Easter 3, Year A (2017)

Acts 2: 14a, 36–41; Psalm 116: 1–3, 10-17 ; I Peter 1: 17–23; Luke 24: 13–35

This is a homily by Fr. Gene Tucker, provided to St. John’s Church, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, Sunday, April 30, 2017.

“THE LORD’S GIFTS:  IMMEDIATE AND CONTINUING”

(Homily text:  Luke 24: 13 – 35)

(Introductory note:  On this Sunday, a normal homily was not delivered, since the congregation engaged in a comment/discussion/question-and-answer session which is known as “Stump the Priest”.)

This morning, we are privileged to hear the account of the Lord’s post-resurrection appearance to two disciples as they made their way from Jerusalem to the town of Emmaus. This is material that Luke alone provides us.

The account is –- most likely – very familiar to most of us.

It seems as though there are two aspects of this appearance that arise from the account: Both have to do with gifts that the Lord gives, not only to Cleopas and his un-named companion as they made their way along the road to Emmaus, but these two gifts are given to us, as well.

The first gift we should talk about is the gift of being able to recognize the Lord. Notice that neither man is able to recognize Jesus as He approaches them during their walk. Luke specifically tells us that “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” And yet, as the Lord sits and breaks the bread at the table with them, Luke then tells us that “their eyes were opened,” and they recognized the Lord.

We can safely deduce from this aspect of the meeting between Jesus and the two men the truth that, unless God grants the gift of being able to know Him, we human beings are incapable of doing so. Theologians call this sort of God’s grace “prevenient grace”. Prevenient grace, as the root word for “prevenient”, coming from the Latin, suggests, is the sort of grace that “comes before”. And, while we’re at it, we ought to define what grace is….grace is defined as “God’s unmerited and unearned favor toward humankind”. So prevenient grace is that grace that God gives before anyone is able to recognize and come to know God. This sort of grace, this sort of a gift, is the sort that arises from God’s goodness. It forms the starting point for our relationship with God, and it makes clear that we are completely unable to initiate a relationship with God, absent God’s “coming before” to enlighten us.

The second gift that arises from the Emmaus account is the gift of the Eucharist. The Eucharist is a gift that “keeps on giving”, and it signifies the Lord’s continuing presence with us under the species of bread and wine. In the Eucharist, we see the Lord. The Eucharist is God’s assurance that He will continue to be with His people until the end of time.

Thanks be to God!

AMEN.

Easter 2, Year A (2017)

Acts 2: 14a, 22–32; Psalm 16; I Peter 1: 3–9; John 20: 19-31

This is the homily by Fr. Gene Tucker, given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on Sunday, April 23, 2017.

“DISCIPLESHIP, THEN APOSTLESHIP”

(Homily text:  John 20: 19–31)

This morning, we are presented with the very familiar account of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearance to Thomas.  Yes, this would be the Thomas we know as “Doubting Thomas”.

The event that the author of the Fourth Gospel relates to us took place one week after that first Easter Sunday, so it is for that reason that we hear this text every year on the Second Sunday of Easter.

Almost always, a text from Holy Scripture presents us with one (or perhaps two) basic teaching(s) or point(s). The details of the text are usually in support of this one (or two) central idea(s). (Again, this is most commonly true, although there are exceptions.) Using this concept as our starting point, if we look for the basic principle or point in the text before us this morning, it would be this: Discipleship must precede Apostleship.

The text itself suggests being a disciple, and it looks outward into the future as the Lord’s apostles make their way out into the world. Jesus completes Thomas’ training as a disciple by giving him the resurrection appearance that will inform the remainder of his life. Then, the text tells us that Jesus said to the eleven, “Even as the Father sent me, so I am sending you.” Notice the outward vision. That vision extends even to you and me today, as we are told that “Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book (the Fourth Gospel). But these are written that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing, you may have life in his name.”

So, with regard to Thomas’ discipleship and his apostleship, we can summarize the process this way:   

Jesus is giving Thomas the tools Thomas will need in order to go out and spread the Good News (Gospel).

Jesus is completing Thomas’ preparation as a disciple. Once that formation is complete, then Thomas will be ready to become an Apostle, one who is sent out to share the Good News of God made known in Christ.

