Leveraging the family genome
Commentary
Roman historian, Herodotus, told of the pride the Egyptians had in being the oldest
civilization on earth. When Psammetichus became their ruler around 660 B.C. he decided
to prove the antiquity of the Egyptian civilization through a scientific experiment.
Psammetichus ordered that two newborn children of ordinary parentage be taken from their mothers and placed under the care of a childless couple who lived in a very remote area. The shepherd and his wife were commanded to care for the children, but at no time were they to utter even a single word of speech within hearing of these babies. The children were to be raised in total linguistic silence. When, and if, they finally spoke, the language they used would obviously be the original human tongue.
One morning, when the youngsters were in their second year, they stretched out their arms in delight and cried out the word bekos. Knowing the gravity of the situation, the shepherd neither responded orally nor reported this incident until it had occurred several times. But then the news was conveyed to Psammetichus, and linguists were called in. After some deliberation, these scholars concluded that bekos was very similar to a term used by Phrygian peoples in referring to bread. Psammetichus was heart-broken.
The premise for Psammetichus' experiment is fascinating. What is our original language? What is the true speech of the human soul? Are we merely bits of biotic matter tossed against the cosmic winds or do we have internal wiring which reflects purpose for our existence that calls out a spiritual mother tongue no matter where we were born on earth?
The passages for today echo this quest. The Ethiopian eunuch travels thousands of miles in search of true religion, only to find himself already a child of God. John reminds his children that they are family of the one who made all things and infused them with divine character. Jesus teaches his disciples that in the loneliness of existence, home is found in spiritual reconnection with the family genome that is traced through Jesus' bloodline.
Acts 8:26-40
There are several helpful things to remember when preaching from the book of Acts. First, it is a two-part work that begins with the third gospel. Luke tells his readers at the beginning of each volume what his intent is -- that "Theophilus" will understand more clearly the things he has been taught about Jesus and the spread of the Christian faith. But more than that, Luke develops the narrative of both books in a similar fashion: the power of God enters the human arena miraculously in each, lives are changed and the old guard is disrupted by this new revelation, and a great teacher is raised up with travel goals that lead in the direction of Jerusalem. After a farcical trial there, each is dispatched to other places -- Jesus to heaven and Paul to Rome. There is a fascinating parallelism between these two volumes of Luke's documentation.
Second, the book of Acts has a rather well-defined internal structure of its own. Five times over (in 6:7; 9:31; 12:24; 16:5; 19:20) Luke gives us what might be termed "progress reports" that show how the gospel of Jesus has penetrated another broader circle of life in the first-century Mediterranean world. These phases of evangelistic engagement mirror Jesus' statement in 1:8 that power would come on his disciples when the Holy Spirit arrived, and they would be witnesses in Jerusalem, all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. The first section after the introductory prologue (Acts 1) shows how the gospel came alive in Jerusalem (2:1--6:7). Then comes the section in which the message of Jesus broadens into regional impact (6:8--9:31). The reading for today comes from this section.
Reviewing that structure helps us understand the meaning of this story. When Luke explored the initial phase of gospel preaching in the first section of the book, the hearers and respondents were virtually all ethnic Jews. They may have emerged from various countries around the Hellenic Roman world, but they came to Jerusalem for the Jewish feast of Pentecost. In this next section, however, Luke is forcefully telling us that the time has come for the gospel to leap beyond the Jewish environment. Nowhere is that more clearly seen than in the story of the Ethiopian eunuch.
Think of these things: First, Philip is one of the newly appointed deacons of the Jerusalem congregation (see 6:5). Thus he was an early convert and a recognized leader within the Jerusalem church.
Second, the empowering of the Spirit, which was so noticeable among the disciples in that first Pentecost gospel presentation, is now similarly working powerfully in the life of this next-generation leader. Philip is visibly directed by an angel of God to make this journey (8:26), and along the way he is again instructed clearly by the Spirit of God (8:29).
