee pot! (Okay, maybe we haven’t done that last one for centuries, but you get the idea!). So what does it look like to be one when we are not even able to be together?

         This is where prayer comes in. I came across this wonderful quote from one United Methodist theologian: She writes, “No matter how remote two persons may be from each other, there is a sense in which they ‘meet’ in God… When I pray for another person’s well-being, I make myself relevant to [their] condition. It means that as God weaves together the circumstances of that [person]…, my praying offers new stuff for the weaving.” In other words, when we pray for another, we invest something of ourselves in the condition of that person, and God uses that investment to weave us and our lives together. We become spiritually entwined with that person. We enter into a relationship with that person, even if we never have and never will speak. When Jesus prays that we might all be one, he is praying that we will all be entwined with one other – and this happens when we pray for one another.

         Prayer, then, becomes a valuable tool for living out our oneness in this time of being apart. So keep up those prayers for those on the front lines of this pandemic. But consider adding some specific prayers for members of our congregation and our community. Work through the directory and pray for the well-being of a few members each day or week (even if you don’t know them), that they would have the strength and the patience to get through another day, and that they would see glimpses of God’s love, light, and life during their day. Maybe even call them, or send them a note, and tell them you’re praying for them. I suspect we will find, in “constantly devoting [ourselves] to prayer” for each other in this way, that once we are together again, our oneness will become more apparent than it ever has before!

         This time of being apart is difficult and trying, no doubt. But I do trust in the power of the Holy Spirit Jesus promised to his disciples before his ascension, and which he promises still to us today. I trust that this Spirit can bind us together even when we’re far apart. I trust that this Spirit can bring about what Jesus prayed that night, “that we would be one,” as Jesus and the Father are one – that is, that we would be brought into that loving and life-giving relationship of the trinitarian God who made us and loves us and strengthens and guides us. I trust that by the power of this Holy Spirit, our waiting will come to an end, and that in the meantime, even with our building closed, we can still be the Church, serving one another and the world, that we can still read and hear the Word proclaimed, that we can still pray, and love, and give, and serve, and be God’s presence in the world. For a God who can defeat death and bring about new life, all of this, and so much more, is possible.

         Let us pray… Uniting God, we long to be together and experience our oneness in you in the physical ways we are used to. Yet we know that your power overcomes any distance. Bind us together in prayer. Remind us that we are one in you, no matter where we are. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: The Holy Spirit is right alongside you (May 17, 2020)

The whole service can be found here. Sermon starts about minute 26.

Easter 6A

May 17, 2020

John 14:15-21

INTRODUCTION

         Today’s readings start to set us up for Pentecost, the day two weeks from now when we will celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit. And today’s picture of that Spirit is one of presence. We’ll see bits of that throughout, but especially in our Gospel reading. Today’s lesson continues last week’s story, which took us back to Maundy Thursday. Jesus has just washed the disciples’ feet and given them “a new commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” Jesus will implore them in this reading to “keep my commandments,” but in fact, the only commandment Jesus gives in all of John is that one, great commandment: to love one another. Now, of course, that one commandment is a doozie, much easier to say than to do, and so, in this difficult task, Jesus will also promise them an abiding presence, that of the Holy Spirit.

Recall as you hear this story, the intensity of emotion that was in that room: he’s been foretelling his death, he’s told Judas to go ahead and “do what he needs to do” (aka betray him), he’s foretold Peter’s threefold denial. Now he’s saying he’s leaving them – so, they know something is up! And so here, Jesus’ tone is a pastoral one, offering them a comfort and peace beyond their understanding. Keep all that in mind as you listen to this exchange. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Stained glass symbolic representation of the Holy Spirit as a dove, c. 1660.

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         A few years back, I remember reading a story about a family of three who adopted seven children, seven siblings from the same family. The kids had been in foster care for nearly four years. The children, ranging in age from 5 to 14, moved into the couple’s three-bedroom home about nine months before, and now, suddenly, the family of three became a family of 10! The story featured several family photos, including some of the adopted kids holding a sign that said, “We were in foster care for 1359 days. But today, we’re adopted!” and the biological son holding a sign that said, “I was an only child for 1426 days, but today, I became a little brother!” While I’m sure the new situation brought plenty of challenges, the faces in the photos exuded pure joy.