Thomas’ preparation consists of being an eyewitness to Jesus’ resurrection. As the Lord gives Thomas a special revelation of Himself, Thomas receives what all the other ten original disciples already had:  An in-person encounter with the risen Lord. So, in a sense, Thomas’ request isn’t all that unusual, even though Thomas makes demands that the others hadn’t made (the requirement to be able to put his finger in the Lord’s wounds and in the Lord’s side).

Being an eyewitness to the resurrection is one of the major, basic requirements for being an Apostle. We can see this requirement in practice as part of the process by which Matthias was chosen to replace Judas Iscariot: In Acts 1: 21–22, Matthias and the other person also nominated, Joseph (also known as Barsabbas) were “eyewitnesses of His (Jesus’) resurrection.” Elsewhere, Peter confirms that the Apostles were eyewitnesses to the Lord’s rising from the dead.

In order to go out into the world, following the Lord’s call to serve others and God in Jesus’ name, the Apostles first had to have the tools they needed to know about the Lord, and to be witnesses to God’s power to overcome evil and death in the resurrection of Jesus. This knowledge, first-hand knowledge, was essential training for each of them. And, tradition tells us, that each one of the original Disciples-become-Apostles, with one exception, cared so deeply and totally in this reality, and believed completely in God’s power made known in Jesus Christ that each one of them suffered a martyr’s death. Even a horrible death couldn’t compare with the reality of God’s power to save and redeem.  Such was their dedication to God and to the Lord Jesus. In Thomas’ case, tradition tells us that his devotion to spreading the Gospel took him all the way to the subcontinent of India. Even today, a church still bears his name:  The Mar Thoma Church.

Whenever we read, hear or study Holy Scripture, the thought should be in our minds: What does this text mean to me? What is this text trying to teach me?

Perhaps the lesson we can draw from Thomas’ demand and the Lord’s answer is that we cannot become an apostle (with a small “a”) unless and until we have become a disciple. To be a disciple, we must come to the knowledge of God as we have that knowledge in the person and work of Jesus Christ.

This succinct saying summarizes all we have been saying to this point:  We cannot share (with others) what we ourselves do not have (a personal relationship with Jesus Christ).

AMEN.

The Feast of the Resurrection (Easter Sunday), Year A (2017)

Acts 10: 34–43; Psalm 118: 1–2, 14–24; Colossians 3: 1–4; John 20: 1–18

This is a homily by Fr. Gene Tucker, given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on  Sunday, April 16, 2017.

“GOD’S WILL REVEALED”

Early this past week, the Bishop initiated a Facebook thread by posing the question “What do you long for in an Easter homily?” The responses were many and varied. Some said, “Brevity”, while others said “Clarity”. My own contribution to what became a very lengthy set of responses was, “Did it really happen?”

Just for the record, I do believe that Jesus was actually raised from the dead on Easter Sunday morning. I believe the resurrection to be an event in history. I do not believe that the Easter accounts are simply the product of an ancient and primitive people who are relating their religious experience. I believe we can trust the eyewitness account of those first disciples, who, like Peter, affirm that they were the ones who ate and drank with the Lord after His resurrection. (See Acts 10: 41.) (For what it’s worth, the first century historian, Josephus, records Jesus’ death, and also reports that there were reports of Jesus’ resurrection.)

The Easter event is, perhaps, the central event which shapes our Christian faith. Certainly, for St. Paul, that is so, for in writing to the early Church in the city of Corinth, he maintains that, if there is no resurrection, we Christians are among the most miserable people on earth (see I Corinthians 15: 19). Paul says that, if there is no resurrection, then we are dead in our sins and are without hope. (I am paraphrasing his argument.)

The basics of the Easter event are known to most people. In fact, I am sure that everyone here could recite the basic parts of the Easter account.

But that common knowledge presents a challenge to the preacher: How does the preacher cast new light on a very familiar part of our Christian story? (For what it’s worth, the same challenge exists with the Christmas story.)

Allow me, if you will, to approach the Easter event from this perspective:

“Sometimes we know God’s will by what God makes possible.”