Third, the gospel comes to this foreign diplomat through what we now call the Old Testament. There are at least five different ways in which Christians have used or relegated the Old Testament in their theological and missiological dealings: 1) treat it as outdated and inappropriate for this new age (cf. Marcion); 2) consider it the explanatory prologue to the real Bible, the New Testament; 3) think of it as the old version in a two- stage divine covenant development and thus largely anticipatory or typological; 4) understand it as the earlier pieces of one long salvation history story that is seamlessly continued in the New Testament; or 5) view it as the true scriptures of the church, with the New Testament added on as a footnote or appendix. While few of us opt for either the first or the last of these five interpretive options, the story of the Ethiopian eunuch must impress us as a realistic version of the last. Based solely upon the poetry of Isaiah 53, Philip is able to bring the eunuch to a profound conversion to Jesus.
Fourth, baptism happens quickly. There is no lengthy period of discipling or catechizing. While these are usually necessary in order to bring the mind and the will along with the heart into conformity with and love for Jesus, it is also true that God can work amazing wonders, and when the line is crossed, it is a done deal. The eunuch, though from a different culture and socio-political world than most of the Jerusalem Christians, is a member of the family and has found the missing link in his spiritual DNA. He has learned again for the first time the true language of his soul.
1 John 4:7-21
During the nineteenth century, Welsh manufacturer Robert Owen became increasingly discouraged with conditions in England's coal mines. He personally toured the collier districts and was appalled at the degradation of human life there. One evening, he stopped a twelve-year-old boy, coal-black, trudging off to a squalid rooming house after another day in the night below.
"Do you know God?" Owen asked him, concerned for his spiritual development.
"No," replied the boy pensively. "He must work in some other mine."
How unfortunate it is when God's own children (see 1 John 3:1-2) do not know God, and think that if God exists at all, he must be working in some other mine -- ours is too dull and dirty and dreary and discouraging. John acknowledges that none of us can actually see God in the way that we are able to view one another (4:12), but he will not allow us quickly to set aside the reality that God exists within our sphere of reference.
John, of course, was responding to the specific heresy of early Gnosticism. According to that spreading secret society, deity is pure spirit and cannot meddle in physical reality. Furthermore, humans are the creative mistake of a lesser god, or even perhaps the cruel torture of a mad god who traps sparks of divinity in these wretched earthly bodies. Because we are sullied creatures, we do not have the capacity to love. Love is only available to those whose true selves, the spirits within, have been freed from material clutches. So imagined love directed toward other earthly beings is mistaken at best and false at worst.
In this way of thinking, Jesus could not be human, for that would mean that he was imprisoned in flesh like the rest of us. Therefore, according to those who were infiltrating the ranks of early Christianity with their Gnostic views, Jesus only appeared among us as the great teacher who had the right wisdom (Greek gnosis) that would allow us to learn the method of escape from the physical into the spiritual. Any visibility he might have had was a divine apparition wafted in our presence in order that we could catch some of his teachings. These, if rightly understood and properly chanted, gave some people the ability to transcend the flesh and escape from this existence to a higher expression of our divine core of being.
John writes with boldness to counter these false teachings. First, he declares that Jesus was and remains a real human flesh-and-blood person (4:14-15). Furthermore, this real flesh-and-blood person is also the revelation of God to us within this context. While Gnostics were trying to get their followers to escape the physical through chants and secret knowledge, John shows God inserting himself into our world. God cares for this world as it is, not in spite of what it is, and God shares our humanity in the person of Jesus.
Second, the testimony of faith is that we love others. Rather than being concerned about how we might escape the material existence that has us trapped, we can join God in spreading the love.
Frank Luther Mott, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, once published a short story called "The Man with the Good Face." It was about James Neal, a New York law clerk, who became discouraged by the sordid faces that peered at him day-by-day on his subway commute. Neal found himself becoming an expert in the state of the human heart by observing the descriptive lines that etched his fellow travelers' faces. So many showed sadness and suffering, emptiness and evil, lust and lechery, woe and weakness. Neal began to long for a face that shone with simplicity, transparent truth, and some kind of spiritual strength, which coupled meekness with gentle power. In fact, he became obsessed. He had to find such a face. He called it "the good face."
