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The 7th Sunday of Easter, May 28, 2006There are plenty of interesting themes to choose from in our readings today: Judas, the necessity of belief in Christ for salvation, the method of discerning God’s will by casting lots. But what interests me is in the gospel today – it is this business of being in the world but not of it.
After the Last Supper, before his betrayal and crucifixion, Jesus’ last words to his disciples were in the form of a prayer; it’s called his Priestly Prayer, since he’s interceding for his people.
As he was about to leave them, Jesus prayed for their protection, in the world. They would be subject to the influence of the evil one. They would be hated by the world, because they really don’t belong to it. Nevertheless, Jesus would send them into the world, to bear witness to him. So Jesus prayed that they would be protected and sanctified in the truth. He even prayed that in the midst of their troubles, his own joy would be made complete in them.
John’s gospel was written about 100 A.D., at a time when the young church experienced both persecution by the Romans and exclusion from the Jewish community. They were hated by some, and they used this Priestly Prayer of Jesus to remind one another of their identity, their source of strength, and their joy. By remembering that they were marked as Christ’s own forever in baptism, by going into the world with his Spirit and his truth, they would be able to handle anything.
We need the same thing. For we, too, are in the world but not of it. We too are subject to the influence of the evil one, and we are sometimes scorned by the world because we don’t belong to it. We too need to remember that we belong to Christ above all else, that we carry his Spirit and his truth, and that this will protect us and give us joy in the midst of our troubles.
Recently at the CREDO conference I helped lead for clergy, we decided to give them a Sunday morning like most people have: no work, no church. So we went out and bought 10 copies of the New York Times, and we put out coffee and bagels all morning. They got up late, basked in the sun, reading portions of stories from the paper to one another, laughing, bearing that particular Sunday morning soft glow that is so unfamiliar to clergy.
One of the priests, a rector of a church in Los Angeles, said to me It is a wonder that anyone comes to church on Sunday. Look at our competition! Coffee shops, hikes in the park, picnics, bike rides. Why would anyone choose to go to church?
Our conversation went on to consider how in so many other ways, we Christians are called to be different from the world around us, and how much pressure there is to not be different.
Contrary to Jesus’ many instructions to have no fear, the world teaches us to be very afraid: lurking everywhere are terrorists, gang-bangers, child-abusers, scam artists, and cut-throat competitors. We take the bait. We Christians live in fear, like everyone else.
Contrary to Jesus’ assurance that we will find happiness if we place our faith in God rather than in money or possessions, we obsess about success and security, we’re attracted to all that is shiny and sexy and superficial and new, we become good consumers, we overspend and become slaves to debt, like everyone else.
Contrary to Jesus’ invitation to love our enemies, to be peacemakers, to welcome the stranger, to be careful about the corruption of wealth, and to structure our world so that it lifts up the poor and the marginalized, we decide this isn’t practical. And so like everyone else, we Christians accept the inevitability of such worldly things as capital punishment, war, denial of health care and other aid to the poor or undocumented, and wildly disproportionate advantages for the already advantaged.
Contrary to Jesus’ encouragement to slow down and live simply, to trust, to consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, we allow ourselves to be pulled into the great suction of overburden, hurry and worry, like everyone else.
It is very difficult to stand in the reality of our faith and not accommodate ourselves to the powerful magnetism of the world’s ways. But by grace, by living with God at the center of things, we can shake off our fear and live in hope and trust. We can live simply and enjoy the things of this world without being owned by them. We can make some impact on this world so that is more fully resembles Christ’s ways of reconciliation, mercy, and generosity.
But we have to understand that living this way will put us in direct conflict with the ways of this world. We will find ourselves alienated from the world around us, whose ways are so different than the ways of faith. Marching to a different drummer, we will always be out of step. And so Jesus prayed for us Holy Father, the world hates them because they do not belong to it; protect them from the evil one, sanctify them in the truth.
As the prologue of this same gospel says about Jesus himself, He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. As his followers, we too are strangers in this land.
Perhaps you know this old traditional American gospel song; if you do, sing along:
I am a poor wayfaring stranger, traveling through this world of woe.
But there’s no sickness, toil or danger in that bright land to which I go.
Or perhaps this cheerier one by Merle Travis:
I am a pilgrim and a stranger, traveling through this wearisome land.
I’ve got a home in that yonder city, Good Lord, and it’s not…not made by hand.
It actually helps to know that we are only strangers on a brief pilgrimage through this world of woe. It helps to accept the alienation we often feel, as something that is natural to people of faith. Why?
Because when we are a stranger, when we are alienated, then we know that there is something false about the ways of the world. Our alienation keeps us from believing the lies of the evil one, and being sucked in by its powerful magnetism.
At this point of alienation, we have a chance of remembering, by contrast, our true master, our true values. We raise our eyes to heaven and remember our true home. And we return to the One who promised that we would be protected, guided, and sanctified as we move through this life.
This means that we can travel through this world as free people, and not be enslaved by it. And paradoxically, by not belonging to it, we are able to give ourselves more freely to it.
You know how it is in a family, how a visiting stranger can sometimes be much more generous and forgiving with your quirky relatives than you can? They’re not enmeshed, they’re not caught up in the dynamics of your family, and so they can give of themselves more freely when they’re with you.
So it is with us, if we can retain a bit of our strangeness in this land, and live as if we’re only passing through. Since we are not enmeshed in its worldly ways, we can give ourselves to it out of the abundance of Christ’s spirit, with mercy, irrational love, reconciliation, generosity, and joy. We might even have enough distance from the dramas of this world to have a sense of humor about it all.
So keep your eyes fixed on heaven above, your true home. And look for the coming of the Spirit, who will protect, guide, and sanctify you to be a free and faithful pilgrim traveling through this wearisome land.
End Document — St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church