For those of you who are reading this homily, you will notice that I put this saying in quotation marks. The reason for that is because I first heard the saying from my spiritual director when I was in seminary. It came from the wisdom of Fr. Dabney Carr.

This understanding of knowing God’s will might require a little unpacking.

Dabney was referring, especially, to knowing what God’s will is with respect to decisions that a person might have to make as the future lies ahead. So, for example, a seminarian (as I was in those days) might be faced with having to make choices about what church to serve after seminary and after ordination.

But Dabney would also affirm that knowing God’s will also involves looking over one’s shoulder to see how God has worked in the past. Again, in the case of the seminarian, that might involve a review of the ordination process that had brought them to the point of being a seminary student.

What I’ve offered here by way of illustration applies to all parts of our lives, not just to the process of ordination and to being in seminary.

As we turn to the Easter event, let’s apply this wisdom to the raising of Jesus.

“Sometimes we know God’s will by what God makes possible.”

The central fact of Easter is this: Jesus is raised to new life after having been truly and completely dead. Therefore, we can safely say that God is the God of new life. The giving of new life must be in God’s will, therefore.

Since Jesus is free from death, He lives forevermore. Therefore, we can conclude that it is God’s will that He will continue to be with us forever.

In the abstract, we can grasp these truths. They are central tenets of our Christian faith.

But what does God’s ability to create new life have to do with us, with our daily lives?

If we look back at the events which lead up to Easter, we see a pattern of death leading to new life. Indeed, in John 12: 24, Jesus characterizes His death by using the example of a seed, which is planted in the ground, where it dies. In the process of giving up its own life, this seed gives new life to the plants that will spring forth.

We see this principle at work in nature, and especially at this time of the year when the created order is renewing itself. At this time of the year, plantings of seeds are giving forth new life.

That same principle is at work in the Easter event, for we arrive at Easter by way of Good Friday.

Applying the principle of knowing God’s will by what God makes possible, we can affirm that it must be in God’s design for things to die, in order to bring forth new life.

(Perhaps I’ve digressed a bit in making the point about death leading to life.)

Applied to our daily lives, we can affirm that we are constantly in the process of dying in some way or another. For example (and speaking personally), I can affirm that certain parts of my life are now dead. But new life and new possibilities have come forth. So, as I look back over my shoulder at my life’s pathway, I can see God’s hand at work in causing some things to die away, even as He has brought forth new life and new possibilities.

Sometimes, those things that die, either because God’s will is being worked out, or because we have taken steps to deliberately cause things to go away, or because circumstances have caused certain things to no longer be a part of our lives, lead to new life, either directly or indirectly. Even in cases where God’s will might not be directly involved, God can use those events for good, bringing forth new life and new possibilities.

It is part of God’s will to purify for Himself a holy people. Part of that process for the Christian is the pruning away of unproductive growth and injurious actions and attitudes. The Letter to the Hebrews states this disciplinary process quite clearly, reminding us that “the Lord disciplines those He loves.” (Hebrews 12: 8a) Again, speaking personally, the pruning process is often uncomfortable, perhaps even painful (at the time), but it brings forth new life.

We can never take away our past. The past is a reality that contributes to who we are today. It might be easy to dwell on the difficult parts of our life’s history, but perhaps the healthier thing to do would be to focus on the ways that God has brought us through difficult times and hardships. The writer of the text to the hymn “Amazing Grace” states this well:

“Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come. ‘Tis grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”

AMEN.

The Great Vigil of Easter - Year A (2017)

Genesis 1: 1 – 2: 2; Psalm 33: 1–11; Exodus 14: 10–15: 1;  8: The Song of Moses; Romans 6: 3–11; Psalm 114; Matthew 28: 1–10

This is a homily by Fr. Gene Tucker which was given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on Saturday, April 15, 2017.

“STANDING ON THE BRIDGE”

On this holy night, we stand on the bridge between Good Friday and Easter. We stand, looking back at the beginning of the crossing over of our Lord Jesus Christ from death to life. We stand in expectation, looking at the other shore which the Lord will reach in the morning, for this bridge will carry Him and us from the land of death to the land of life.

