Text: John 13:31-35
GOD of Hope and Wonder, we thank you for Jesus, the incarnation, and the love that he shared with the disciples. Help us to realize that same love you have for us. Amen.
We have a gospel this morning from Maundy Thursday, the night before Jesus died. Kind of a strange thing for our lectionary to jump backwards, and stranger still to jump to one of Jesus’s final moments; a moment of Jesus foretelling his own death and departure. We tell ourselves that this is Eastertide: the time when we revel in the risen Christ! We shout “Alleluia!” and praise his name. And to go back to this dark day seems…inappropriate.
We often think about time as following a line, meaning events that happen are relegated to the past and there are only two ways to go: forward and backward. Or, for us to deal with events in our recent past, we have to stop time so that we can give all of our attention to the event, abandoning that forward momentum that is inherent to this view of time.
We sometimes recast the time line as a circle, as we find ourselves repeating past behaviors or missed opportunities. Then the scientists in the room get involved and imagine that time isn’t a line or a circle, but a spiral in which we do the same things again, but they’re different each time as we circle up. Or perhaps time is a Möbius strip in an infinite loop—not a circle, which is replaying the old pattern, but a picture of infinity that is both the same and perpetually different. All of these ideas are interesting and share some insights about the nature of time that force us to address the parts that make up time: past, present, and future.
I think time is more like an art museum. The museum is often set up in chronological order, so those looking for progress can see how artists built on and expanded on what came before them. Paintings are often grouped by style or movement so that those looking at behaviors and a social view can see the influence of peers on one another or to dwell on particular movements that affect them personally. There’s a reason people are drawn to the Impressionists. Those interested in the history of humanity can look at the subjects of the art and learn about what was most important to the people of the time and recognize what is different in each room. And those learning to appreciate art can walk from gallery to gallery, finding inspiration, confusion, and surprise in each one, finding virtue in art from every era. For me, the real reason time is like an art museum is that we all walk in with our own values and we decide for ourselves what is the greatest moment and who the most talented artists are or were. We have access to our history and our future at any moment without having to relive it—we just need to have the ability to see those moments with integrity in light of the now.
It is in that spirit that we find this moment, in light of the crucifixion and resurrection. One of my favorite plays is The Betrayal by Harold Pinter, about a couple’s relationship told in reverse order from ending to beginning, and the audience is haunted by each event in light of the events that came later. We learn about the troubles and then the decision that led them there. It is powerful and teaches in a way wholly different than if it were told in chronological order. This morning, we learn about Jesus’s death and resurrection through one of Jesus’s final moments. We shout “Alleluiah!” not just because Jesus is risen, but because of all of those things that Jesus told us and all of the things we learn and know and even for the mysteries that continue to go unanswered. In other words, for us to shout “Alleluiah!” without the cross is to degrade Jesus’s sacrifice.
For John, the cross—that moment—is Jesus’s finest hour. In Matthew and Luke, we focus on the resurrection as the expression of victory over death, but for John, it’s the cross. This may seem strange to us—that some horrific moment could be Jesus’s moment of glory, but to John, this is the victory. As Jesus is a king without an army and a conqueror without a sword, his victory over Rome comes in being executed by them. This is Jesus’s finest moment, his moment of greatest glory. In fact, on the cross, he is even raised up.
So it comes as strange that in today’s gospel, Jesus says “Now the Son of Man has been glorified,” since the glorification is to come on the cross. John’s twisted sense of glory comes as Judas betrays him, as Jesus prepares his followers for the days ahead, and as Jesus gives them the greatest lesson of their coming ministry. This is Jesus glorified.
How alien that glorification seems, even now. Almost two thousand years of Christian history and we still have trouble with glory, with seeing Jesus’s glory in death, seeing the expression of glory in sacrifice, in being lesser servants. We still want our earthly glory with fancy shoes and watches, and prominence in our community, and a bank account full of cash. But Jesus’s glory is humble and humiliating. Jesus’s glory is in being betrayed by a close friend, stripped naked, abused, and killed.
But Jesus’s mission isn’t only about this strange glory, but about love. We might hear his instruction: “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” as a restatement of previous teaching, but this one is new and for them. Thomas Troeger translates the passage this way: “I have loved you in order that you also love one another.” Removing the “should” removes the duty and reveals Jesus’s relationship to the love. Pushing it further, Scott Hoezee points out that our translation misses the power in that small word “as”. In the Greek, the word kathos, translated as “as”, isn’t meant to say that we imitate Jesus, but carries the connotation of the love actually coming from Jesus. “I have loved you so you can love.”
Our place isn’t to love, but to be loved. To allow Jesus’s love in…and you know what; it might come right out of us. And what comes out of us is reflective of the love we receive from Him. See, the badge we wear, the uniform we’re in that says “Christian” [or if we’re in sweat pants, its across our butt] isn’t bought at a good Christian store or from a Christian music festival or from a St. Paul’s gift shop, and it isn’t even something that we can pick out in certain colors or styles [like Christian / est. 30 on it]. It isn’t something that your friends or your parents can give to you for your birthday or Christmas. It isn’t even something you can hope for. It comes from within you because it was put there from the outside. The uniform is your love—love that’s yours because it was Jesus’s and he gave it to you. Love. Love that is felt in your heart and in your soul because you are worth loving. Because you are beautiful. You are loved. So love.
Jesus’s love isn’t bigger than your love and isn’t the love of Hallmark cards or Lifetime movies, but a strange and crazy love that says “I win when he thinks he’s won.” It’s a crazy/weird love. It’s about feeling love to express love. It’s about giving love to people that want it and to those who don’t want it or don’t deserve it. It’s a love that angers our puritanical side and confuses our permissive side. It’s a love that isn’t human, but divine: not merely bigger—but different and awesome.
May we all feel GOD’s love, accept it, and allow it to transform us, sharing its strangeness and brilliance with all those who need it most. Amen.
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