         Stories like this are so heartwarming – for the sheer generosity and love of the couple, to be sure, but also for the recognition that so many children lack the generous, loving presence of parents in their lives, either because they are orphans, or because their biological parents are for whatever reason unable to provide that for them. Our hearts truly ache to see an orphaned child, especially a young child, and that has always been the case. It’s no surprise the Bible repeatedly implores us to care for the widows and the orphans, because both groups are particularly vulnerable.

         That feeling of being orphaned, though – it is not only for those who have experienced an untimely loss of their parents. We all might now and then “feel like a motherless child,” as the old spiritual says. We feel it whenever we cannot find our footing, when we feel lost in this world, when we are without direction and can’t find the love and support we need. We might feel that sense of being orphaned any time we lack the connection we humans so desperately crave. When we lack genuine and loving connection, the other challenging aspects of life can seem insurmountable. Sometimes, we even see such a lack of connection end tragically.

         Which is why Jesus’ words to his disciples on the night he was betrayed, these words we heard just a moment ago, are so important. “I will not leave you orphaned,” Jesus says. What music to their ears, as they come to realize that their friend, teacher, and indeed their advocate is fast approaching his death. Remember, these guys, the disciples, are a bunch of nobodies, and Jesus has made them somebodies. He has called them, empowered them, taken the time to teach them, and to send them out to care for others. Perhaps this is the first time they have felt like they actually mattered to someone – mattered, even, to the world!

         So I’m sure there was some real fear around losing that. They were losing this man who had been so much to them. Which is what makes what Jesus offers so remarkable. The specific word Jesus uses here to describe the Spirit is paracletos, paraclete. It means, literally, one who comes alongside you, who accompanies you. It is translated various ways: comforter, helper, counselor, and encourager. But most literally, its translation is, as we see here, “advocate”: one who pleads your case, who takes your side, who intercedes for you, who stands up for you.

         All these images strike me as an especially meaningful gift right now. This Paraclete is so much more than a mere presence. Presence is a wonderful promise, but sort of a vague one, for what does it mean for someone to be present when we can’t even see them? But this Advocate, this Paraclete, is offering just exactly the sort of support we are craving right now. Comforter, when fears and worries and grief are a daily struggle. Helper, when life is overwhelming. Counselor, in the midst of so many important decisions. Encourager, when we start to doubt our ability to keep up with this crazy situation. And then, all that this image of an Advocate has to offer: someone who cares so deeply about us, that they would speak up on our behalf, pray on our behalf, actively intervene on our behalf, so that when we feel powerless and weak, we know someone is still holding our best interest at heart. Wow! Our God would do this! Our God does do this!

         Some may think of the Holy Spirit as the most elusive person of the Trinity – certainly not as concrete as the man Jesus, or even the Creator of all that is. But I rather like the Holy Spirit, because there is also a lot of symbolism used to describe it that makes it really fun to watch for how that Spirit may come right up alongside us in our daily lives. And I wonder if this might be a useful exercise for us in these days when the gifts the Spirit brings are so needed.

For example, do you remember what form the Holy Spirit takes at Jesus’ baptism? The Spirit descended upon him like a dove. A bird! Plenty of those out these days, huh? So I’ve been noticing lately my daughter’s recent infatuation with birds. She will sit at the window and just watch them flying, but she will also run out into the yard in her footie pajamas, flapping her arms and tweeting, in hopes of tricking them into thinking she’s one of them, and then getting close enough to touch one. And while this is, turns out, not a good technique for getting close to birds, it does remind me that this is how God feels about us – God wants more than anything to come alongside us, to get close, to touch us. God even came down to move and talk like us, so that God could be closer to us, even, to touch us. So whenever I see a bird, I think of the Holy Spirit coming close.

         Another way: In a couple weeks, we will celebrate Pentecost when the Holy Spirit comes down like a rushing… what? Wind! Well, wind is easy enough to come by in Rochester! And so this week as I enjoyed some time outside in the warmer weather, I noticed how the warm air seemed to caress my cheeks, as if the Holy Spirit herself were offering her warm embrace. I can almost imagine that Holy Wind, then carrying my prayers and concerns to heaven, and promising me God’s counsel, guidance, and comfort.

