Easter 6A
May 14, 2023
John 14:15-21
INTRODUCTION
In last week’s reading from Acts, the stoning of Stephen, there was a small detail you may have noticed: the angry crowd lays their coats at the foot of a young man named Saul. You may remember that Saul is later Paul, that is, St. Paul, at that time one of the greatest persecutors of the Church. Between that story and the one we will hear today, Saul has had a major conversion experience, and has gone from persecutor to promoter of the Church. He is traveling the known world, sharing the gospel and planting churches. Today we will find him before the Areopagus, which is both a place and the name of the group, the council, that meets there. They are Greek, so they do not share Paul’s Jewish background, so Paul is instead trying to use their own poets and wisdom to convince them that Jesus is Lord.
Our Gospel reading takes us to the same place we were last week, Maundy Thursday, Jesus’ last night with his disciples. The sense of grief is increasing, and Jesus, now in the role of pastor and friend, knows it. So he speaks these comforting words to them, that they will not be left alone, that in his absence another “advocate,” as he calls it, will be with them. He is promising them the Holy Spirit, which we will see come upon them dramatically in a couple weeks on Pentecost like a wild rushing wind and tongues of fire. But this moment is more tender than dramatic, as Jesus speaks to their fears with great care and compassion.
Paul proclaims that we are God’s offspring. The Psalmist promises that God hears our prayers. 1st Peter assures us of God’s presence even when we suffer, and Jesus promises us we will not be left alone. As you listen, on this day when we celebrate those who care for us, hear in these texts the promise of God, our loving parent’s, enduring care for you. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
Last week we had our last confirmation class of this school year. Something we have enjoyed doing all year is playing improv games each class, which help introduce the topic of the day. This class’s topic was “tough questions of faith,” and one of those questions was, “Why do bad things happen?” To help us talk about a Christian response when bad things happen to others, we played a game, which I called “Words of Discomfort”: I came up with three sort of silly but sad scenarios. For example, pretend you are a tree that has been marked to be cut down, or, you are a toy in the getting-rid-of pile. Another kid had to come up with “words of dis-comfort” that they could speak to this situation – words that look like comfort, but actually make things worse. So for the tree, “Well, at least now you can become a log cabin and learn something about Abraham Lincoln!” For the toy, “So what if this kid doesn’t love you anymore – at least now you can meet a new kid!” I pointed out how many of these uncomforting words began with the words “at least,” which had the effect of minimizing or dismissing the real grief that was there, as if to say, “It’s not as bad as it could be, so stop being so sad.”
Then in the next round, I challenged them to come up with truly comforting words. Everyone agreed that this was much, much more difficult. Everything they tried sounded pretty similar to the intentionally not-comforting ones! These normally very vocal and creative kids kept looking at me helplessly, saying, “I can’t think of anything to say.”
And isn’t that the way of it? Sometimes, we really don’t know what to say when someone is experiencing something really scary, painful or sad. We try all kinds of things – “It’ll be okay, don’t worry, don’t cry, you can get through this…” – but a lot of times, those words, though well-intentioned, don’t quite speak what our hearts need to hear, so much as they try to distract us and them from the feelings.
Today our Gospel reading takes us again to Maundy Thursday, a day that was, for Jesus and his disciples, a highly anxious and sad one. Judas has just left to betray Jesus. Peter has been told he will deny Jesus three times. And the way Jesus is talking, it is pretty clear that something big is about to happen – at best, he is leaving them, at worst, something terrible is about to happen to him. As Jesus talks to them, the air grows thicker and thicker with grief and anxiety about their unknown future without Jesus.
That feeling of grief and anxiety over the unknown is one I’m sure we are all familiar with. Getting treatments that may or may not work for a scary medical condition, financial uncertainty, a loved one deployed overseas, an important relationship on shaky ground, a global pandemic, waiting to see if the fertility treatments worked this time – we are all too familiar with the anxiety of not knowing, where the outcome could literally be life or death, success or ruin. We’ve either gone through it ourselves, or someone we love has – and just like my confirmation students, when someone else is suffering, it is difficult to know what is the right thing to do or say to bring comfort to the situation.
So here, in this part of Jesus’ Farewell Discourse, we get to hear what words of comfort Jesus offers to his anxious disciples as they go through something hard. He says, “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever… I will not leave you orphaned.” He doesn’t say, “It won’t be too bad,” or, “Let me carry this for you,” or, “Don’t worry and don’t cry – you can do this!” (which are, by the way, all very nice things to say to someone who is struggling!). What I hear when I read these words from Jesus is, “You are not alone. You don’t have to do this alone. We’re not going to let you fall.”
I can’t think of more comforting words than that! When I think of the hardest things I have had to do in my life, every one of them was worst when I felt like I was alone, and every one of them was made easier when I realized I wasn’t alone – the right friend called at the right time, the support group I needed suddenly came to my awareness, a homecooked meal showed up at my door. Or even, simply: someone truly heard me, and was able to reflect my feelings back to me in a way that showed me they really heard and cared about my pain, and didn’t try to dismiss it. The promise of presence – whether physical, emotional, or spiritual – is the most deeply comforting promise when we are feeling anxious, sad, or afraid. And Jesus promises it, in the form of the Advocate.
Let’s look more closely for a moment at that word translated here as “advocate.” In various translations of this verse, this word appears as: helper, advocate, counselor, comforter, or intercessor. The Greek word is “paracletos,” in English, Paraclete, and it literally means, “one who is called alongside.” Isn’t that a lovely image? One who comes alongside us – in our grief, in our joy, in our anxiety, in our contentment, in our pain: this spirit comes right alongside us, accompanying us along the way, so that we are never alone. This is the work of the Holy Spirit, the spirit of truth, the one who abides with us, who will be in us, no matter what fearful, uncertain thing we are facing.
There are many ways by which we might become aware of the Spirit coming alongside us – in prayer, in the study of the Word, and in the faithful community, certainly. But one particularly powerful way is when we come to the Table for holy communion. Yesterday I had the pleasure of teaching five young people about communion, and today they will receive the sacrament for the first time. There is one part of the communion liturgy called the epiclesis, another Greek word for you. It’s the part of the liturgy where we summon the Holy Spirit. The Spirit comes alongside, infusing the sacrament with the real presence of Christ in our meal. Then, when we partake of that bread and wine, we take God, that Spirit of truth, directly into ourselves, so that God is as physically close to us as possible. God literally comes alongside us in the sacrament, promising us that we will never be orphans, never be alone in our grief and anxiety, as long as we know and are in relationship with him. And as we walk from this table, out into the world, we leave surrounded by the communion of saints, a Spirit-full community, who continue to be the Spirit’s presence with us wherever we go!
If I have one hope for these young people today, as they begin this part of their faith journey – and it is a hope for all of us! – it is that every time they come to this table, they are reminded of Christ’s real presence in this sacrament and in our lives. I hope that they never, ever forget that they will never be alone, that God, our loving parent, will never leave us orphaned, that the Spirit of truth promises to come alongside us wherever we go and whatever we do, as our helper, our advocate, our counselor, and our comforter.
Let us pray… Comforting Spirit of truth, when grief and anxiety make us feel so alone, come alongside us. When we don’t know what to say or where to go, come alongside us. When we struggle in any way, come alongside us, so that we will never forget that you abide with us, all the time. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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