One day, as Neal sat in the 14th Street Station, he glanced at an express train across the open tracks. There, framed by a window, was the face of a man shining with all Neal had ever hoped faith and love to be. Jumping from his bench, Neal raced toward the man's rail coach, but the doors closed and the train fled without him.
Still, Neal thought he might be a better person for having seen that face. Indeed, it gave him hope that he would likely see it again sometime soon. More fascinating, though, was the strange thing that began to happen to Neal himself. Those who knew him best, saw him change. Once a loner, hovering at the fringes of society, he slowly began to reach out to others in friendliness and grace. Not only that, but his heart warmed to the suffering needs of his fellow travelers who had so long been the object of his study. James Neal was becoming a new man, all because he had seen "the good face."
So, Mr. Neal's death came as quite a shock. He was crossing the street at lunch hour when a car roared out of nowhere and struck him. An ambulance rushed him to a hospital and doctors performed emergency surgery, but to no avail. Mr. Neal died in post-op.
A doctor who was coming to check his vital signs, just as Neal died, asked the nurse on duty a strange question: "Who was that man standing over Mr. Neal?"
The nurse knew that no one had come to see her patient, so she was confused by the question. "That tall man," the doctor repeated, "the one with the good face; who was he and where did he go?"
Again the nurse assured the doctor that no one had been with Mr. Neal. "Oh yes," responded the doctor. "I saw a man bending over the bed -- a very tall man with a remarkable face." Observing the peaceful smile that lingered on James Neal's face, the doctor continued, "He was very fortunate to have died with a face like that looking into his."
Mott's story is a wonderful allegory to John's teaching. Once we look into "the good face" of Jesus, our characters are changed and we become more good and loving. And when we finally pass out of this existence it will not be with a bang or a whimper; it will be with a smile in the face of God. For we are, in fact, truly the children of eternity, loved in this life and the next by the one who crafted the best lines on our faces.
John 15:1-8
These verses are at the heart of what we call Jesus' "Farewell Discourse" (John 13-17). One engaging study (see The Literary Development of John 13-17: A Chiastic Reading [SBLDS, 2000]), has shown how the discourse as a whole is wrapped around this passage in chiastic literary development. In outline the discourse is shaped as follows:
A Gathering Scene -- Focus on unity with Jesus expressed in mutual love (13:1- 35)
B Prediction of the disciple's denial (13:36-38)
C Jesus' departure tempered by assurance of the Father's power (14:1-14)
D The promise of the Paraclete as a continuing link to Jesus (14:15-26)
E Troubling encounter with the world (14:27-31)
F The vine and branches teaching -- "Abide in me!" (15:1-17)
E' Troubling encounter with the world (15:18--16:4a)
D' The promise of the Paraclete as a continuing link to Jesus (16:4b-15)
C' Jesus' departure tempered by assurance of the Father's power (16:16-28)
B' Prediction of the disciples' denial (16:29-33)
A' Gathering scene -- Focus on unity with Jesus expressed in mutual love (17:1- 26)
While this is not the only possible way to understand the literary structure of the "Farewell Discourse," it certainly makes plausible both the reason for the repetitions in the passage as a whole as well as the manner in which the themes resonate and circle around the idea of remaining in Jesus for light and life.
Indeed, there is a truly remarkable way in which the actions of Judas in chapter 13, coupled with Jesus' encounter with Nicodemus in chapter 3, help illustrate what Jesus is trying to say in these eight verses. Nicodemus came secretly ("by night") to Jesus to find out more about the teachings, which were troubling society in his day. Jesus talked with him about being born a second time (spiritually), but there is no indication in chapter 3 whether Nicodemus actually steps across the line and becomes a believer. We are led to assume it, however, because Jesus continues to talk in that passage about being in the light and walking in the light and living in the light. Furthermore, according to John's Gospel, Nicodemus emerges from the shadows at Jesus' death in order to care for Jesus' body and provide it with an appropriate burial (19:39). One might say, from the witness of John 3, that Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night, and leaves in the light.