Another way the Spirit is often described is as a breath. I remember sitting once with a family during the husband’s heart surgery. The room was anxious, as it often is with major surgeries. But then, when the family got called back to talk to the doctor, the first thing the doctor said to them was, “You can breathe – everything went well.” Breath – just like a few weeks ago when Jesus breathed his Holy Spirit on the disciples after the resurrection, saying, “Peace be with you.” After waiting for that surgery, the family was invited to breathe in that comforting peace that all had gone well.

         How many ways there are to experience the Spirit’s presence in our lives! How many reminders that we are not orphaned, that indeed, through the Spirit we are immensely connected – to God and to one another. And that’s not all: Jesus’ promise to his disciples that night that he was sending an Advocate means also that it is possible to keep that greatest commandment, to love one another. It is a commandment that is simple to say and difficult to do, especially when we are struggling ourselves, but with the comforting, encouraging support of the Paraclete, the Advocate, we are also enabled to do it. And even when we do fall short, we can rest in the promise that God will not ever let us go, nor leave our side – not when we feel orphaned, or abandoned, or misunderstood, or overlooked. Not when we feel vulnerable and helpless. Not when we feel unloved, unloving, or even unlovable. And that Advocate wants for us health and healing, community and blessing – in short, abundant life.

         God gave us Christ so that we would have that abundant life. But God didn’t stop there – for we also are given the Holy Spirit, to encourage and look out for us, to care for us and stay with us and walk alongside us, to make it possible to love one another as Christ has loved us. In other words: the Spirit came to be like Christ for us, every day. Thanks be to God!

         Let us pray… Holy Spirit, when we feel disconnected or alone, you come to us again and again in your many and various ways. Help us to remember to look for you whenever we are in need of comfort, counsel, support, and connection. In the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Rocks, Hands, and Homes (May 10, 2020)

Today's sermon can be viewed as a part of our live stream here. Begins about 30:45.

Easter 5A

May 10, 2020

John 14:1-14,

Acts 7:55-60, Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16, 1 Peter 2:2-10

INTRODUCTION

         On this 5^th Sunday of Easter, we will hear a lot about rocks. First, in Acts, we’ll hear the story of the stoning of Stephen, the first Christian martyr. His ministry role was to bring food to widows, which seems benign enough but somehow this upset people. Notice that Saul, who will become St. Paul, makes an appearance in this story. In response to that reading, the Psalm identifies God as our strong rock and safe castle. Positive rock image. And 1 Peter follows suit, reminding us that Christ is the cornerstone, and calling us to be like living stones. So we get some bad images of rocks – as a weapon, an instrument of death. And some good ones – as refuge, strength, stability and comfort.

         The Gospel doesn’t offer us any explicit rocks, but you may see more metaphorical ones, perhaps that line a pathway (a Way that is Jesus), and the type that weigh down our hearts when we are grieving. Today’s text takes us back to Holy Week, to the night of Jesus’ arrest, as he is gathered with his disciples to wash their feet, share a meal, bid them farewell, and pray for them. This is a text often read at funerals, and with good reason: Jesus’ words are comforting ones for a group of people who, though they don’t know exactly what will happen next, they are tasting a sort of grief, knowing as they do that everything they have known is about to change. Boy, that hits close to home!

         There are so many comforting images in today’s texts, rocks and otherwise – solid rocks, places of refuge, hope for eternal life, the promise of an abiding place with Jesus. And although we share a common grief right now, we also each carry our own personal griefs. As you listen today, listen for what image or word of comfort or solace speaks to you and your needs in this time, this week. Let’s listen.

[READ]

This is the book referred to in this sermon!

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Risen Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

         If you are friends with me on Facebook, you may have noticed: this week has not been an easy one for me. I am feeling the weight of the world, just like everyone, and the weight of all the big decisions that have to be made: when in-person worship will be possible again and what it will look like is hot on my mind right now, and more personally, the questions of when and whether to send the kids back to school and daycare, what our personal finances will look like in the coming months and how we will make everything work. In addition, like Jesus’ disciples who are experiencing an anticipatory grief in our Gospel lesson today, as they know things are about to change but they know not yet how, my heart has ached this week with the realization about just how much of what brings me joy will not be returning nearly as soon as I had expected it to.

