Chosen
John 15:9-17
Click here to view the full sermon video for May 9th, entitled "Chosen."
In his poem East Coker, T.S. Elliot writes, “in my end is my beginning.” “Endings,” observes Eugene Petersen, “take precedence over beginnings,” because he notes, “we begin a journey by first deciding on a destination.” Then there is the rock band Semisonic whose song Closing Time intones, “every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
On this Fifth Sunday of Easter we return to that upper room with Jesus and the twelve (well eleven, since by this point Judas has gone out into the night to carry out his betrayal.) They are sharing a final Passover meal together. As Fredrick Buechner has suggested, “he knew it was the last time, and he didn’t have to be the Messiah to know it- they all did.” They all knew it was the end of something. In fact this section of John’s Gospel that we just heard from is often referred to as Jesus’ farewell discourse; Jesus’ final sermon, if you will, before the trial, torture and crucifixion that are closing in to claim his life. This is the end of the line for those who have journeyed with him over the past several years as wandered, healed and taught among the hills and communities of Galilee. This journey has its destination, yet in this end is also a beginning. We revisit it now, because everything looks different from this side of resurrection. We start to hear the beginnings of the new life that will be revealed when Jesus is raised from the dead. It’s a life marked by the love of God that infuses the breadth of creation, a life that is made new by the personal love that passes between Jesus and any who would follow him and seek to be his disciple.
Several years ago, I was invited to preach at a special Holy Week service at the Methodist church that was down the street. Afterward, they served a light lunch, and since I’ve never been one to pass up an invitation to eat, I happily stuck around for the meal. The only drawback to the arrangement was that as a guest preacher people often ask you the questions they’ve already asked their own pastor without satisfaction. A second opinion, if you will. So, halfway through the soup a woman at the table posed a question that her daughter had raised. “Does God see me differently,” this young girl wanted to know, “now that I am saved?” It was a tough question. In part due to the fact that I never quite knew how to respond this prevalent Bible Belt idea of someone who is “saved.” As I understand the Bible, it really isn’t so much about individual, or personal salvation. The whole thing is one big story of salvation. Time and again God saves God’s people from floods, and famine, and infertility, and the Pharaoh. That story then continues in Jesus, who name literally means, God saves. Then there are the words of the apostle Paul who talks about salvation in Jesus as a kind of ongoing work in progress; we who are being saved. It leaves us with the impression that whatever salvation is about, God’s not nearly finished. At least that is how I understand it. As a guest in someone else’s church, I though that diving into all of that would just be can of worms better left alone. The other thing that made it a difficult question to answer was I wasn’t sure I could be as honest with her as I wanted to. It was clear that this woman loved her daughter and wanted to affirm something implicit in the question, that God indeed saw her differently. So, I chickened out. I was afraid it would be rude and an insult to the hospitality that I had received to tell her what I felt to be true- what I hear when I listen to these words of Jesus as he shares one last meal with his friends. Because what I wanted to say in response to this child’s question is, “of course not!” God’s love for us is steadfast. God’s view of us does not change. It does not depend on some choice that we make, or a prayer that we say in the emotional throws for some religious experience.” God is far bigger than that. Now, that can be an incredibly reassuring thing to hear, or it can be very difficult. In that moment I got the feeling that this young person’s question was born of a desire to know whether it made any difference, whether a commitment to follow and trust in Jesus would make her stand out in the eyes of God. What I wished I would have said was that I hoped she saw herself differently, finally saw herself as God had always seen her: as beloved, special. As much as we may want to, it isn’t always easy for us to see that.
In the animated move The Incredibles, a family of super heroes is trying to keep a low profile in their suburban life. Their young son wants desperately to play sports, but they fear his exceptional speed will blow their cover. The subject comes up repeatedly, and when young Dash pleads that his speed is what makes him special, his mother explains, “Everyone’s special.” Dash mutters in response, “which is another way of saying no one is.” Often we don’t want to think of ourselves as special in the way that everyone is, we want to stand out, stand above the crowd. That is the creed of our American individualism and personal freedom. It’s created a whole sector of the economy devoted to selling us the thing that will make us distinctive, or telling us just which path to take that will lead to our very own exclusive destination. I suppose it’s only natural that we might want our faith to be the thing that makes us special, that makes us stand out in the eyes of God. Look God, I chose you, doesn’t that make me special?”
In the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical Jesus Christ Superstar, Simon the Zealot whips the adoring crowd into a chorus to Jesus, “Christ you know I love you/ Did you see I waved/ I believe in you and God/ so tell me that I’m saved.” This truth is that so much of our lives are conditioned and shaped by the choices that we make each day, from what we eat, to the work we do, to the people we spend our time with, or elect to govern us. It can be easy to take all that choosing for granted, the hundred little choices that we make each day almost without thinking about them. Still, we value choice. We even demand it. Next time you’re out shopping for groceries count how many different options there are for tuna fish, or breakfast cereal, or yogurt. We teach our kids how important it is to make good choices. Then along comes Jesus to burst our bubble when it comes to the idea of faith as some kind of personal choice that makes us special. “You did not choose me,” he tells us, “I chose you.” It offends our democratic sensibilities. The biggest battles in our home are the ones that erupted because we didn’t offer our kids a choice and tried to dictate whatever decision was at hand. Maybe it’s the same thing that bristles in us when we hear Jesus use the word ‘command’, “This is my command.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t respond to well to the word command. It sounds a bit too much like ‘demand’ for my taste. Demanding something of me is pretty much the kiss of death. But here it is, from Jesus. He calls us friends, tells us that it’s a friendship we didn’t choose, and then commands us to love.
A friend of mine once told me how when his daughters were young and used to bicker and fight with one another, he and his wife had the bright idea to put them in time out together and told them to hold hands. You can imagine how successful that was. He went on to describe how they would sit there and see who could squeeze the other’s hand the hardest, or dig fingernails into the other’s hand. Commanding love is no guarantee that there will actually be love. That might be why it’s best not to leave it up to us to choose. We cannot always be trusted to make the best choices.
God, on the other hand, can be trusted. God can be trusted to choose us, even and maybe most importantly when we wouldn’t choose ourselves let alone God. God can be trusted to love us, even when doing so costs Jesus everything. Most remarkably, we don’t owe God a thing for any of it. Which means that everything we have to offer, every choice we do make in response to what God has done and can be trusted to do is our gift to bring and not a repayment to make good on a debt we think we owe. Jesus doesn’t call us servants, he calls us friends. Friends don’t require a quid pro quo. Friends recognize that what is most special is the friendship itself and then give themselves to it because of the joy that is made complete when we give our lives away like that; which is ultimately how we love in the way of Jesus, with our lives.
In the end, that love is our destination, it is the command that gives direction and meaning to every other choice we do have to make. It is the end that we seek, and in that end is our beginning. Today, tomorrow, and every day that we are given.