“And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in
the world, and I am coming to you. Holy father, protect them in your name that
you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” (John 17:11)
So,
Jesus is gone. At least he’s not around in the flesh anymore. In the First
Lesson for Easter 7 in the Revised Common Lectionary (Acts 1:6-14), Jesus takes
off for the right hand of the Father leaving his buddies standing around on Mt.
Olivet staring at the clouds with their mouths hanging open. A couple of angels
show up, telling the disciples that Jesus will be back some day, and suggesting
that, maybe, they have better things to do than stand around looking at the
sky.
Our
liturgical tradition gives us ten days between the celebration of Jesus’
ascension and the celebration of the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. I
like that the disciples—as well as the BVM, Mary Magdalene, Jesus’ siblings,
and all the other folks who loved Jesus and wanted to be his followers—get a
little bit of downtime to decompress and pray and try to sort out what should
come next (That’s healthy, don’t you think?). I’ll bet they missed Jesus even
while they were still trying to get their brains around the idea that their
crucified friend had been raised from the dead. But now, he’s really gone.
Pretty soon the clock is going to start again, and they’re going to have to
pick up the spiritual ball and try to move it down the field themselves.
In
the appointed Gospel Lesson (John17:1-11), Jesus, just before his arrest and
crucifixion, prays this “farewell prayer,” in which he asks the Father to
protect the followers he’s going to be leaving behind. I have to wonder just
what Jesus wants these boys protected from.
Look
at the Second Lesson (1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11) for Easter 7. Peter (or, more
likely, a disciple writing in the Apostle’s name several years after Peter’s
death) is encouraging a Christian community that seems to be getting its butt
kicked by society. The writer says the community to whom his letter is
addressed is “sharing in Christ’s suffering,” and they are “reviled for the
name of Christ.” Well, that sucks. Either the Father wasn’t listening
when Jesus prayed for protection for his friends, or the insurance policy Jesus
asked for wasn’t meant to be protection against persecution, marginalization,
or any kind of earthly suffering. So, what was Jesus praying for?
Peter’s
pseudepigraphal[i]
letter writer warns his readers, “Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil
prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your
faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are
undergoing the same kinds of suffering (vv.8-9).” Jesus prays his followers
will know oneness, unity, brotherly love. I think this is a prayer to protect
us from a loss of faith, a loss of solidarity, and assimilation to the ways of
a sinful world.
In
the world of the text, it was pretty understandable that some early Christians
would want to fall away and avoid the oppression to which the rest of the
community was subject. The cost of discipleship just seemed a little too high
to pay. In our own time, when nobody gets kicked out of their neighborhood or
put in jail for being a Christian, the roaring lion is a little more subtle.
We
need protection from our own temptation to hate or despise other human beings.
Face it: as Christ’s representatives, we in the Church have done a pretty
crappy job with this unity thing. We are far from one holy, catholic, and
apostolic church. We’ve battled, criticized, split up and—at times—gone to
war with one another over arcane matters of doctrine. We’ve burned each
other at the stake and denied the presence of the Holy Spirit in those we’ve
opposed. It’s okay for us to disagree, but we’d better be on our guard against
a desire to dominate, discriminate, or demonize others. It is unacceptable for
any follower of Christ to see another human being—regardless of their faith
tradition, race, sexual identity, nationality, or any other identifier—as less
than a holy person created in the image of God. We can debate and argue, but we
can’t ever fall prey to judging who is or isn’t worthy of God’s compassion or
our own.
We
also need, in these confusing, frustrating, and potentially frightening times,
protection from the temptation to despair. I can see how someone could look at
the colossal mess we’ve made of this world and just want to say, “Screw it! I
give up!” and shut ourselves in our homes and play games on our phones. But
despair is not an option for a Christian. Yeah, there’s plenty wrong out there,
and we may not know which way to turn. So, we can always do what the disciples
did: we can gather together in fellowship and devote ourselves to prayer. It’s
okay to take a little downtime and wait on the Holy Spirit. But please remember
we always need to be here for one another. 90% of caring for another is just
showing up. We can let the Holy Spirit show us what that other 10% needs to be
when the time comes.
The
best witness we have to the love of Christ will be our love for one another and
our undying desire to share this love—in generous compassion and patient
understanding—with the rest of the world. That’s how the world will know we are
Christians.
May
God deliver you from the evils of anger, intolerance, despair, frustration and
resignation this week and always. Thanks for coming by. We’ll talk again soon.
[i]
“Pseudepigrapha” refers to text which is attributed to a person other than the
actual writer. I could’ve said “ghost writer,” but pseudepigraphal is a cool
word, don’t you think?
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