         The weight of all of this came crashing down on me on Tuesday night. As I sat weeping alone on my couch, feeling devastated and desperate, I got that feeling like stones were crowding into my heart. You know the one? Like the weight of everything was in fact in the form of these large rocks in my chest. For all of the positive rock imagery in our texts this morning, I found myself thinking about those bad rocks in Acts – not the cornerstone of 1 Peter, not the stronghold of the Psalm, but the stones that cause destruction and pain, even death.

         All of this got me thinking about a wonderful children’s book we borrowed from the St. Paul’s library a while back. It’s called Adriana’s Angels. It’s about a Colombian girl who is watched over by two angels, Milagros (miracle) and Alegria (joy). Adriana and her family have to leave Colombia as refugees and come to Chicago, and it is an understandably difficult transition for young Adriana. As kids make fun of her, she starts to develop sharp stones in her heart. The two angels are always listening for God’s advice (and God always knows the very best things to say!). So while Adriana sleeps, the angels whisper messages from God in her ear. As they whisper, all those sharp stones start to fall out of her heart. I’ve been picturing that particular illustration, the one with her sleeping, one arm dangling off her bed, and all the stones falling out of her heart, and the peacefulness she then finds.

         Maybe you’re wondering, well what did they whisper? How did the stones fall out? Here is what God had the angels whisper in Adriana’s ear: “You are still riding in God’s strong hand. You are right at home.”

         Oh man – that turns my mind toward so many of those comforting images in our other readings. “You are still riding in God’s strong hand.” Suddenly, I’m brought away from those harmful stones of Acts, and find myself instead in the Psalm: “Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe… Into your hand I commend my spirit… My times are in your hand; rescue me from the hand of my enemy.”

Now, a quick word about reading Psalms: don’t fall into the trap of thinking that “the enemy” is another person. While it may be, the enemy is far more often sin itself – that is, the enemy is anything at all that causes us to focus on that which is not-God. And in this time of fear and uncertainty, of loss and grief, of longing and loneliness, it is very easy to slip into that abyss, and to forget that God does hold us in His strong hand. Our times are in God’s hand, and a prayer to save us from the hand of these particular enemies is a timely one indeed! Be my strong rock, O God! Into your hand, I commend my spirit!

         And that second part of the angels’ whispering, “You are right at home,” drops us right down into the Gospel lesson. “Do not let your heart be troubled,” Jesus says. “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?” Prepare a place for us – a home, right with God! The translation we read says “dwelling places,” but the word for dwelling in Greek has the same root as the one Jesus uses to talk about “abiding,” which for the evangelist John, is what it means to have faith: to abide with Jesus. To rest, to dwell, to find your home with Jesus. To have relationship with Jesus. So in these words to the disciples, Jesus is promising, “You will always have a home, a place to abide, with me. We’ll make sure of that!”

         So, it sounds like pretty good news, right, for Jesus to tell us this… but I gotta say, I am so grateful that the disciples ask some questions. They’re not on board right away, they’re not immediately comforted by his words because guess what? Grief is hard, and it has a strong grip, and it does not suddenly dissipate with a single word, even a word from God’s own Son. And just reading these words was not enough to shake me out of my despair this week. Of course, I know, I know, God is my rock, Jesus is the cornerstone, I believe that, but I am still really sad, and through my bleary, tear-filled eyes I can’t always see right away how to get out of that grief place. With Philip, I ask, “I can’t see God. Where is the Father? Show me the Father!” And with Thomas I ask, “How can we know the way through this?”

And of course Jesus’ response is one of the most famous lines in the Bible: “I am the way, and the truth and the life.” Leave it to Jesus to speak in riddles in such a visceral moment! And indeed, this statement, Jesus’ final “I AM” statement, has been dramatically misinterpreted over the years to mean exclusion for anyone who doesn’t follow Jesus. In fact this, like all the other I AM statements, is meant as a word of promise, signaling Jesus as the very source of life and abundance and grace, and the very presence of God. In other words, Thomas wants to know the way to the heart of God, and Jesus says, “You’re looking at it. You’ve already found it. You already believe in me, you are already in relationship with me, you already abide with me. We’re in this together, and I’ve got you.”