The bridge on which we stand is firmly anchored in death, but also in life.

The early disciples, and the women who had been with Jesus during His ministry, after that first Good Friday, didn’t have it so good: For them, there was no bridge, and no crossing over to life from the crushing reality of death. There was no hope, and the only prospect that they could see was a life lived in the land of death. We can see their perspective in the actions of Mary Magdalene, who comes to the Lord’s tomb early on Easter Sunday morning, bringing spices with which to anoint Jesus’ body. She is expecting to find only death, not new life.

But we, along with those early disciples and the others who had been with the Lord during His ministry, have a different perspective: On that first Easter Sunday morning, those first disciples had been shown the other end of the bridge, for God had disclosed the entire span of this life-giving bridge, burning away the fog which had enshrouded the far end, in the rising of the Lord on Easter Sunday morning.

Christians down through the years have understood that this bridge, which brings us to new and eternal life, is firmly anchored in the past, a past which is characterized by sin and death. But it is also firmly anchored in the future, a future which God guarantees to us in the raising of Jesus from the dead. Now we know God to be the One who has power, all power, power even over death.

We cannot cross this bridge unless we enter it from the boundary of sin, our own sin. We acknowledge that, in order to have a full and rewarding life, we must cross the bridge, leaving behind our sinful past and the failures of life. But we cannot cross unless someone pays the toll. That person is Jesus Christ, who paid the price for our sins, and who opens the gate of God’s promise to us and to all who believe.

As we cross this wonderful bridge, we are able to look back at the beginning of our journey, which was mired in sin and in hopelessness, and we see the open gate which has allowed us to begin our crossing over from death to life. For we know that we – like the Lord – are entering a new and full life, a life which God promises to all who come to Him in faith.

So this night is one of invitation. It is a night in which we are invited to see the bridge which leads to life, and to see the open gate which allows us to begin the journey.

Come, accept the invitation. Come, begin the journey to life, life in all its fullness, life which is eternal.

AMEN.

Good Friday, Year A (2017)

Isaiah 52: 13–53: 12; Psalm 22; Hebrews 10: 1–25; John 18: 1 – 19: 37

This is a homily by Fr. Gene Tucker that was given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on Friday, April 14, 2017.

“STANDING AT THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS”

Jesus stands at the edge of the abyss, staring down into the depths of darkness, a place where (it seems) that God’s light cannot shine. It is the place of the Pit, that place where (it seems) no one praises God.

Soon, Jesus will fall into that Pit, as He says, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”

Jesus’ self-emptying will be complete, once He falls into the darkness and descends to the place of the dead. No one pushes Jesus into his fall, His tumbling is freely chosen.

The weight of the sins of the world close in on Him. He cannot escape the burden. It is the accumulated weight of the misdeeds of all humankind that hem Him in on every side. There is no escape. And so, He falls, taking those offenses with Him into the abyss.

You and I stand at the edge of the abyss, staring down into the depths of darkness, a place where (it seems) that God’s light cannot shine. It is the place of the Pit, that place where (it seems) no one praises God.

Like Jesus, we find ourselves hemmed in by our sins. We cannot escape their reality, or their weight. The offer us no way out. And so, we are forced to the place where we, too, must empty ourselves, just as Jesus did. Surrender is our only option.

As we allow ourselves to admit our helplessness, and as we descend into the darkness that our sins have created, it is then - and only then - that we find God’s light and God’s hand reaching out to us, lifting us up from our despondency and into the promise of new life.

This truth stands in the lives of God’s saints:  Unless we admit that we cannot help ourselves out of our own sinfulness, there can be no restoration to wholeness with God. Moreover, in the believer’s life, this self-emptying, this critical self-analysis, must occur again and again.

May we find – like Jesus – that the way of the cross, that way of self-surrender and helplessness, is none other that the way of life and peace.

AMEN.

The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday, Year A (2017)

Psalm 118: 1–2, 19–29; Matthew 21: 1–11; Isaiah 50: 4–9a; Psalm 22: 1–11; Philippians 2: 5–11; Matthew 26: 14 – 27: 66

This is a homily given by Fr. Gene Tucker at St. John’s in Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on Sunday, April 9, 2017.

