love, as best you can

 

SERMON PREACHED at St PAUL’S, ARROWTOWN 

& St PETER’S, QUEENSTOWN,

SEVENTH SUNDAY OF EASTER

(SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION)

 (May 12^th) 2024

 

READINGS

 

1 John 5: 9-13

Psalm 1

John 17: 6-19

For several weeks now, since Easter, we have been journeying with the source of the Fourth Gospel, guided by his mystical and vastly poetic mind into the impossibly deep mind of the one he calls Word, Logos, the Son of God. We have used his telling of the Jesus story from the Fourth Gospel, but glanced too from time to time at his instructions to one of the early Christian communities, instructions that we know as the Epistles of John.

Throughout the readings we have been encountering the great promise of Jesus to be with us, as he puts it, even to the end. Which end? This of course can be the end of our own lives – and the promise of a beyond. It can be the collapse of civilizations and perhaps of humankind, and the promise of a beyond. It can be the collapse of the cosmos, of the universe and universes, and the promise of a beyond. It is all of these and more, and that is impossible for us to grasp. Yet the love of which John’s Jesus speaks is an intimate love, as close as breath.

So we can’t grasp it. John asks us not to understand with our head but to be immersed with our heart. The language particularly of John 17 from which we’ve read today is the language of deep heart, or as I call it cardiac intimacy, with God. It is the language of love, and it is no accident that the Greek word agape, the māori word aroha, the English word love appears repeatedly in John’s writings. It is as Paul famously writes, a love that does not insist on its own way, does not dominate, does not pout, a love that lives for the other. It is a love for neighbour, but, and this may surprise some advocates of Christian nationalism so frighteningly dominant in some pockets of Christianity, a love that does not impose its will on those around us.

It is a love that rejoices in the knowledge that we belong to God. At St. Peter’s we will sing that later. That belonging is the belonging of intimacy, involving trust, and both dedication and discipline. Not discipline in a brutal way, but the discipline as again Paul writes, of an athlete, focusing again and again on the tasks needing to be done. In the case of love, the love that Jesus prays for in what is called his High Priestly Prayer, the work, the tasks to be done to maintain that love are tasks of reconciliation, cooperation, tasks of immersion in the experience of Christ, which we might extrapolate as tasks of worship, of encountering Christ in scripture and paradoxically in one another. Armed with practice and rehearsal in those disciplines, we are able to know that we belong to God, and we are even able to be signs of divine love and hope in the community into which God has placed us.

As John writes the Jesus story he realises that this disciplined exposure to Christ love is the very essence of evangelism, of proclamation. After the resurrection the risen Lord will give Peter the command to love, and very few other instructions. So it is for us, and no, it is not easy, but it comes with God’s own promise, I am with you always. Our task is to continually accept the one who was with us always, seeking the spirit of love, of truth, whose coming we will celebrate at Pentecost, and who can enable us to be bearers of gospel love.

 

mene as best you can

 

SERMON PREACHED at St PAUL’S, ARROWTOWN 

& St PETER’S, QUEENSTOWN,

SIXTH SUNDAY OF EASTER (May 5^th) 2024

 

READINGS

 

1 John 5: 1-7

Psalm 98

John 15.9-17


We don’t need to be either Einstein or some sort of academic of the sociology of religion to realise that much that is damaging has been done in the name of religion, even in the name of Christ. Corporately as Christians, though for once not necessarily for us each as individuals, a blight on our story. As one who tends to dwell on the negative I’m told that I overemphasise it. That may be my mistake but I don’t certainly want to minimise the impact of the negative witness we have sometimes had.

At the same time I don’t want to shy away from that which has been great in the name of Christ both on the part of the body of Christ as a whole, and on the part of individuals who have inspired greatness, either on a monumental or on a private scale. Those who have inspired us, as well as the great saints who have changed society for the better.

One of them, incidentally, is the source of the writings that we call by the name of John, and which we have been exploring these past weeks since Easter. One scholar rejoicing in the name of Rudolf Schnakenburg (I studied theology for the German names!) made what I think ink is a very accurate claim; , as the heart of John’s good news.he spoke of the verses that I often use at funerals from the chapter before ours today, as Jesus announces himself as the way, the truth, the life.

Jesus is in fact many other things in this Fourth gospel, not least light, which we have been quietly acknowledging since Easter morn with the paschal candle that sits unobtrusively in the sanctuary. Light, that cancels darkness.

The wonderful rented vicarage that I am now inhabiting is pitch black at night, yet the slightest light can help me navigate my way around if I get home late at night or am, as is more often the case, up and about in the wee small hours of the morning.

The slightest light.

So John in telling the Jesus story writes about Jesus as light, as way, as truth, as life. The shadow side of Christian witness that often drowns out that good news is the form of Christianity that uses texts not as a source of joy but as a source of condemnation. I am way, truth, light, life says Jesus, and the moment he says these things and adds “no one comes to the father except through me” the temptation for Christians has been to use his additional words as condemnation. Sorry my friends, but if you don’t tally up with what I consider to be an encounter with Christ, then you miss out on the benefits of salvation. So sad. Too bad.

As my predecessor in my previous role, the ministry educator before me, Alec Clark has often emphasised in gospel conversations, the good news which we too readily suppress, is that there is way, truth, light and life. That this way, truth, light, and life exists despite global warming, global warfare, blocked Whakatipu roadways, rampant inflation, despite even the tragedies through which our life may pass. Way, truth, life exist. And in the passage that we have just read today John goes on to emphasise what the earliest Christians realised was the absolute key ingredient of our response to the encounter with Jesus: the call to love. In John’s account of the Jesus story, as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, the key verb is abide. Abide in love. Abide in the way, the truth, the light, the life. Abide.

I was incidentally asked by a bride the other day why we no longer use the much-romanticised response “I do” in our wedding services. In recent decades we have opted instead for the more intentional “I will.” In ordination and installation services we add the rider, “God being my helper.” Perhaps we should introduce that to our wedding liturgies?

Intentionality: abide. “If you abide in me,” says Jesus, “and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish and it will be done for you.” Not, as I’ve said before “Lord won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz,” but “Lord please equip me with everything I can use to serve and to advertise your way, your truth, your light, your love to the best of my ability.” I guess it’s not quite so catchy and certainly far less cynical in a song.

So in both readings that bear the name John today we hear much about love. Perhaps the best prayer we can send in our own prayer lives is “Lord, help me to love.” The intentionality of which I spoke a moment ago is the key to that ingredient. The word that the author of John frequently users to describe the commitment to Christ, the word we translate as abide, is one of the few that have come directly from Greek into English.

The Greek word, so I can show off, is Mene M-E-N-E. Greek like Māori turns the vowel “e” into something more akin to “eh.” “Mene in me,” Jesus is saying. That “mene” trickled down into English as the second syllable of the word “remain.” Or that’s my theory, and I am sticking to it. Mene in me. Remain intentionally connected to me. Remain connected to me in prayer, in worship, in fellowship with other believers, in fellowship with the scriptures about me, says Jesus. Be intentional.

Do I practise what I preach? Only very poorly, but that I suspect is true of most of us, and fallible though we are, poor advertisements though we may well be, our task is to keep on that intentional remaining, mene-ing in Christ as best we can, with the rider stolen from ordination services, “God be my helper.” Which funnily enough, is precisely the extra dimension that Jesus promises when in the fourth gospel he speaks of the future coming of the Spirit. But for that we shall symbolically wait until Pentecost.