Keeping that in mind, it is striking to see the reverse movement taking place in Judas' life in chapter 13. Jesus announces that his hour has come, the hour in which the glory of God will be revealed. We know, from John 1, that this glory of God is the light of the world. So Jesus enters the room for the final meal, bringing his disciples with him surrounded by the glory (light) that is emerging through Jesus in this final revelatory event. Yet as they sit at table together, Jesus identifies the devious manipulations prancing about in Judas' heart and the disciple is caught cold. He leaves the table and the room, we are told, "and it was night" (13:30). In other words, Judas comes in the light, and leaves into night. Exactly the opposite of Nicodemus.
The interwrappings of the monologues and dialogues of the "Farewell Discourse" expound upon these themes: stay close to Jesus and you have life and light; leave Jesus and it is death and night. That's why Peter, along with the other disciples, needs to undergo the washing in chapter 13. Without this sacramental sign, he would be an outsider, and would be considered part of the night. Similarly, it is Jesus' departure, elaborated upon in chapters 14 and 16, that becomes the cause of concern for the disciples, for then they will feel the troubling of the world. Yet, Jesus will not leave them disconnected, for he will send the Paraclete, the Spirit, to reconnect them to him, and when the Paraclete comes, they will be reminded of all that Jesus taught.
With these things in mind, the vine and branches teaching seems like a summary exhortation. Our very spiritual genes are spliced into God through Jesus. We cannot be part of the family if we give up our birthright. But when we remain connected to the source of our existence, the RNA of his Spirit ensures that life flows through out mortal veins. And when it does, whatever our lives are about will bear the fruit of his grace.
Application
It may seem silly and trite to the sophisticated among us, but Myra Brooks Welch got it right in her poem "The Touch of the Master's Hand" (http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/1199.html).
An Alternative Application
Acts 8:26-40. The story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch would make a fine message for bringing new believers into the fellowship, especially if your church had a massive evangelistic campaign for Easter.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 22:25-31
A cursory read through of these verses could leave us with the impression that everyone must turn to God ... or else. While Christians are comfortable claiming God's sovereignty in our lives and sharing that good news, is it right to insist that everyone else accept that sovereignty? In a pluralistic world like ours this is a tricky question. Should all the families of the nations bow down before our God? And this dominion which we so freely accept: Do we have the right to force it upon others?
As a Christian writer who accepts the lordship of Christ in his life, and has given that life to serving Christ, I have to say that I am most comfortable offering Christ to anyone. It's hard to keep such good news to oneself. However, I balk at forcing it onto someone who says, "No." Moreover, I hesitate to challenge a person of faith, whose faith is not exactly like mine.
If God does have total dominion, which we clearly believe, doesn't it seem likely that God also approves of different ways of worshiping "him"? Otherwise, why would such diversity in faith traditions exist? What if the authentic* world religions are like languages spoken by different cultures to a God who is far beyond our ability to grasp? This writer speaks the United Methodist dialect of Christianity. Even within Christendom, what other languages exist? From Mennonites to Orthodox, to Quakers and Episcopalians, and back again, we all speak to the same God, don't we? Is it too far a stretch, then, to assume the Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, and others also reach to God in an authentic voice?
What are we to do? If we make space for other expressions of faith, what does this say about our claims? If we acknowledge the legitimacy of other faith traditions, doesn't this somehow de-legitimize our own?
The answer to that question would be, "No." Perhaps the best thing Christians can do is to adopt a New Testament paradigm of allowing God to be the one who judges others (Matthew 7:1; Luke 6:37; John 8:15; Romans 2:1; James 4:12). Perhaps we would be better off if we simply lived out our faith, offering it humbly to others while respecting those who differ and are different. It even might be that our faith could deepen as we interact with others who connect with God differently than we do.
In the meantime, let us look to our own faithfulness, to our integrity in Christ and leave the judging to God.