Sisters and brothers in Christ, whatever particular challenges you are going through right now, whatever sharp stones may be weighing down your heart, whatever questions you have that may keep you from immediately grabbing hold right away of the strong rock and cornerstone that is our God, be assured of this: You are still riding in God’s strong hand. With God, you are right at home. You are safe, and secure, and whether or not you feel like “you’ve got this” (whatever challenge “this” is for you), the truth is: whether or not you’ve got this, God has got you. And will never let you go.

Let us pray… Come, our way, our truth, our life. Hold us in your strong hand, and help us to make our home in you. Remove the sharp stones from our hearts, that we would put our trust in you, our refuge and strength. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: The Door to abundant life (May 3, 2020)

Full service can be found here. Sermon starts around 28 or 29 min.

Easter 4A

May 3, 2020 (pandemic)

Psalm 23, John 10:1-10

INTRODUCTION

         This fourth Sunday of Easter is always “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Christ as our shepherd is a comforting image, and a beloved one, and in fact one of the very oldest ones for Jesus – the earliest Christian art depicts him as a shepherd. All of our readings today will help us enter into that tried and true image.

         First, Acts tells us a bit about that early flock, the first Christians, and what life looked like. In other words, how it played out in real life to “listen to the shepherd’s voice.” Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd,” is an obvious connection – and while I won’t talk too much about it this morning, I did spend my Facebook Live post on Wednesday talking about it. 1 Peter will talk about Jesus being the shepherd that brings his wayward sheep (that’s us!) back to the right path.

         For the Gospel, I want to give you some important context, because the part of the story we hear today isn’t actually that much about Jesus as the shepherd (instead, he calls himself the Gate, or Door). Furthermore, the broader context has nothing to do with sheep at all. Rather, this is Jesus’ explanation of a sign he performed, which we heard about back during Lent: the healing of the man born blind. Remember that one? Jesus heals a man who was born blind, and no one, not the Pharisees, or the friends, or the parents of the man, could make any sense of it. Ultimately, the Jewish authorities kick the man out of the synagogue. It’s a story of being in, and being out, and of what it means to be blind, versus what it means to see. And into all that, Jesus calls himself the Door (or the Gate, which goes better with the pastoral image he’s working with here). What can that mean, for Jesus to be the Door, in the context of that healing story?

         As you listen, just notice how that shepherd image is used (and the door image, for that matter), and what it might mean for us today. Let’s listen.

 [READ]

            Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Risen Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         Before Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd, he calls himself the Door, or the Gate. At first glance, I don’t love this image. When I hear words like door or gate, I am tempted to think of them as something that closes us off, or keeps us in. I think about my children’s annoying propensity to slam doors, and their tears that they cannot open our old, finicky, solid wood doors again on their own. I think about being shut indoors, and talking to friends who drop off the groceries they have graciously delivered for me through our closed glass door. Door does not have a positive connotation for me right now!

         But if Jesus calls himself a door, and talks about it in relation to the abundant life he seeks to bring, then there must be something more to this image – something about life. So, how about this: rather than something that shuts us or others away, a door can become an entry point into a new reality. Rather than a divider, a door is a means by which to pass through a barrier. Rather than something that traps us, a door is a way by which to escape something unwanted, and enter into a new possibility: from inside to outside, from cold to warm, from windy to still, from stuffy to fresh.

Suddenly, with Jesus as the Door, it might not be such a bad thing after all! He calls himself that thing by which one enters into something new. In fact, that something new, he says, is salvation itself! “I am the door,” he says. “Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” And then he goes on to explain what it means, exactly, to be saved: “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”

         And with that, Jesus lays out an essential goal of his mission: to bring to us abundant life. Jesus has been showing, since he turned that water into wine at the beginning of his ministry, that when he is involved, there is abundance – our cups overflow. With Jesus, there is life, and lots of it. There is the possibility of walking through a door, and entering something new, abundant, and life-giving.

