Lent 5 - Lift Up

 

John 12: 20-33

During my second year of seminary, I went on a cross-cultural trip with my class. This was something my seminary required of all students in the Master of Divinity program. Three weeks in another country, time spent immersed in the culture, learning about the Christian faith from a very different perspective. The destination varied from year to year. In my year, it was Cuba.

This was in a time when internet and cell phone service were not universally available, so I was completely separated from Kim and our four children for three weeks. When we finally returned home, Kim and our two little boys met me at the airport. I can remember clearly how I felt. Elated, grateful, tears of joy. A classmate told me later, “The look on your face when you saw your family? That’s the way I think we will all look when we see Jesus.”

And I think of that moment often, and always in the context of seeing Jesus.

There were people who came to the festival in Jerusalem during that Passover week who wanted this – to see Jesus. They approached Philip, one of his disciples, and they said simply, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

They did not say why they wanted to see him. They gave no indication of their intentions or desires, other than that they wished to see Jesus. And I wonder if that simple request speaks to you as it does to me. Do we also wish to see Jesus?

Talking with fellow pastors this past week, some of them expressed their doubts about this. We don’t all come to church wanting the same thing, I am sure this is true. Our wishes are often complicated, this is also true. But among all of the other complex desires of our hearts, is there a desire to see Jesus?

It is in the songs we sing, in the prayers we say. Come, Lord Jesus. Be with us Jesus, we want to see you, Jesus.

Do you wish to see Jesus?

For some, the answer might be, “Yes, but not yet!” Because, if it means dying, most of us are content to wait a while longer. We look forward to seeing him someday in the sweet by and by, but we can wait.

We’ll wait. Even though the hunger is with us now.

There is a part of us that yearns for him every day – to feel his presence, his love, his peace. Each week we stand up and share the peace of Christ with one another – what is it we think we are doing in this moment? What is our intention if not to share Christ, himself, with one another? Do we desire to have Christ with us, before us, behind and above us, beneath us and in us, as the Prayer of St Patrick says?

If we wish to see Jesus, must we wait until we die?

It is a troubling thought. And in this passage, we hear that Jesus is troubled too. “My soul is troubled,” he says to his followers. He knows that he is approaching his time, his hour. “The hour has come,” he says, “for the Son of Man to be glorified.” And in this we hear something bitter and sweet. Because his glory comes through his death. He will be lifted up, high on a cross. And when he is lifted up, he says, he will draw all people to himself. In his death. In his resurrection.

The hour has come, he tells us. It is the time of peak tension in this city – there are those who want to see him enthroned and those who want to see him dead. Both sides fail to comprehend what they are hoping for.

No one seems to realize what it will take for them to see Jesus lifted up.

Jesus, himself, tells them in a parable, as is his wont, “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains but a single grain; if it dies it bears much fruit. Lose your life to gain eternal life.”

This is, of course, a frightening prospect. He asks us to cast off all that we know and step into the unknown with him. To die with him. To be lifted up with him.

There is a demand that we change our attitude about death. That we look at death in a different way.

I have been thinking about a sentence I read this past week, written by an Episcopalian minister, Debie Thomas. “I am dwelling in the land of many dyings.”

She writes about accompanying her parents through the frailties of age. Her father with dementia, her mother suffering the lingering effects of a stroke. Through this journey there are many dyings along the way.

For her, there is the dying of childhood, for even though her parents are still living, she is no longer the child in the relationship.

There is the dying of the future, for her parents, but also for herself. There is the dying of memory, as dementia takes its toll.

We live in the land of many dyings, as well, I don’t have to tell you that – you know. We have experienced fresh waves of grief again and again.

But it is also true that every person lives in the land of many dyings through all of life if the truth be told. If we walk the way of faith, there are many dyings along the way. There is the dying of certain beliefs and visions we may have long held: what it is to be whole, to be well. There is the dying to the luxury of holding grudges and withholding forgiveness.

Debie Thomas prays the Anima Christi (Soul of Christ) prayer, which says:

Let me not run from love which you offer,
but hold me safe from the forces of evil.
On each of my dyings shed your light and your love.

In each and every life, there are many dyings – those she mentions and so many others. You and I have passed through some of our dyings; there are others yet to come. This is what I want you to know: In each one of our dyings, there is something to be born into.

Christ says to his friends, “When I am lifted up from the earth I will draw all people to myself.” And we are his friends, too. Christ bids us come, too, to die with him and be resurrected with him, in this world and in the next.

In this life, there are many dyings that we experience, by necessity. And in it all, in every one, Christ calls us to himself. He draws us to him so that in each of our dyings, whatever their form, there is the light of glory, the taste of grace, the quickening of new life. We have this assurance: in all of it, in whatever comes next for us at any stage of our living and dying, we may see Jesus there too.

This is his promise. This is our hope.

Do you wish to see Jesus? Draw near to him, if you will. Catch a glimpse of what he reveals to you: the life you can have, even now, even here. Come and die to the old life and be lifted up into the new life in Christ. Come, and see Jesus.

Photo by Gift Habeshaw on Unsplash