____________
*By "authentic" the writer means any religious tradition that affirms life and the quality of life for all peoples and for the planet.
Psammetichus ordered that two newborn children of ordinary parentage be taken from their mothers and placed under the care of a childless couple who lived in a very remote area. The shepherd and his wife were commanded to care for the children, but at no time were they to utter even a single word of speech within hearing of these babies. The children were to be raised in total linguistic silence. When, and if, they finally spoke, the language they used would obviously be the original human tongue.
One morning, when the youngsters were in their second year, they stretched out their arms in delight and cried out the word bekos. Knowing the gravity of the situation, the shepherd neither responded orally nor reported this incident until it had occurred several times. But then the news was conveyed to Psammetichus, and linguists were called in. After some deliberation, these scholars concluded that bekos was very similar to a term used by Phrygian peoples in referring to bread. Psammetichus was heart-broken.
The premise for Psammetichus' experiment is fascinating. What is our original language? What is the true speech of the human soul? Are we merely bits of biotic matter tossed against the cosmic winds or do we have internal wiring which reflects purpose for our existence that calls out a spiritual mother tongue no matter where we were born on earth?
The passages for today echo this quest. The Ethiopian eunuch travels thousands of miles in search of true religion, only to find himself already a child of God. John reminds his children that they are family of the one who made all things and infused them with divine character. Jesus teaches his disciples that in the loneliness of existence, home is found in spiritual reconnection with the family genome that is traced through Jesus' bloodline.
Acts 8:26-40
There are several helpful things to remember when preaching from the book of Acts. First, it is a two-part work that begins with the third gospel. Luke tells his readers at the beginning of each volume what his intent is -- that "Theophilus" will understand more clearly the things he has been taught about Jesus and the spread of the Christian faith. But more than that, Luke develops the narrative of both books in a similar fashion: the power of God enters the human arena miraculously in each, lives are changed and the old guard is disrupted by this new revelation, and a great teacher is raised up with travel goals that lead in the direction of Jerusalem. After a farcical trial there, each is dispatched to other places -- Jesus to heaven and Paul to Rome. There is a fascinating parallelism between these two volumes of Luke's documentation.
Second, the book of Acts has a rather well-defined internal structure of its own. Five times over (in 6:7; 9:31; 12:24; 16:5; 19:20) Luke gives us what might be termed "progress reports" that show how the gospel of Jesus has penetrated another broader circle of life in the first-century Mediterranean world. These phases of evangelistic engagement mirror Jesus' statement in 1:8 that power would come on his disciples when the Holy Spirit arrived, and they would be witnesses in Jerusalem, all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. The first section after the introductory prologue (Acts 1) shows how the gospel came alive in Jerusalem (2:1--6:7). Then comes the section in which the message of Jesus broadens into regional impact (6:8--9:31). The reading for today comes from this section.
Reviewing that structure helps us understand the meaning of this story. When Luke explored the initial phase of gospel preaching in the first section of the book, the hearers and respondents were virtually all ethnic Jews. They may have emerged from various countries around the Hellenic Roman world, but they came to Jerusalem for the Jewish feast of Pentecost. In this next section, however, Luke is forcefully telling us that the time has come for the gospel to leap beyond the Jewish environment. Nowhere is that more clearly seen than in the story of the Ethiopian eunuch.
Think of these things: First, Philip is one of the newly appointed deacons of the Jerusalem congregation (see 6:5). Thus he was an early convert and a recognized leader within the Jerusalem church.
Second, the empowering of the Spirit, which was so noticeable among the disciples in that first Pentecost gospel presentation, is now similarly working powerfully in the life of this next-generation leader. Philip is visibly directed by an angel of God to make this journey (8:26), and along the way he is again instructed clearly by the Spirit of God (8:29).
