God Wants to Move In: A Homily for the Seventh Sunday of Easter

 

“I made your name known to them, and I will make it know, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them”  (Jn 17.21).

 

Last month I came across a commencement speech that was widely quoted in the media; it delivered lastmonth by Jay Powell to graduates of his alma mater, Princeton University.  Jay Powell is the Chair of the US Federal Reserve and may be one of the few adults keeping the US together.   It was a really good speech, and had a lot to say about the importance of personal integrity.  It also included an anecdote that made me think of how we sometimes think of prayer, the subject of my homily today.

Powell told the story of how, when he was a very junior partner at a prestigious law firm, he decided to make an impression on the senior partner, a VIP who had been a US Senator.   As Powell described it, he worked up the nerve to climb the stairs to the corner audience, had a very brief meeting, and left thinking, “well at least I tried”, but he made an impression and that helped his career.

I think many of us find it difficult to pray because we think of God like the senior partner in Powell’s story.    We think that we have to address God like some august personage, “Excuse me sir, sorry to trouble you, but f you don’t mind, could you please help with….”

What if there was another way of thinking about prayer, as something that didn’t look like a formal audience, but rather something that looked  like an intimate conversation with a loved one or dear friend.?  That’s the kind of prayer we hear in today’s gospel, from John 17, when Jesus prays to his father for his friends.

So a little background:  Today’s gospel reading from John 17 takes us back to territory we last visited on Maundy Thursday during Holy Week.   It’s the night of Jesus’ arrest, his last moments with his disciples.

Unlike in the Synoptic Gospels John has no account of the last supper.  Instead, after Jesus washes his friends’ feet, he has a long conversation (Jn 13-17) where he says that he must soon leave them (a dual reference to his death but also to his ascension which the church remembered this last Friday).   He also promises them that he will not leave them alone, which reminds us that next Sunday is Pentecost, the gift of the Holy Spirit.

The remarkable thing about Jn 17 is that by this point Jesus is not talking to the disciples.   He is talking to his Father, and he is praying for the disciples – and for us.  Jesus’ words, “I ask”, are the words of prayer.    So the disciples are actually overhearing Jesus pray for them, which is something we only see in John’s account of Jesus’ arrest. 

When you are going through a difficult time, does it make a difference knowing that others, people of deep faith, are praying for you?   Everyone I’ve put this question to has said absolutely, yet it does.    I wonder what that experience was like for you if the person praying for was with you, sitting with you, so you could hear their words, their tone of voice?   When people have been with me and prayed for me, at first I found it a little awkward, but I quickly came to appreciate how intimate and caring it can be to know that someone values you enough to speak to God on your behalf!

I think the same thing is true of today’s gospel, where the disciples learn that God the Son cares enough about them to speak to God the Father on their behalf.   In the Synoptic Gospels, the night of his arrest, Jesus prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane but we don’t hear his words, except for his prayer that he might be spared the cross unless it was his Father’s will (Mt 26.39).

John however lets us hear everything that Jesus prays, so what does he pray for?   Despite the convoluted language, the prayer is quite simple.  Jesus prays that his friends, including us, know the same love that exists between Jesus and his Father.   He prays that his friends may be drawn together by this love, so close that they become one, as Jesus and the father are one, and that this love might fill the lives and hearts of his friends.   At least, that’s what I make of it (I dreaded translating passages from John in my seminary Greek classes, but here I think I get the gist of it).

It's an astonishing moment when you think about it.  The disciples are overhearing a conversation of the Holy Trinity, Jesus speaking to God the Father on their behalf, asking for their welfare and the welfare of all who believe after them (as I said, us).   As one commentator has noted, it is a  wonder that the Father and the Son spend their time discussing the likes of us and our little community of faith”, but that shows the love and concern that God has for us, that God wants to draw us into the relationship of the Trinity, “so that the love which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them” (Jn 17.26).

If you only take away one thing from this homily, may it be this, that God loves you so much that God wants to include you in the love and relationship that exists within the three persons of God the Trinity:  Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.   Last Sunday in her very fine homily, our curate Rev. Amy spoke about how we can know Jesus better if we focus more on him and less on ourselves.  

Amy’s words made me think of decluttering a house, emptying the attic and basement of useless things that just take up space.  If we think of the soul as a house, the clutter we need to remove could be our sense of self-importance, our grievances, our feelings of entitlement – all need to go to make room for God.  And the good news is that God can’t wait to fill up that space, can’t wait to move into your soul, “so that the love which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them” (Jn 17.26).