         We are living in a time when it is very easy to focus on what we lack. To think about abundant life right now, even as we deal with grief upon grief, may seem impossible! As we draw closer to the time when we might be able to open up some things again, I have found myself even more bogged down by grief, as I come to terms with just how much will not be coming back, right away or even ever.

But this passage, along with Psalm 23’s bold claim that, “I shall not want,” invites us to reflect instead on what abundance looks like, what abundant life looks like, for us right now. If Jesus came that we may have life and have it abundantly, that means even now. So what does it look like?

The Gospel of John makes clear again and again that abundant life looks like an abiding relationship with Jesus, and about welcoming more and more into that relationship with Jesus. This passage shows us a few ways that abiding relationship with Jesus may be expressed.

First, it means hearing Jesus’ voice, and following it. You remember, this discourse is a commentary on the healing of the blind man, who heard Jesus before he was able to see him. Now in today’s passage, Jesus says that the sheep hear his voice and follow it. This can be a real challenge, though, when there are so many other competing voices! There is this media outlet or that one, telling us whom or what we should fear or trust. There are our various emotions that filter and interpret everything we hear, and perhaps cause us to miss the essence of what is offered. There is our own self-talk, so often riddled with guilt or shame. All of these threaten to drown out the voice of our shepherd, and to lead us down wrong paths. This is why we must cling to our relationship with Jesus, through prayer, and scripture study, and conversation with other faithful people God puts in our path. This will help attune our ears to that life-giving voice of Jesus, to distinguish it from all the other voices.

I think another way we can hear Jesus’ voice (and I’ve said this so many times before!) is to practice gratitude. To take time every day to recognize not what we lack, but what we have. Gratitude helps us to recognize that abundant life. Though we may not be grateful for everything, we can be grateful in everything, and finding that little something to be grateful for can also direct our gaze to where Jesus is speaking to us, even in the midst of our struggles.

Second, abundant life and relationship with Christ may look like resting safely in Jesus. I really need that piece these days. In one Facebook group I am in, someone posted this week, “Anyone need a Whiney Wednesday? Lay down your burdens here.” The group is all working moms, and so many people wrote some version of, “I’m SO tired!” Yes, I am sure many if not all of us can relate. Grief is exhausting. Loneliness can be exhausting. Even compassion and care for one another can be exhausting. What a comfort, then, to know that an abiding relationship with Jesus means that he offers us the safety and rest that we need in order to live into the abundant life he promises. That door image – it is also one of protection. Right now, our doors are keeping many of us safe from the virus. In normal times, doors keep us safe from wild animals, and inclement weather, and unwanted intruders like the thieves and bandits Jesus mentions. And so, too, relationship with Jesus means safety.

Of course, this is not always in the sense that we won’t face hardship. Notice the 23^rd Psalm does not say, “God will steer me around the valley of the shadow of death.” It says, “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me.” Abundant life is sometimes the knowledge that God is beside us in those difficult moments, and there is at least spiritual safety in that.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, abundant life in Jesus means being known. “He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out,” Jesus says. The man born blind has been only that all his life: a man named for his disability. But now, Jesus says, he will be more than that. We all will be more than what we lack. We will be who we are. In the next chapter, Jesus will call Lazarus by name (“Lazarus, come out!”) and Lazarus will come back from the dead. After the resurrection, Jesus will call Mary Magdalene by name, and she will recognize the new life he has brought about.

And in our baptism, we are called by name, and brought into the fold, into the abiding relationship with Jesus that promises all these things. We are known. We are not just numbers or statistics. We are not just categories of people, like, “high-risk,” or “immunocompromised,” or, “essential worker.” No, the abundant life that Jesus offers us is that we are unique, we are named, and we are beloved.

And honestly, these days, this is everything: to know that Jesus cares enough about each of us to know our names, to stay with us and grant us safety, to call out to us even in the darkest valley, so that we might hear his voice and know which way is the way toward life. In this dark valley, my friends, I pray that we would all have an ear toward this life, and rest secure in the knowledge that it is what God wants for us.

Let us pray… Good Shepherd, you call us by name, you walk beside us in the darkness, you grant us rest and safety, and most of all, you dearly love us. Today, make us grateful for these gifts. Open our ears to hear your voice calling us toward your abundant life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.