Third, the gospel comes to this foreign diplomat through what we now call the Old Testament. There are at least five different ways in which Christians have used or relegated the Old Testament in their theological and missiological dealings: 1) treat it as outdated and inappropriate for this new age (cf. Marcion); 2) consider it the explanatory prologue to the real Bible, the New Testament; 3) think of it as the old version in a two- stage divine covenant development and thus largely anticipatory or typological; 4) understand it as the earlier pieces of one long salvation history story that is seamlessly continued in the New Testament; or 5) view it as the true scriptures of the church, with the New Testament added on as a footnote or appendix. While few of us opt for either the first or the last of these five interpretive options, the story of the Ethiopian eunuch must impress us as a realistic version of the last. Based solely upon the poetry of Isaiah 53, Philip is able to bring the eunuch to a profound conversion to Jesus.
Fourth, baptism happens quickly. There is no lengthy period of discipling or catechizing. While these are usually necessary in order to bring the mind and the will along with the heart into conformity with and love for Jesus, it is also true that God can work amazing wonders, and when the line is crossed, it is a done deal. The eunuch, though from a different culture and socio-political world than most of the Jerusalem Christians, is a member of the family and has found the missing link in his spiritual DNA. He has learned again for the first time the true language of his soul.
1 John 4:7-21
During the nineteenth century, Welsh manufacturer Robert Owen became increasingly discouraged with conditions in England's coal mines. He personally toured the collier districts and was appalled at the degradation of human life there. One evening, he stopped a twelve-year-old boy, coal-black, trudging off to a squalid rooming house after another day in the night below.
"Do you know God?" Owen asked him, concerned for his spiritual development.
"No," replied the boy pensively. "He must work in some other mine."
How unfortunate it is when God's own children (see 1 John 3:1-2) do not know God, and think that if God exists at all, he must be working in some other mine -- ours is too dull and dirty and dreary and discouraging. John acknowledges that none of us can actually see God in the way that we are able to view one another (4:12), but he will not allow us quickly to set aside the reality that God exists within our sphere of reference.
John, of course, was responding to the specific heresy of early Gnosticism. According to that spreading secret society, deity is pure spirit and cannot meddle in physical reality. Furthermore, humans are the creative mistake of a lesser god, or even perhaps the cruel torture of a mad god who traps sparks of divinity in these wretched earthly bodies. Because we are sullied creatures, we do not have the capacity to love. Love is only available to those whose true selves, the spirits within, have been freed from material clutches. So imagined love directed toward other earthly beings is mistaken at best and false at worst.
In this way of thinking, Jesus could not be human, for that would mean that he was imprisoned in flesh like the rest of us. Therefore, according to those who were infiltrating the ranks of early Christianity with their Gnostic views, Jesus only appeared among us as the great teacher who had the right wisdom (Greek gnosis) that would allow us to learn the method of escape from the physical into the spiritual. Any visibility he might have had was a divine apparition wafted in our presence in order that we could catch some of his teachings. These, if rightly understood and properly chanted, gave some people the ability to transcend the flesh and escape from this existence to a higher expression of our divine core of being.
John writes with boldness to counter these false teachings. First, he declares that Jesus was and remains a real human flesh-and-blood person (4:14-15). Furthermore, this real flesh-and-blood person is also the revelation of God to us within this context. While Gnostics were trying to get their followers to escape the physical through chants and secret knowledge, John shows God inserting himself into our world. God cares for this world as it is, not in spite of what it is, and God shares our humanity in the person of Jesus.
Second, the testimony of faith is that we love others. Rather than being concerned about how we might escape the material existence that has us trapped, we can join God in spreading the love.
Frank Luther Mott, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, once published a short story called "The Man with the Good Face." It was about James Neal, a New York law clerk, who became discouraged by the sordid faces that peered at him day-by-day on his subway commute. Neal found himself becoming an expert in the state of the human heart by observing the descriptive lines that etched his fellow travelers' faces. So many showed sadness and suffering, emptiness and evil, lust and lechery, woe and weakness. Neal began to long for a face that shone with simplicity, transparent truth, and some kind of spiritual strength, which coupled meekness with gentle power. In fact, he became obsessed. He had to find such a face. He called it "the good face."