So how do we pray for this occupancy to happen?  How do we pray for God to fill the space, the emptiness, within us?  Or, if you are with someone and you feel moved to pray for them in your presence, how do you pray that you might find words to fill that moment that might initially seem awkward?   If you can’t think of any words, you can’t go wrong with the prayer from our second reading today, the prayer that ends the Book of Revelation, “come Lord Jesus” (Rev 22.20).  Start with that prayer, and the Holy Spirit will fill in the space.

May God give us all the grace and confidence to pray, and the soul friends to pray with us and for us.  

Don't Fear the Man: A Homily for the Sixth Sunday of Easter

Preached at Prince of Peace, Wasaga Beach, and St Luke's, Creemore, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, on May 18, 2025, the Sixth Sunday of Easter.  

Readings for this Sunday (Easter 6C): Acts 11:1-18; Psalm 148; Revelation 21.1-6; John 13.31-35

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “See, the home^[of God is among mortals.  He will dwell^[b] with them; they will be his peoples,  and God himself will be with them and be their God; (Rev 21.3)

Will you listen to the words, long written down?

These words could be used in church before every scripture lesson, but they actually come from a well known song.  Bonus marks if you recognize them?   

If you said they are from Johnny Cash’s song, When the Man Comes Around, then congratulations, you’re a winner, but you still have to listen to the rest of this sermon!

Johnny Cash said that this song took him longer to write than any other of his songs, and thelyrics borrow heavily from the Book of Revelation, the source of today’s second lesson.  And like the Book of Revelation, Cash’s lyrics are ominous, even scary.  There are phrases like “The whirlwind in is in the thron tree” and “Some are born and some are dying”,  and if that’s not spooky enough, the song ends with this words:

"And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts
And I looked and behold, a pale horse
And his name that sat on him was Death
And Hell followed with him"

I would guess that Cash’s lyrics are how many people understand this strange last book of the Bible, as a book of fear and doom, prophecies that trigger our deepest fears and anxieties.   Many of our cultural and movie tropes and images come from Revelation:  the four horsemen of the apocalypse, Armageddon, death as a pale rider.  

I wonder though how many listeners to Cash’s song understand that man in the title who is going to come around is Jesus!   Johnny Cash runs with imagery that Revelation uses to describe Jesus, who will lead the armies of heaven like a conquering king and who will judge all souls at the end of time (Rev 19:11,13-16).   For the first Christians who would have read or heard Revelation at the end of the first century, the scary and doomy parts of the letter would have described their world, where the Roman emperors were beginning to persecute the Christian church and hunt its leaders and members.    These early Christians saw Roman culture as being deeply sinful and corrupt, and so they imagined a day when Jesus would come to rescue them and punish the wicked.  A long sequence in the middle of the book describes Rome as the Whore of Babylon, and imagines its destruction as God finally returns to bring justice and punishment for the wicked.

Whoever wrote Revelation (according to tradition it was a man named John, not the disciple but sometimes called John of Patmos) was drawing on many biblical sources, particularly books of prophecy like the Book of Daniel, which contain strange beasts, coming events, and numbers (such as seven and twelve) that recur frequently in scripture, leading some to want to interpret them as clues and codes.    Many books have been written trying to explain Revelation as a warning about things that will come in the near future, such as Hal Lindsey’s 1970s bestseller The Late Great Planet Earth, or the Left Behind series that started in the 1990s. 

All of these and similar books and films depend on what we might call the “scare factor” of Revelation, but what if I told you that there is nothing to be scared of?  I could summarize it in five words:  “Good guys win.  The end”.   In fact, if you look at today’s second lesson (Rev 21.1-6), the only possibly scary part is that “the sea was no more”, which is disturbing for those who like to go on cruises and eat seafood, but everything else speaks of a world that is renewed, refreshed, and made infinitely better.

Today’s passage begins and ends with things being made new, which is a central idea of our faith, that salvation involves being remade and reborn, as in Paul’s statement in Second Corinthians, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new” (2 Cor 5:7).  There is a wedding, which is also an image of something new being created (a family) and we remember that Jesus’ first miracle was at the Wedding in Cana.   Then there is a threefold statement of intimate relationship as God literally comes to be with and stay with us:

“See, the home^[a] of God is among mortals.
He will dwell^[b] with them;
they will be his peoples,^[c]
and God himself will be with them and be their God;^[

Then there is an image of comfort and consolation (tears being wiped away) which makes the scary God that we associate with Revelation suddenly becoming as tender as a mother, and then there is the startling and wonderful news that we won’t have to cry and mourn any more because pain and death have been abolished from this new world that God is creating.   These images of comfort and an end to death and mourning explain why this passage is so often read at funerals.  And this passage is not alone in providing a kinder, gentler Book of Revelation. 