“THIS IMPORTANT WEEK: WHAT’S DIFFERENT ABOUT IT?”

Last Thursday, at a meeting of area clergy with Bishop Scanlan, we got to talking about our planning for Holy Week and Easter. One of our number expressed how deeply he fell into grief on Good Friday. Judging from the expression on his face and the emotion that was apparent in his voice, we could all tell that he felt deeply, very deeply, about the tragic events of Good Friday. The intensity of his feeling was such that we almost got the sense that he was there – through the eyes of faith – to witness the Lord’s passion and death.

Christians down through time have observed this coming week with deep devotion. It’s not impossible to think that the first Apostles gathered on the first anniversary of the Lord’s death to remember all the events that took place then, all the way from the Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, to His institution of the Lord’s Supper, to His suffering and death, to His burial in the tomb, to His glorious resurrection.

Even today, many Christians devote themselves to gathering together, to the washing of feet on Maundy Thursday, to the veneration of the cross on Good Friday, and to watchful expectation at the Easter Vigil on Saturday night. Along the way, vigils are often held on Maundy Thursday and/or on Good Friday. In earlier times, the Easter Vigil lasted all night long, into the dawning of the new day on Easter morning.

So this week is different for all Christian believers.

And yet, for all its uniqueness and for all its importance to us and our salvation, many, if not most, of the events of this week weren’t all that unusual for the time in which our Lord lived 2,000 years ago.

Let’s explore what might well have been commonplace about the events we remember this week:

Crucifixion:  Was, most likely and most unfortunately, a fairly common event. That the Lord was crucified at a place called the Place of a Skull[1] is evidence that the place where the events of Good Friday took place was a known place of execution. The Romans[2] used crucifixion as a method of state-sponsored-terrorism, for a Roman citizen was exempted from such a fate: The victims of crucifixion were slaved and conquered peoples (like the Jews). Crucifixion was a means whereby anyone who would challenge Roman rule was deterred by the prospect of finding themselves on a cross of their own. It may even be that there was a “regular” day for crucifixions, to which the inhabitants of Jerusalem could go to watch the spectacle. If there was a designated day for executions, that does not seem to apply in Jesus’ case, for the Chief Priests seem intent on getting rid of Jesus, and seem to be rushed to see Him dead before the eve of the Passover observance begins.

Roman cruelty:  Pontius Pilate, who ruled Judea as Governor for ten years (26 -36 AD), was known for his cruelty.[3] Jesus mentions one of his cruel acts: In Luke 13: 1, Jesus mentions that Pilate had mixed the blood of some of his victims with offerings to pagan deities.

The Roman Governor’s chief task:  Was to keep the lid on things in Judea. The reason is obvious: There was the constant threat of insurrection among the Jewish people. One of the four main groups of the Jews was known as the Zealots, whose purpose seems to have been the violent overthrow of Roman rule. In succeeding years, attempts to overthrown Roman rule resulted in the Jewish-Roman War (66 – 70 AD), and in the Bar Kochba Revolt (135 AD). In Jesus’ time, however, the Book of Acts (5: 36 – 37) records two such insurrections:  One by a man named Theudis and another by Judas the Galilean.

Roman “justice”:  The Romans made significant contributions to the people who would come onto the scene in later times. They made contributions to architecture and to law, to cite just two areas. And yet, the account of Jesus’ trial shows that justice could be perverted. In Jesus’ case, it was mob rule and the threat of a riot beginning that prompted Pilate to release Jesus to be crucified. (Remember the point just made about the need to maintain Roman authority.) In Jesus’ case, the “tail was wagging the dog”. So it probably wasn’t all that unusual for a Jew (who had no legal rights under Roman law) to be “railroaded” by the clamor of the crowds, or to be unjustly condemned by the Roman Governor who regarded those under his rule with contempt.

But, despite the possibility that the events of Jesus’ trial, His suffering and death aren’t all that unusual, this week – as we said at the outset – is deeply significant to Christians the world over. Despite the fact that it would be tempting to fast-forward to Easter Sunday morning, for the events of Good Friday end marvelously (uniquely) well with Jesus’ rising from the dead on Easter Sunday, Christians deliberately pause to spend time at the foot of the cross.