One day, as Neal sat in the 14th Street Station, he glanced at an express train across the open tracks. There, framed by a window, was the face of a man shining with all Neal had ever hoped faith and love to be. Jumping from his bench, Neal raced toward the man's rail coach, but the doors closed and the train fled without him.
Still, Neal thought he might be a better person for having seen that face. Indeed, it gave him hope that he would likely see it again sometime soon. More fascinating, though, was the strange thing that began to happen to Neal himself. Those who knew him best, saw him change. Once a loner, hovering at the fringes of society, he slowly began to reach out to others in friendliness and grace. Not only that, but his heart warmed to the suffering needs of his fellow travelers who had so long been the object of his study. James Neal was becoming a new man, all because he had seen "the good face."
So, Mr. Neal's death came as quite a shock. He was crossing the street at lunch hour when a car roared out of nowhere and struck him. An ambulance rushed him to a hospital and doctors performed emergency surgery, but to no avail. Mr. Neal died in post-op.
A doctor who was coming to check his vital signs, just as Neal died, asked the nurse on duty a strange question: "Who was that man standing over Mr. Neal?"
The nurse knew that no one had come to see her patient, so she was confused by the question. "That tall man," the doctor repeated, "the one with the good face; who was he and where did he go?"
Again the nurse assured the doctor that no one had been with Mr. Neal. "Oh yes," responded the doctor. "I saw a man bending over the bed -- a very tall man with a remarkable face." Observing the peaceful smile that lingered on James Neal's face, the doctor continued, "He was very fortunate to have died with a face like that looking into his."
Mott's story is a wonderful allegory to John's teaching. Once we look into "the good face" of Jesus, our characters are changed and we become more good and loving. And when we finally pass out of this existence it will not be with a bang or a whimper; it will be with a smile in the face of God. For we are, in fact, truly the children of eternity, loved in this life and the next by the one who crafted the best lines on our faces.
John 15:1-8
These verses are at the heart of what we call Jesus' "Farewell Discourse" (John 13-17). One engaging study (see The Literary Development of John 13-17: A Chiastic Reading [SBLDS, 2000]), has shown how the discourse as a whole is wrapped around this passage in chiastic literary development. In outline the discourse is shaped as follows:
A Gathering Scene -- Focus on unity with Jesus expressed in mutual love (13:1- 35)
B Prediction of the disciple's denial (13:36-38)
C Jesus' departure tempered by assurance of the Father's power (14:1-14)
D The promise of the Paraclete as a continuing link to Jesus (14:15-26)
E Troubling encounter with the world (14:27-31)
F The vine and branches teaching -- "Abide in me!" (15:1-17)
E' Troubling encounter with the world (15:18--16:4a)
D' The promise of the Paraclete as a continuing link to Jesus (16:4b-15)
C' Jesus' departure tempered by assurance of the Father's power (16:16-28)
B' Prediction of the disciples' denial (16:29-33)
A' Gathering scene -- Focus on unity with Jesus expressed in mutual love (17:1- 26)
While this is not the only possible way to understand the literary structure of the "Farewell Discourse," it certainly makes plausible both the reason for the repetitions in the passage as a whole as well as the manner in which the themes resonate and circle around the idea of remaining in Jesus for light and life.
Indeed, there is a truly remarkable way in which the actions of Judas in chapter 13, coupled with Jesus' encounter with Nicodemus in chapter 3, help illustrate what Jesus is trying to say in these eight verses. Nicodemus came secretly ("by night") to Jesus to find out more about the teachings, which were troubling society in his day. Jesus talked with him about being born a second time (spiritually), but there is no indication in chapter 3 whether Nicodemus actually steps across the line and becomes a believer. We are led to assume it, however, because Jesus continues to talk in that passage about being in the light and walking in the light and living in the light. Furthermore, according to John's Gospel, Nicodemus emerges from the shadows at Jesus' death in order to care for Jesus' body and provide it with an appropriate burial (19:39). One might say, from the witness of John 3, that Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night, and leaves in the light.