Last Sunday our second reading in church featured a vision of Christians who have been killed for their faith being sheltered by the Lamb, a description of Jesus as a victim and a nurturer as well as a conqueror:  Revelation says that these martyrs will “hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the centre of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (Rev 9.17). 

The image of “springs of water of life” reminds us of how today’s reading ends: “To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life” (Rev 21.6) and together these images remind us Jesus’ conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well in John’s gospel and how he promises her water of eternal life.   So once again there is an affirmation of care, rescue, a promise of an end to death and pain and suffering and a promise of eternal life.

So all I’ve done in this short homily today is to try and make a case for why Revelation isn’t a scary book.  Is it mysterious?  Yes, in the sense that a dream can be mysterious, and not every image has a deep meaning.    However, the book as a whole is a celebration of God’s love and commitment to us, despite everything that we fear might keep us from God.  So let me finish with some thoughts about who needs to hear this message.

If you wonder if your church is doing a good job, look at the first chapter of Revelation, which says pretty clearly that a church’s job is always and only to be a witness to Jesus Christ.

If you feel that God is far away, and doubt that you will ever find God, then remember that Revelation promises that God and heaven will come to us, down from heaven and making God’s home with us, on earth.

If you fear for the earth itself amidst news of climate change, droughts, and natural disasters,  then Revelation promises us that God is deeply committed to the future of the world that God created, and that God will remake and renew all things, including the earth God loves.

If you fear the future and you watch the news anxiously and obsessively, then don’t be afraid.  Revelation promises that there will be a day when wars will cease and justice will come to the warlords and persecutors.   Yes, there may be suffering to come, but God and the good guys win.  The Lamb of God will also be the holy and righteous judge of God.  So maybe switch the news off and spend more time outside!

If you are filled with deep mourning and doubt that you’ll ever feel alive again, hold on to that image of God (or Jesus) gently wiping away your tears and washing your face.

Finally, if you love poetry and language, then Revelation is a book of poetry to enjoy, and not a code to be cracked, so if you haven’t read it already, then now’s a good time to start, and maybe start by listening to Johnny Cash read Revelation (youcan find it on YouTube).

 

 

Sheep And Shepherd Both: A Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter

 

My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish.

 

Today is called Good Shepherd Sunday in the life of the church.  The readings for the Fourth Sunday of Easter traditionally focus on the “good shepherd” sayings of Jesus, which of course come with a side order of Psalm 23 and passages from the New Testament which emphasis Jesus’ role as saviour and protector of the faithful.

It’s a pleasing work of the Spirit (I prefer that phrase to the word coincidence) that this particular Sunday comes just after word that the Roman Catholic Church has selected a new Pope, Leo XIV, and that this event should come less than a week after we heard in church, on the Third Sunday of Easter, Jesus tell Peter three times to feed and look after his sheep.

We are thus reminded that just as God in Christ protects and cares for the faithful, so God’s church is called to protect and care for those who have no one else to speak for them.  Good Shepherd Sunday ties together the sheep and shepherd imagery in scripture to reassure us that God is not detached but is engaged with us, that God is not absent but is present, invested, and attentive, deeply invested in our loves, and that God knows us intimately, understanding our weakness and committed to our welfare.  If you watched the crowds in St Peter’s Square in Rome rejoicing as the new pope was announced and then seen, I think you were seeing that deep human need to be cared for that is at the heart of faith and indeed of our human identity.

All of the ideas that are central to our faith – nourishment, protection, nurturing, companionship and love– are basic human needs, and if you’ve ever studied Mazlow’s theory of the hierarchy of human needs, they are fundamental to our wellbeing.   Just as sheep need a shepherd to lead them to pasture, water, and to protect them from predators, so do humans need food, shelter from the elements, and perhaps even more importantly, others who will help see to our emotional wellbeing and give us purpose.

We want our basic needs looked after, but as humans, if we are fortunate, we can find our greatest satisfaction in caring for others – ailing partners, children and grandchildren, strangers in distress to who we can be good Samaritans, even and (maybe especially!) our pets.   Collingwood, being a wealthy town, has no shortage of pet stores where you can buy all manner of high end things for your pets.  As you know, Joy and I have two little terriers that rule our lives, and we’re fortunate that we can spend an inordinate amount of money on looking after them.   Their current dogfood has the words “Life Protection Formula” in large letters on the bag.   How satisfying for us that we can buy “Life Protection” to our beloved dogs.

Protection from harm is way up there in the hierarchy of human needs.   We want to protect our pets, our families, our pets, and we spend a lot of money in search of protection.  If you’ve driven by All Saints at night, you’ll see the new lighting that we’ve installed to make the church safer, and the new intercom cameras so Nancy can see who wants into the building.   But of course, the word “protection”, so beloved of advertisers, has its limits.    Your insurance policy that should have protected you against disaster has its loopholes.   Your internet antivirus software may protect you from hackers and identity theft, but who really knows?  And your virtuous lifestyle and diet may not protect you against cancer.   Protection is an attractive idea, but we all know that life is inherently risky, and no one gets out of it alive.   The last time I checked, the mortality rate was hovering at 100%. 