There is, for some, a deep, emotional attachment to the Lord’s passion. Recall the expression of deep grief that one of my clergy colleagues expressed this last Thursday.

Why this attachment, this emotional attachment? After all, the events of that first Good Friday are nearly 2,000 years old. These events qualify as ancient history. And yet, the events are – for some – as vivid as they were the first time.

Let’s explore these feelings and this attachment a bit.

Love for Jesus:  If we doubt the depth of our love for Jesus, try considering the ways we might feel about the suffering of the two thieves who were crucified with Him. It’s entirely possible that all three men were nailed to their respective crosses (despite what some artistic representations of the event depict). Do we find ourselves connected to the sufferings of the two thieves[4] in the way we are connected to the Lord’s suffering? I think it’s a question worth exploring as we meditate on the meaning of Good Friday.

Our identification with the Lord’s suffering and death:  I think the sort of grief that was expressed this past week stems from a deep and personal identification with Jesus. We are there with Him in all of these events, eyewitnesses – through the eyes of faith – to these things. Some Christians adopt a very pietistic approach: Pietism[5] invites us to see our direct role, through our sinfulness, to the reasons for the Lord’s suffering and death. Put another way, for the Pietist, it is our sin, our personal sin – and no one else’s – that bring Jesus to the cross.

The depth of the Lord’s conviction and commitment:  One of the things that impressed Pilate was Jesus’ unwillingness to cower in the face of Roman terror. Most victims would have done nearly anything to save themselves from the fate of crucifixion. But Jesus does not. Moreover, He makes it clear that He could command forces far more powerful than the Romans to prevent His death.[6] So the Lord’s suffering and death come because He willingly allowed those things to happen.

The Lord’s continuing gift of Himself:  In the institution of the Lord’s Supper, we are given ongoing evidence of the Lord’s continuing presence with us under the forms of the Eucharist, the bread and the wine. “This is my body, this is my blood,” He says. The Eucharist is a remembrance (in the sense of re-membering: putting it all together again) of the Lord’s death. For this reason, the fair linen on the altar has five crosses on it, recalled the five wounds the Lord suffered. So, in a real sense, we are never far away from the sacrifice of the Lord on Good Friday. But we are never far from the Lord’s rising on Easter Sunday morning, either, for the Lord specifically tells us that, in the Eucharist, He is present with us until He comes again in glory.

We are invited to walk the way of the cross as the week before us unfolds, finding the way of the cross to be none other than the way of life and peace.

AMEN.

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[1]   Some biblical scholars think that the name of the place may have been due to the fact that previous crucifixion victims’ bones and skull were simply scattered about the place, lying in the open.

[2]   The Romans, though they made extensive use of this method of capital punishment, didn’t invent this way of killing people. That distinction (?) belongs to ancient times. For example, the ancient Persians, some five centuries before Christ, made use of it.

[3]   Some scholars think that Pilate was removed from office because he made use of cruel means too often or too harshly.

[4]   I can’t prove this, but my hunch is that the two thieves were last minute victims. Perhaps Pilate decided not to single Jesus out too much, and so sent word to the soldiers to round up some others to make their way to Golgotha. The basis for this belief lies in the fact that Jesus died before the two thieves did. But Jesus was severely flogged before He was nailed to the cross. So perhaps there wasn’t time to flog the two thieves, meaning that their vigor hadn’t been sapped like Jesus’ was.

[5]   Pietism flourished in the 17^th and 18^th centuries. The great German composer J. S. Bach’s works for the church are infused with Pietistic sensitivities. Pietism influenced the early Methodist movement, and also the Anabaptist traditions of the Amish, Mennonites, Church of the Brethren and others.

[6]   In Matthew 26: 53, He tells the disciples that, if He simply asked, the Father would send “twelve legions of angels” (72,000 angels!) to prevent His being handed over to the Romans.

