Sermon can be viewed HERE, beginning at 11 min (Gospel) or 12 min (sermon).
Easter 6C
May 22, 2022
John 14:23-29
INTRODUCTION
Today’s readings are full of visions. In Acts, Paul is going about his ministry the way he thinks it ought to be done, but doors keep closing. So at this point, they are just kind of hanging out, trying to figure out what’s next, when Paul has a vision to go somewhere unexpected: into what is now Europe. The result is the further expansion of the Church into new territory, with the help of another strong woman of faith, Lydia.
In Revelation, John has a beautiful vision for what will be – an urban garden in which there are no divisions, and the gates are never shut. We will hear the last words of Jesus, the Lamb, and they are: “Come!” Try to imagine this vision as he describes it – a tree of life that somehow spans both sides of a river, growing leaves that heal the nations; gates open and ready to receive all who come to them; and abundant light provided by the Lamb himself. Our choir anthem today is a setting of a beloved hymn that draws upon the glorious imagery in this text.
In the Gospel, Jesus also describes a vision, one of abiding peace. He offers it to the disciples on his last night with them, as he prepares to go to the cross. It is an anxious time for the disciples, in which they are likely already tasting a sort of grief. And it is a powerful and needed message for us, too, in a time of high anxiety and deep sadness and brokenness. As you listen today, I pray that these visions of peace, reconciliation, and divine presence find a way into your own heart. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia!
Grace to you and peace from our risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
Like I’m sure many of you, I’m feeling pretty wearied lately by the news. So much grief, and lament, and anger, and most of all, a longing for things to be different than they are. Every day, I find myself sighing and shaking my head in discouragement and fear.
And so when I hear today’s Gospel reading, and Jesus’ promise of peace, I feel partly an eager, “Yes, please!” and partly a resigned, “Yeah, right.” Much as I’d like it to be true, it feels impossible to believe, doesn’t it, that Jesus’ peace might be a reality for us any time soon. How can we say Jesus’ peace is here when people of color are being shot while they buy food for their families, or while they are at church? How can we say we have Christ’s peace while war is raging in Ukraine? Where is peace while people are fearful that their voice and autonomy will be stripped away, or while they worry how they will put food on the table, or while their marriage is in shambles, or while their mental health is struggling?
But that’s just it – when Jesus made this promise, it was just as anxious a time, albeit for some different reasons. Remember, this conversation is happening just hours before Jesus is betrayed and handed over to death. There is definitely fear and anxiety in the room, and they are already feeling a sort of grief. And of course they were living in an oppressive Roman empire. And yet he still says, “My peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” So, there must be some way toward finding peace, not apart from our fears and anxieties, but even in the midst of them.
A key for understanding this lies in that line, “I do not give as the world gives.” Here Jesus sets up his peace as something different from the peace we might seek from the world – and that is a difference worth articulating! Here’s how I might describe the difference: the peace that the world gives, is dependent upon our circumstances. Things have to be a certain way before we can find peace. Then that peace falsely promises that everything will be smooth sailing, and without conflict. We find this “peace” from worldly sources: we think we will find it from a clean house, or a completed to-do list. We think it will come from cutting someone toxic out of our lives, without doing the work of healing. Or from just ignoring the problems around us, or numbing them with another glass of wine. And yes, these tactics will bring peace… for a while. But then the kids come home and the house gets messy again. More things get added to the list. A new difficult person comes along. The effects of the wine wear off… The peace that the world gives is fleeting, you see. It does not last.
But Jesus does not give as the world gives. His peace is not dependent upon external circumstances. The word he uses here implies, as commentator Elizabeth Johnson says, “a profound and holistic sense of well-being.” It is peace that can fill our hearts even in the midst of conflict and injustice, anxiety and uncertainty. It is, as Paul will call it later, “the peace of God which surpasses all understanding” – and is something decidedly different from what the world gives!
How do we live in this peace? What does it look and feel like? First, let’s look at its opposite. If it can exist even in the midst of conflict, then conflict is not its opposite. Rather, I will suggest that the opposite of God’s peace is restlessness. I think of a restless sea, and a tumultuous heart, which cannot find a rock to cling to, as our sending hymn today will allude to. We grasp and seek and cannot find the stillness, the rest, of peace. St. Augustine described this well in his Confessions. He writes, “My heart is restless, O God, until it finds its rest in thee.” And that is indeed the antidote to our restlessness, and how we are able to find the peace that Jesus gives to his disciples. We find our rest, our peace, in God. So the question becomes: how do we do that?
Two words come to mind: acceptance, and trust. First, acceptance. Life is scary, right? So much can go wrong, and we are, in the end, so vulnerable. We can’t change that, no matter what real or emotional walls we erect. Life is also difficult – we can’t change that either! And although God presumably can, God doesn’t promise that He will. As long as we fight against that reality, we will find ourselves restless, not at peace. Once we can accept it, acknowledge where we find ourselves, we can, with God’s help, find our bearings and figure out where to go from there. To be clear: accepting something does not mean liking or condoning it. I’m sure we all have had to accept lots of things we didn’t like one bit – a chronic illness, the end of a relationship, a job loss. Acceptance is just saying, “Yes, this is the hand I was dealt.” Acceptance is also not resignation – you aren’t saying it is okay for things to continue this way. You can accept that you have cancer, and then do all you can to treat the cancer. You can accept the end of a relationship, without giving up hope on finding love. Again, acceptance is simply acknowledging, “This is what my reality is.”
Then comes the next word: trust. Without trust – and in this case, I mean, trust in God – acceptance is a rope tied to nothing. But with trust, we are able to say, “I know that God is good, and that God is working all things for good for those who love him. And even though things are bad right now [and they might be really, really bad] I trust that God is with me, holding what I can’t shoulder. And when I can let go of my own need for control, I know that God will lead me in the right direction.” In short, accept our reality for what it is, and trust that God will not let us perish there. The outcome may not be what we would have preferred, but we can be sure God is with us all the while.
How can we be so sure? Because of what Jesus has said just before this: that the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, sent by the Father, will teach us everything and remind us of Jesus’ promises. The word translated here as “advocate” is “paraclete” – literally, one who comes alongside. What a beautiful image of presence for God. One who comes alongside us – in our darkest hour, in our frustration and discouragement, in our anxiety and fear. One who comes alongside us when we sure don’t want to accept what is happening, to assure us that God is trustworthy. One who comes alongside us to say, “I know you are restless, and uncertain, and you wish things were different. But I will bring you peace. I will bring you life. I will not leave you alone. Let not your heart be troubled, and do not let it be afraid.”
Let us pray…
You who know our fears and sadness,
grace us with your peace and gladness,
Spirit of all comfort: fill our hearts.
Healer of our ev’ry ill, light of each tomorrow,
give us peace beyond our fear,
and hope beyond our sorrow.
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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