So who protects us?  If you’re a sheep, your best source of protection is your shepherd, someone who will provide for those needs we spoke about – pasture, good water – and who will protect you from predators, both two legged and four legged.   If you’re a sheep, a shepherd will also protect you from yourself.   There’s a saying that the difference between sheep and goats is that goats only think about escaping, and sheep only think about ways to put themselves in fatal situations.

Today, on Good Shepherd Sunday, we are reminded that  Jesus can be our our shepherd if we wish to follow him.   We can follow him for many reasons, to meet our many needs:  to be intimately known and loved in an age where so many feel lonely and anonymous, to know what the good life looks like because of his teaching, and ultimately, I think, because Jesus is life.  The ancient church had a phrase it used in worship, “In the midst of death, we are in life”, and I think the idea there is why Good Shepherd Sunday falls during the Easter season, as we try to figure out how the resurrection of Jesus touches our own lives.

To understand what I mean in saying that we follow Jesus because he is life, let’s conclude these reflections with a brief look at today’s first reading, from Acts.   The apostle Peter has been summoned to a town where one of the leading lights of the local church has passed away.  Tabitha, or Dorcas to use her Greek name (both names mean Gazelle) is the sort of faithful woman that any church would love to have,  someone “devoted to good works and acts of charity”.   But she has died, leaving a huge hole and much grief in the community; the description of widows holding the cloths that Tabitha made for them is a very real detail that tugs at our hearts. 

I don’t think there’s a pastor alive who wouldn’t love to be able to do what Peter does, to heal the sick and bring the dead back to life.    We would certainly be asked to do more hospital visits if that were the case.   But I think we need to resist the temptation to think of this as a fantastic story.   The Book of Acts has its place in scripture because it describes the impact of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, in the way that a seismograph captures aftershocks following an earthquake, or in the way that our eye registers the ripples moving out from a stone thrown into a pond.

Peter was in that room with the disciples when the risen Christ appeared to them and breathed on them, giving them the Holy Spirit.   Acts makes it plain that Peter is drawing on this power, because he puts the widows out of the room and prays before he brings Tabitha back from the dead.    Likewise, in an episode just before this one, he tells a sick man to be healed “in the name of Jesus Christ”.   Acts thus describes a vital power that flows out of Jesus in the immediate aftermath of the resurrection that empowers the apostles and brings enough people to faith to create the church.   Indeed, one could fairly say that the biggest miracle that Acts describes is not healings or resurrections, but the creation of a church that has survived for all these centuries.

Even in the first generations of the church, it became evident that believers would die, either from sickness and age or from persecution.  Our second reading from Revelation describes martyrs. those who “have come out of the great ordeal”, who are now sheltered under the throne of the Lamb who has himself been slaughtered, so that Jesus, himself crucified, becomes the most powerful force in the universe, a force of life and love who is both sacrificed sheep and protecting shepherd.     The message of Revelation is that whatever our fate, our faithful shepherd will never let go of us, never let us be snatched away, either in this life or the next.

When a church is real, and not just a social club or a cultural experience, the living Christ is at the centre of its life.   That living Christ, the voice of Jesus speaking to us in our scriptures and in our hearts, calls us into an eternal life that begins now.  I think Jesus’ promise of “eternal life so that we may never perish” is not just the afterlife, but is also experienced in the present.   We find eternal life in the knowledge that Jesus knows us completely and loves us, but that Jesus also calls us to see others as he sees us, as individuals worthy of respect and dignity.  Jesus calls us to a life of service, in which we realize our satisfaction from recognizing that the needs of others are as great as our own, that we too can be shepherds to those around us.

I started this homily with a mention of the new pontiff, Pope Leo, and I’ll finish with another reference to him.  I read yesterday that the reason Cardinal Prevost chose the name of Leo was in honour of Leo XIII, who was alive when the industrial revolution of 1800s was impacting the lives of millions.   As the new pope said on May 10, the church’s social teaching, which comes from the gospel of Jesus, speaks to “another industrial revolution and to developments in the field of artificial intelligence that pose new challenges for the defence of human dignity, justice, and labour”.    That word “defence” is important because it speaks to the role of the shepherd as a protector, and reminds us that the church’s role is to speak for and protect those who have no voice.

Good Shepherd Sunday reminds us that we, as followers of Jesus, can be sheep when we need to be, but can also be shepherds when we are called to be.