Keeping that in mind, it is striking to see the reverse movement taking place in Judas' life in chapter 13. Jesus announces that his hour has come, the hour in which the glory of God will be revealed. We know, from John 1, that this glory of God is the light of the world. So Jesus enters the room for the final meal, bringing his disciples with him surrounded by the glory (light) that is emerging through Jesus in this final revelatory event. Yet as they sit at table together, Jesus identifies the devious manipulations prancing about in Judas' heart and the disciple is caught cold. He leaves the table and the room, we are told, "and it was night" (13:30). In other words, Judas comes in the light, and leaves into night. Exactly the opposite of Nicodemus.
The interwrappings of the monologues and dialogues of the "Farewell Discourse" expound upon these themes: stay close to Jesus and you have life and light; leave Jesus and it is death and night. That's why Peter, along with the other disciples, needs to undergo the washing in chapter 13. Without this sacramental sign, he would be an outsider, and would be considered part of the night. Similarly, it is Jesus' departure, elaborated upon in chapters 14 and 16, that becomes the cause of concern for the disciples, for then they will feel the troubling of the world. Yet, Jesus will not leave them disconnected, for he will send the Paraclete, the Spirit, to reconnect them to him, and when the Paraclete comes, they will be reminded of all that Jesus taught.
With these things in mind, the vine and branches teaching seems like a summary exhortation. Our very spiritual genes are spliced into God through Jesus. We cannot be part of the family if we give up our birthright. But when we remain connected to the source of our existence, the RNA of his Spirit ensures that life flows through out mortal veins. And when it does, whatever our lives are about will bear the fruit of his grace.
Application
It may seem silly and trite to the sophisticated among us, but Myra Brooks Welch got it right in her poem "The Touch of the Master's Hand" (http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/1199.html).
An Alternative Application
Acts 8:26-40. The story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch would make a fine message for bringing new believers into the fellowship, especially if your church had a massive evangelistic campaign for Easter.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 22:25-31
A cursory read through of these verses could leave us with the impression that everyone must turn to God ... or else. While Christians are comfortable claiming God's sovereignty in our lives and sharing that good news, is it right to insist that everyone else accept that sovereignty? In a pluralistic world like ours this is a tricky question. Should all the families of the nations bow down before our God? And this dominion which we so freely accept: Do we have the right to force it upon others?
As a Christian writer who accepts the lordship of Christ in his life, and has given that life to serving Christ, I have to say that I am most comfortable offering Christ to anyone. It's hard to keep such good news to oneself. However, I balk at forcing it onto someone who says, "No." Moreover, I hesitate to challenge a person of faith, whose faith is not exactly like mine.
If God does have total dominion, which we clearly believe, doesn't it seem likely that God also approves of different ways of worshiping "him"? Otherwise, why would such diversity in faith traditions exist? What if the authentic* world religions are like languages spoken by different cultures to a God who is far beyond our ability to grasp? This writer speaks the United Methodist dialect of Christianity. Even within Christendom, what other languages exist? From Mennonites to Orthodox, to Quakers and Episcopalians, and back again, we all speak to the same God, don't we? Is it too far a stretch, then, to assume the Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, and others also reach to God in an authentic voice?
What are we to do? If we make space for other expressions of faith, what does this say about our claims? If we acknowledge the legitimacy of other faith traditions, doesn't this somehow de-legitimize our own?
The answer to that question would be, "No." Perhaps the best thing Christians can do is to adopt a New Testament paradigm of allowing God to be the one who judges others (Matthew 7:1; Luke 6:37; John 8:15; Romans 2:1; James 4:12). Perhaps we would be better off if we simply lived out our faith, offering it humbly to others while respecting those who differ and are different. It even might be that our faith could deepen as we interact with others who connect with God differently than we do.
In the meantime, let us look to our own faithfulness, to our integrity in Christ and leave the judging to God.
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*By "authentic" the writer means any religious tradition that affirms life and the quality of life for all peoples and for the planet.
