Easter 6
May 17, 2020 Easter 6 Year A John 14:15-21 May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my Redeemer. Amen.
I was supremely confident as a little child. * I could independently explore the woods behind our house for hours. * I knew how to shake hands with a confident grip. * I had no problems carrying on a conversation with adults. * I could jump ramps on my bike, just like my brothers. * I could ride a mean skateboard. The world was my oyster, but . . .
My kryptonite was any time my parents took out their suitcases. They didn’t travel much – just a few times a year – but when they did, I was reduced to a puddle of tears, for days. I felt lost, and abandoned, and rudderless whenever they would leave.
This is where Jesus’ disciples find themselves in this morning’s Gospel from John. * They have been a part of some miraculous healings. * They have fed thousands upon thousands of hungry people. * They have confidently marched into Jerusalem with their King, Jesus. * They have dreamed and envisioned a whole new kingdom! But now, Jesus has reached under his bed, and pulled out his suitcase.
This morning’s Gospel reading takes place on THE last night Jesus has with his friends and disciples. It’s the evening before his crucifixion, and he is preparing to leave them. So as you can imagine, the disciples are feeling distressed, lost, and vulnerable. So Jesus offers them a gift. Jesus offers them hope. He says ‘I will not leave you orphaned or alone, I will send you an Advocate.’
Now the word John uses in this passage, paracletos – which we heard translated as “Advocate” – has several meanings. 1) It can function in a legal sense, meaning literally one who advocates for you before a court of law. 2) It can also function in a relational way, meaning one who brings help, consolation, comfort, and encouragement. But essentially, the most basic meaning of the word paracletos is to “come along side another.”
Now, in these days of pandemic, “coming along side another” seems awfully risky. But to hear Jesus say that – offering help, consolation, comfort and encouragement – gives me the very message of hope and presence I need most right now.
So I want to spend just a few minutes talking about what hope is – and what it isn’t. First of all, it’s important to distinguish between Christian “hope” and “optimism.” (Kate Bowler) They are not the same thing. Optimism is wrapped up in the notion of “positivity,” which means that if you put out positive energy into the universe, good things will surely happen. This ends up being a kind of wishful thinking, because of course, we all know, bad things still happen even to “positive” thinking people. Our mindset alone certainly doesn’t determine what happens in our lives.
Christian hope is not positivity. It is decidedly different than that. * Hope is a fruit of the Spirit, a sign of God’s presence. * Hope is a belief that God’s story in the world includes us. * Hope is a belief that our future includes God. * It is the restoration of the world, . . . life after death. . . . an anchor in times of grief or trouble. Hope enables us to live in the uncertainty of this moment, because it includes God’s comforting presence.
This week, I had a doctor’s appointment, and my doctor, who knows I’m a priest, loves to ask me questions about my vocation and faith. Given these very difficult times, she cut to the chase, and asked me directly if my faith is supporting me during this time. The truth is, I told her, it does. Now, I answered her confidently in a way I haven’t been able to before, like, for example, during my illness over the past 3 years. You see, when I’ve been sick, I always held on to a sort of optimism. If one treatment failed, well, then we would try another one. If one day was particularly bad, well, then, there would be the next. But I always placed my faith and my hope in my doctors, my various medicines, and the machines which have held my life together. Thankfully, my optimism has been well-placed. I have an excellent and caring team of medical doctors.
But what’s different about THIS time – this time of pandemic – is that so much of that optimism has been stripped away from us. We can’t “wish” ourselves out of this. We don’t know what to expect. So we have been pressed to zero in on the essentials, to explore and discover the very foundations of our existence, to determine where we find meaning. And well, that leaves me – and us – with one thing. Hope. Hope in Jesus Christ. Hope in God’s presence. Assurance that God is still working in our lives. Encouragement that God is leading us day by day into the future, no matter what happens. For those reasons, yes, my faith is carrying me through this time. I hope that you are discovering the same thing in your life.
Knowing that this is a marathon, not a sprint, this week’s Gospel reminds me of a marathon I ran with my friend Brenda. Of course, we started the race together, but we ran at separate paces and lost each other along the way, vowing to meet up at the finish line. And, believe it or not, in spite of the thousands of other runners in the race, running 26 miles is actually a very lonely journey. That is, until the end. As I came closer to the finish line, huge crowds had gathered along a chain link fence for the last half mile or so. I knew Brenda was there, somewhere. But so were the crowds of people cheering. Offering encouragement. Telling me the finish line was near. Lifting me up with their energy and enthusiasm. Giving me strength. When my legs were rubber, my feet like bricks, my energy gone, they were the ones who pushed me across the finish line. Paracletos. To come alongside another. Jesus is offering us that same encouragement. That same presence. That same hope. We do not run this race alone. Amen.