Lent 5, Year A (2017)

Ezekiel 37: 1–14; Psalm 130; Romans 8: 6–11; John 11: 1–45

This is a homily by Fr. Gene Tucker, given at St. John’s Church in Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on Sunday, April 2, 2017.

“FURTHER PROOF”

(Homily text:  John 11: 1–45)

We continue our journey through a series of passages from John’s gospel account. Personally, I am delighted whenever we encounter a text from the Fourth Gospel on the occasions when they are the assigned Gospel text, for John’s gospel account contains so many wonderful riches (not that the other three gospel accounts don’t:  Quite the contrary, each account contains its own unique bundle of riches), accounts of Jesus’ ministry and His miracles that we do not find elsewhere.

We are completing, this morning, a series of four accounts from John’s recounting of Jesus’ ministry. As I think about the progression in John’s account, it seems to me that he is trying to tell us something about Jesus’ self-revelation of Himself, and something about Jesus’ relationship to God the Father. So let’s step back a few weeks and summarize the readings we’ve heard:

Nicodemus’ visit: This is the text (John 3: 1–17) we heard on the First Sunday in Lent, March 5^th this year. In Jesus’ encounter with the Pharisee Nicodemus, Jesus tells this nocturnal visitor that he has to have a new way of thinking. Jesus’ words are often quoted by Christians the world over today: He tells Nicodemus that he needs to be “born again”, or “born anew”[1]. Nicodemus, Jesus says, needs to be “born from above.” In essence, Jesus tells Nicodemus that a new day is dawning, one in which the Son of Man (one of Jesus’ descriptions of Himself) will usher in a new way of relating to God, a new way of relating that will offer eternal life to all who believe. So, with the interchange between the Lord and Nicodemus, we are given a revelation of Jesus’ purpose in coming to earth,[2] for He came to be “lifted up”, just as the serpent in the wilderness was lifted up by Moses in ancient times, a visible signal of God’s saving power.

The Samaritan woman at the well: On the Second Sunday in Lent, we heard the account of the woman at the well in Samaria. (The text is John 4: 1–42.) In this encounter, Jesus proceeds to break down a number of barriers:  1. He deliberately travels through the region of Samaria on His way from Jerusalem to Galilee…most pious Jews would avoid Samaria altogether, even though the route that Jesus took is the most direct….such was the depth of hatred of the Samaritans by the Jews. So the barrier of ethic and racial hatred comes tumbling down; 2. He speaks to a woman. Here, we must pause for a moment to remember the social customs of the day: A man did not speak to a woman to whom he was not related in public. This was true of Jewish culture, and of the Samaritan one, as well. With this act, the Lord breaks down the barrier that separated men and women; and 3. The time has come when the center of worship won’t be in a geographic place, such as the Mt. Zion in Jerusalem, or Mt. Gerizim in Samaria, but the true worshipers will worship God in “spirit and in truth”. Now, from henceforth, there will be no limitation on the focal places of worship, for the acceptable places where God may be worshiped can be anywhere and everywhere.

The healing of the man born blind: Last Sunday, we considered the account of the man born blind (John 9: 1–41). At the outset of the miracle, Jesus makes plain that the reason the man was born blind wasn’t due to that man’s sin, nor was it due to any sins his mother and father may have committed, but he was born blind so that the “works of God might be displayed in him.” In this miracle, Jesus simply takes the initiative. Missing from the encounter is a request from the person to be healed, and no demonstration of faith prior to the miracle is demanded or confirmed (although Jesus sets a test of faith before the man during the healing by telling him that he is to go and wash in the Pool of Siloam). In the healing of the blind man, the parameters of Jesus’ power and the scope of his dominion over disease and illness are expanded. The man’s own testimony confirms the extent of the Lord’s power as he affirms that “never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a man born blind.”

Now, this morning, we come to the raising of Lazarus.

This material is John’s alone to relate to us, as is the healing of the blind man. None of the other gospel accounts set this event before us, although Luke tells us something about Mary and Martha (see Luke 10: 38 – 42).

