Fifth Sunday of Easter
Grace be to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
A few years ago, I read the following story: In Queens, New York, a man lay face-down on the sidewalk, stabbed and bleeding and motionless. He was right in front of an apartment building, which is how the whole sorry scene was caught on surveillance camera.
The sorry part was that at least seven people walked by the man on the pavement. Some just glanced in passing, some stopped and gawked, one bent down and lifted the man’s shoulder, but in the end, all of them walked on without doing a thing. It took over an hour for someone to call an ambulance; by the time it arrived Hugo Alfredo Tale-Yax was dead.
The police pieced together what had happened: Mr. Tale-Yax had been walking on the sidewalk behind a couple. The couple had started arguing. The argument became violent, and the man attacked the woman. Mr. Tale-Yax intervened to help the woman and in the process was stabbed repeatedly by the man. Man and woman took off in different directions. Mr. Tale-Yax tried to run after the man but collapsed on the sidewalk.
All this did not happen in the ghetto in the dead of night. No, it was a working-class neighborhood, across from a school, at 6 in the morning.
This kind of story gets me in the gut. This kind of story makes it abundantly clear that we live in a world that does not reflect God’s love. Instead, we live in a world that still contains a lot of sadness and grief, fear and sin, regret and shame, violence and death.
Living in this kind of world, we read the prophecy from the Book of Revelation, promising a new heaven and a new earth. On cynical days, like after reading about people dying on sidewalks, I am tempted to think, “Yeah, right!”
But then I remember the congregation to which this promise was first given. When John wrote down his vision of God and the Lamb on the throne and the new creation and the water of life, he was doing so to comfort people in even more trying circumstances than ours.
Imagine you are a follower of Christ in the very early church. Imagine you live under the rule of the almighty Roman Empire. Imagine you are experiencing harassment and persecution from the Empire. Imagine all you have ever known is this ruthless Empire that is threatening you simply because of your faith, simply because it can.
You secretly meet with your brothers and sisters in Christ in someone’s home. Huddled together and fearful of the world and of what tomorrow might bring, you read John’s vision: A new heaven and a new earth; God is coming to dwell with his people; God will wipe away every tear and ease all suffering and pain; God is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end; God will offer the water of life to all the faithful who feel like they are dying of thirst out there.
To the fearful, persecuted church, this vision became a source of hope and joy and comfort. God will dwell with his people. God will move into the neighborhood. Not the emperor, but God will have the last word and the final victory. Praise be to God!
The early church was able to believe and imagine and hold onto the vision of God dwelling among them and of God having the final victory, because in Jesus Christ that vision had already begun to take place. In Christ, God did live among the people as one of them. In Christ, God did have the victory over death, the last word against violence and rejection, the ultimate power over all things eternal.
When life got tough, the Christians could hold on to this truth: God is living among us. We hear God in his word. We see and touch him in the sacraments. We experience his presence in the love of others, in recovery from illness, in guidance from the Holy Spirit, in messages of hope and signs of divine power. God is among us. The new heaven and new earth have begun.
That was the experience and the hope of the early church. It is still our experience and hope today.
Hope. Wherein rests our hope? It rests in God. To a large degree, it rests in God’s forgiveness. Our Bible readings today all include the theme of forgiveness.
In the Book of Revelation we read, “God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away. And the one on the throne said: ‘See, I am making all things new.’” We often hear these words at funerals. They are very comforting to those weeping in grief. The image of God gently wiping our tears is one of amazing tenderness and love.
I believe, though, that the tears we read about are not only tears at the loss of a loved one. The scope of these tears is wider. “The first things have passed away,” we read. The things we have done in the past are wiped away. The sins weighing on our shoulders, the regrets that rob us of sleep, the deeds that make us cringe and suck in our breath every time we think of them, all are erased. God can wipe away our tears because he can reach into our past and wipe away the cause for our tears – those tears of regret and shame and guilt.
For example, if you had been one of the seven people who had walked by the man on the sidewalk, and later you found out that he had died to save another person, and that maybe he could have lived if only you had done something – how could you live with yourself? How could you carry that kind of burden of guilt? You can because God promises you forgiveness, a clean slate, a new start, a new creation. “See, I am making all things new.” Forgiveness – it is the source of our hope.
Our gospel story is set during Jesus’ last supper with his disciples. Jesus has just washed the feet of his friends, including those of Peter who would deny him; those of John and James who had just asked a preposterous favor of him; those of Thomas who would doubt him; those of Judas who was about to betray him. The hope of all these disciples rests in the fact that Jesus accepted them and loved them to the end and died and rose for them. Our hope rests in the fact that when we doubt and betray and deny Jesus, he will still be there, ready to wash out feet, ready to love us to the end, ready to die for us.
This hope of faith in God’s forgiveness moves us to love. How could we respond to God’s grace in any other way but to love God? We can’t. God’s love has touched us, his love has saved us, his love has forgiven us time and again. How could we not be filled with love for God?
Having been touched and filled with God’s love, we are called to pass this love on to others. “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, so you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, that you love one another.”
On the last night with his friends, Jesus commands them to show each other the radical love he has shown them. This love is radical because it extends to all people: the betrayer and the doubter, the enemy and the outsider, the poor and the rich, the rude person who just cut you off in traffic and the homeless man begging at the street corner.
This radical love will raise eyebrows. In this age of heightened patriotism and fear of foreigners, of a growing divide between rich and poor, of increasing animosity between Republicans and Democrats, this radical love will make some people uncomfortable, even angry, just like those who were offended at Jesus’ limitless love and nailed him to cross.
Radical love. The radical love of Christ touched us when we were yet sinners. The radical love of Christ forgave us every doubt and betrayal and preposterous demand. The radical love of Christ invites us back to the table of grace week after week. The radical love of Christ makes it possible for us to live with our sins and regrets.
In the radical love Christ models, Jesus’ presence comes to life. As he announces in our gospel reading, we will no longer see him in person. But he gives us the command to pass on radical love, because in those expressions of love Jesus will become real. In our words and deeds of radical love, Jesus becomes visible to the world; Jesus touches lives with hope born of forgiveness; Jesus calls more people into the new creation he came to bring.
We have the awesome responsibility and privilege to contribute to the new creation, to the new heaven and the new earth, and to demonstrate to others that God is dwelling among his people.
One pastor shared a memory of her grandmother, with whom she and her cousins spent most summers. When her grandmother was going to town on errands, she would line up all the visiting grandchildren and say to them, “Don’t forget who you are; you are my grandchildren. You are to take care of each other. Make me proud.”
That memory stayed with this pastor all her life. Many times, when she was about to do something, she would wonder if her grandmother would be proud of it. At times, it saved her from big mistakes. Through her memory of what her grandmother said, and through her recollection of how her grandmother had modeled faithful living, and through her desire to make her grandmother proud, her grandmother was always with her.
On the night of his betrayal, Jesus lined up his disciples and said to them, “Remember who you are; you are my disciples. You are to take care of each other. Make me proud.”
Every Sunday, Jesus lines us up and says, “Remember who you are; you are my disciples. You are to take care of each other. Make me proud.”
Don’t ever forget who you are: you are God’s beloved child, adopted through radical love in baptism; nourished by radical love at God’s table of grace; called to pass on that radical love to all people; invited by radical love into God’s new heaven and new earth.
Never forget this: You are God’s beloved child forever. Now go and make him proud. Amen.