Sixth Sunday of Easter

It’s always good to come back to Calvary!  It’s the closest thing to a church home I have outside of prison bars!  This is where I come to worship on my rare Sundays off, and it’s always a joy to lead worship here and look at all the familiar faces.   It’s like coming home, even if I don’t get here very often!

We come to church to worship first and primarily, but—we also come for the people who surround us, sit next to us in the pew, and make us feel like we’re part of a family.  We all crave that. 

Last week I preached at a church in Baltimore that once was a thriving center of the community.  The building was built in the 1920’s and though it’s fallen into some disrepair, you can tell that it must have been breathtaking at one time, with jewel tone stained glass windows and magnificent wood working that someone put a great deal of care and artistry into. 

A handful of people gathered…gradually.  We started a half hour late because everyone knew who was going to show up, and you didn’t want to start without them.  There was only a handful of people there but they sang so heartily that my apple watch warned me that I was in a high decibel level situation! 

After church, as we chatted about the church, the history, the architecture, the dwindling numbers and the cost of maintaining this building, some acknowledged that keeping this building going with so few members was unrealistic and it wasn’t good stewardship of resources to hang on. 

But, there is such a strong force that keeps them clinging to the church—that sense of belonging, companionship, family, of being there for each other, of having each other to enjoy happy times and to get through the tough times together.  We need that.

This gospel passage we read this morning paints a picture of that need among the disciples.  This is part of a long chat that Jesus is having with his friends the night before his crucifixion.  Things are about to take a turn they don’t see coming; Jesus knows what’s coming, but they don’t, so he’s trying to prepare them.  

Just the last Sunday it seemed that Jesus was turning the tide as the crowd waved palms and cheered him on coming into Jerusalem.  Now, Thursday night, he’s talking about leaving them and hinting at their betrayal and his death.  What’s going on?? 

This was supposed to be a celebratory dinner, the traditional Passover holiday.  But, from the start of this evening, you could tell something was up.  Nothing was quite as they’d expect.  They arrived and Jesus, their lord and master, took a towel, crouched down and washed their dirty feet, a job that should have been relegated to the lowest of the lowest servants.  He held the bread they had shared so many times and called it his body, broken for them.  He blessed the cup they had shared over and over and pronounced it his blood shed for them.     

He talked vaguely of going away and they couldn’t go with him, but be at peace and just love each other.  They had to wonder, What’s going on???

Peter asks, where are you going?  I’ll lay down my life for you! 

Thomas says we don’t know where you’re going, how do we know the way? 

Philip seems to express the exasperation of the whole group when he says, Lord, show us the Father and we will be satisfied. 

I can only imagine the growing uneasiness and apprehension in the room.   When asked where he is going, Jesus replies you  can’t follow me now but you will follow later.  Follow where?  When?  When asked for the way to get there, Jesus tells them he is the way.  What does that mean?  What kind of road map is that?  Jesus simply says don’t let your hearts be troubled and instead of outlining a clear path forward, he says just to trust him, love each other.  There are no pat answers here, no details, no idea of what to expect next. 

What are they to do, what are we to do when the path ahead is unclear and we don’t have the answers we want? 

Well, we rely on each other, we lean on the people around us.  And that’s exactly what Jesus gives them here.  He promises to send an advocate to be by their side and assures them that they are not orphaned.   They are not alone, and therein is the power to get through.  Whatever form that advocate takes, Jesus assures us we will have one.

I want to tell you about community, companionship, and no clear answers.

Couple weeks ago in prison, we were talking about what is it that holds us back from living as Easter people, who fully embrace God’s love for us.  Eternal life, for sure, but we don’t have to wait for this mortal life to end.  We have Easter/resurrection life now!  Is there something we need to let go of to live that Easter life?

One man spoke up and said, “The thing I need to let go of is what kept me alive where I grew up.  It’s how it is where I come from.  If I give that up I don’t survive, like my cousins and my friend.  That’s the neighborhood I grew up in and where I’ll go back to.” 

His jaw got very set and tight, and at the same time he fought to keep his eyes from tearing up.  In the last month, he’s lost 2 family members and his best friend to the streets of Baltimore.   This was honesty and grief and hopelessness and fear and bravado all on display on a human face. 

So what do you say to that?

It would be arrogance and false piety to say it’ll all work out fine, so I listened, his brothers listened.  There were no pat answers to offer in that moment; no answers to the huge issues of violence, poverty, poor education, racism, easy access to guns, drugs that numb the emotional pain until they kill.

But--there was strength in the presence of the body of Christ there among the men who worship with us.  That advocate Jesus spoke about showed up, in the persons of the men there who got it and listened to their brother, in the power of the assembled body of Christ.

I’m making calls, I’m trying to find options for this young man.  Yeah, there’s programs and housing and all—but are there definite answers?  Can I assure him , yeah do this and you won’t get killed?  No.  I can’t say that.

All I can offer is the assurance that Jesus said there would be an advocate by our side.  For now, the advocate is those men worshipping together who listened and understood.  I just have to trust Jesus at his word that when this young man goes back to the streets, that advocate Jesus promised will be there, whether he stays safe or not; whether he survives or not, the advocate is by his side.   

Humans crave community, family, belonging, presence.  We don’t want to go it alone, and Jesus assures us we won’t: “I will ask the Father and he will give you another advocate to be with you forever.”  Look around you.  The advocate might be sitting nearby.

I think that’s the whole gist of this Christian story we cling to—God sent a real person, his own son, to walk the Earth with us, to give us an incarnate, in the flesh, experience of God’s presence.  

God still shows up in the flesh—not always with details and pat answers and clear directions to follow, but with Jesus to cling to and the promise of an advocate.  He will not leave us orphaned.   Amen