Mary and Martha lived in the village of Bethany, which is, as John tells us, about two miles away from Jerusalem. Indeed, Bethany, which still exists today, is about two miles southeast of the Holy City. It is on the eastern slope of the mountainous ridge that runs north and south on the east side of Jerusalem.[3] For that reason, its climate is drier that Jerusalem’s is, due to the prevailing winds that cause the rain to fall on the western side of the slope of the mountains. For that reason, some biblical scholars have wondered if Bethany wasn’t the “low rent district” of Jerusalem.

Some details of this occurrence are worth noting:

• The miracle comes at the end of the encounter with Mary and Martha and the Jews who witnessed it, not at the beginning of the encounter,
• Jesus seems to deliberately delay His coming to Bethany, during which time Lazarus dies, and
• That Lazarus was dead for four days would have been significant to the Judaism of the day, for the common belief among the Jews was that a person’s soul lingered around the body for three days in hopes of being reunited with the body. So the point to be taken here is that Lazarus was truly, really, totally dead.

One of the main things to see in this text is the expansion of the scope of Jesus’ power. Notice that the onlookers wonder if, since Jesus had healed the man born blind, couldn’t He also have prevented Lazarus from dying. Mary and Martha also convey this understanding, for each one, as they come to the Lord, say, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In response, Jesus presses Martha’s understanding of the scope of His power and His true identity, saying, “Your brother will rise again.” But Martha can’t quite grasp the immediacy of Jesus’ statement, for she answers saying, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus continues to press the point, saying, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.” Yet, still, Martha cannot grasp this truth, for she answers, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”

Now, the miracle takes place, but not without more doubting. Martha warns Jesus that their brother had been in the tomb for four days, and by that time, there would be a stench from the decaying of his body.

Then, after praying, Jesus calls Lazarus to come forth out of the tomb.

This event looks backward to the healing of the blind man (notice the remarks made about Jesus’ healing of that man), but it also looks forward to Jesus’ own death. The connection may be seen in the remarks that John makes in the verses immediately following the account of the miracle. In chapter eleven, verses forty five and following, we read that the raising of Lazarus is the event which prompts Jesus’ enemies from beginning to plot His death.[4]

As we connect the raising of Lazarus and the Lord’s own raising, we see an expansion of God’s power: Jesus possesses the power to raise the dead, but – if He Himself was dead – how could he raise Himself? Here we see the totality of the power of God, the power that made possible all of the miraculous deeds that He accomplished during His earthly ministry. Jesus’ own rising from the tomb confirms the intimate nature of Jesus’ relationship with God the Father. As He says in John 10: 30, “I and the Father are one.”

Confirmation of Jesus’ statement that He is “the resurrection and the life” comes with the Easter Sunday morning proof of Jesus’ ongoing life. Death is overcome, our final enemy. The God who raised Jesus from the dead possesses the power to raise us up at the last day.

Our understanding of the scope of God’s power is expanded, as the barrier of death, even the Lord’s own death, is broken down.

But we haven’t entered into the Lord’s presence in heaven, at least not yet. We have lives to live in this life. We have daily obligations and duties to accomplish. How does the guarantee (and that’s what it is) of our place with the Lord in the kingdom which is to come affect us in the here-and-now?

The answer seems to be that we have the guarantee of an intimate, ongoing relationship with the Lord not only in the then-and-there of eternity, but also in the here-and-now of this mortal life. This has been called “realized eschatology”. This term might need some unpacking: Eschatology is the study of last things, the ultimate purposes of God. And so, if we realize that the benefits of God’s great, big plan are already ours in some way, then our entire reason for living takes on a different hue. In a sense, what we have is a down payment on God’s layaway plan.

We are swept up into God’s plan, a plan that predates the world’s foundation, a plan that includes each and every one of us, by name. Can there be any better news for the living of our daily lives than that? Everything looks different because of this reality, everything becomes more important, even the most mundane tasks we are called to do day in and day out, if we realize we are walking and living in a close relationship with the Lord, the God who sanctifies daily life, and who guarantees our place with Him in eternity.

AMEN.

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[1]   The Greek word may be translated either way.

[2]   See Numbers 21: 4–9.

[3]   The Mount of Olives is located near the southern end of this ridge.

[4]   In the  Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke), the event which leads to the plot to kill Jesus is His cleansing of the Temple.