Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

John 14: 1-14

The Gospel today is part of Jesus’ farewell address to his disciples. Think back Maundy Thursday—when we gathered for a meal liturgy during Holy Week. This is part of that night…when Jesus gathered his disciples into the upper room and they shared Passover meal. Just before his death and resurrection.

I know. It messes with our Easter timeline. Apparently, this Gospel of John is not concerned that we are already in the fifth Sunday of Easter.

Jesus is gathered with his people, and gives a very long goodbye. He tells he’s leaving, but not to worry because he will not leave them orphaned. Because he’s giving them the Holy Spirit.

But of course that doesn’t track. They want to know concretely where he is going and how they might follow. And Jesus answers spiritually. He says: I am the way. I am the path. Don’t worry about the directions, just follow me.

And here is where we need to take a little pastoral bird walk. Because Christians have taken this verse from John “I am the Way, the Truth and Life. No one gets to the father except through me.” And based their entire theology, the entire way they view Jesus on this one verse. And it’s sometimes used as a test of whether you are a real Bible believing Christian or not. (pause) The way, truth and life are meant to be words of comfort. But instead, used in this way, they can be wielded as judgement, exclusion and absence.

It’s good to apply a bit of curiosity here. Might God be bigger than whatever tiny box you put her in? Yes. Might God be revealed in myriad ways, through a multitude of paths? Yes. God who can part the Red Sea, make dry bones dance, calm a storm, raise Lazarus from the dead, heal the woman who bled for 12 years can surely work through a bigger theological framework than we can create. God in Christ Jesus does not play small.

What the context tells us in this passage is that Jesus is saying, If you know me (and you do). If I know you (and I do). It’s not a test, it’s stating what is.

He tells them, I will not leave you orphaned.

These are words from a beloved teacher to highly anxious students. Don’t worry, Jesus says. I’m with you. I will not leave you alone. And the disciples are listening, but thinking, “but, you are leaving. You said you are leaving.”

Is this like a babysitter? Someone to take care of us while you are gone? And what is one of the things you think about when you are told you will have a babysitter? Is this person up for the job? Are they fun? Are they safe? Do they know what they are doing?

So Jesus says he’s leaving but he’s giving us the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is what draws us to faith. And what draws us here on Sundays and any other time we gather. The Spirit stirs us up and nudges and we find ourselves carrying our tiny babies to the font to be marked by the love of God in the waters of baptism.

And the Spirit binds us together.

Years ago I read that: “The reason mountain climbers are tied together is to keep the sane ones from going home.” We know mountain climbers are tied together to keep from getting lost or going over a cliff. But there’s another piece of truth here. Think about when things get tough up on the mountain, when fear sets in, many a climber is tempted to say, “I’m out. I’m going home.”

The life of faith can be like that-doubts set in, despair overwhelms us, and the whole notion of God believing in us feels far fetched. Jesus knew his disciples would have days like that. So he told them we’re tied together like branches on the vine-or like climbers tied to the rope-tied together by the Spirit, to trust in one who is always more than we can understand, to keep us moving ahead, to encourage us when believing seems absurd. And believing often seems absurd.

My previous call was to a church plant here in St Paul.

One Sunday, a new family walked into worship and my immediate reaction was, “Oh mercy. Not visitors. Not today. Today isn’t going to be good.” My husband, a full-time musician at the time, had been out of town on tour for a week. Which meant that I was solo parenting and by the time Sunday evening worship rolled around, I was sort of strung out. It was also summer, which means our micro worship gathering would go from intimate to tiny. This was one of those Sundays.

I knew who these folks were, they owned a theater company. I told myself that they were fancy and cool and would hate this mess we were offering. Whatever the website pictures led them to believe, whatever a friend had told them about us, we were not going to come anywhere near those expectations today.

But what were my options at this point? I sighed and thought, “Welp. Here we go.” My youngest child took advantage of the situation. She found a small rocking chair and moved it up front. She knew that once worship began, I would shift from strung out solo parent to pastor leading worship and there was not a thing I could do.

So, bone of my bone, my sweet, amazing child…moved that rocking chair until she found a squeaky board in the 100 year old hardwood floor. She spent the entire sermon, the whole time I preached, going squeak. Squeak. Squeak. It was not a good day for me as a pastor or as a parent. Truthfully, I was just happy to get through it and all I wanted was to go home and eat a sandwich. I knew this family of 5 would never come back.

I went for a walk with a friend the next day. Since she knew this family and this church plant, I told her the whole story. And laughed and laughed because it was so opposite from the worship experience I would have wanted to offer that laughing seems like the only option. I was horrified and honestly? Humiliated. It’s humbling to want to offer an entire loaf to people and find your hands only capable of crumbs.

But the thing is, they did come back the next week. And kept coming back. Finally, after about six weeks of regularly attending worship, I met the mom, for coffee. Neither of us are interested in small talk, so about three minutes into our coffee she leaned over and said “Can I tell you about the first Sunday we came to worship?” I cringe, inwardly, and brace myself to hear the judgment. Instead, she said, “Well, I cried during that entire first visit. I felt the Holy Spirit move in that service. I don’t know who that little girl on the rocking chair was—but if this church could handle her on that squeaky board there was likely room for their whole family at Humble Walk. We’re in.”

This mom reminded me that we are walking a path together along the Way of Jesus.

And friends, we are never, ever alone. You are not orphaned, You are part of a wide community of love. And no matter where you go, how you feel about it or where your life takes you, you are forever a child of God. Amen.