Would We See Jesus?
John 12:20-33 WOULD WE SEE JESUS? (Lent 5b) March 25, 2012
I am wondering – would you like to see Jesus? I mean really, if you could, would you like to behold Jesus with your own eyes, reach out and touch him, behold him as he was, as he is?
I am wondering about this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, in today's Gospel lesson, Greeks come to Jerusalem for the Passover Feast. They are coming, because they have heard about Jesus – and they want to see Him. "We would see Jesus", they say.
Secondly I am wondering for two other reasons. One of our Bible Schools, a fine institution in many ways has a slogan that is the theme of the school based on this passage, We would see Jesus! But let me tell you, in that particular culture of piety you would never find a crucifix like the one we have in our chancel. No, there the cross is always empty - it is the risen Jesus that is desired to be glimpsed.
And, finally I am wondering if we truly want to see Jesus, because we live in a time and a culture that wants verifiable evidence for any kind of "belief". Show me, explain to me, prove to me and THEN I will believe "it".
So I ask, do you actually want to "see" Jesus?
Over the years I have been deeply privileged to receive letters or notes from people whose lives have touched mine – rubbed up against mine in good times and bad times – whose faith has "run into and over mine" all by the grace of God. What I am about to share with you is a poem written by a mother whose young adult son has died. Her son's death has ripped her heart, and caused others to distance themselves from her. These are people she loves and people whom she once felt loved her. She prefaces the poem by telling me that she is "wailing at the feet of her son". She says, "I understand Mary and Mary understands me, more than I thought possible. I have been able to put my feelings to poetry and I want to share this with you. You can do what you will with it but I have a small mission to help people understand the grieving". . . The poem is titled "A Mother's Lament"
You see me coming and turn away.
I am not a monster.
No weeping sores or fetid breath.
You cast down your gaze as I approach.
You turn away.
My tears well up.
My breath is stolen.
For one brief moment I thought I heard a word, a kindness spoken.
You saw me coming and turned away.
I am a mother torn in two, my heart wrenched from my chest as I kiss my child, his cool and waxen cheek unmoving.
My life once joyous with expectation of time together, gone.
You cannot see my pain.
I am not a monster with weeping sores or fetid breath. I AM A MOTHER! DO NOT TURN AWAY.
Life is not simple. Life is not easy. We are born to be loved, to be cared for and about, to love and to care. And in all of that – to all of that, through all of that, runs the power of God – and the power of evil. In those vying powers, of God and all the other voices that pretend to be God, who think they would love to be God, flows the reality of life and death.
In the midst of our living and dying runs our drive for self preservation, the myriad of voices that tell us – to be careful, to preserve our lives at all costs –not to trust – or if we are to trust be very careful. Don't trust anyone or anything too much!
Counter to such voices are the voices of God that invite us – to let go and let God. These voices of God encourage us to love as we are being loved, to forgive as we are being forgiven, not to be paralyzed about how we might die or be hurt in order that we may actually live, not calculatingly (for that is not life), but joyfully, with abandon. Then we are enabled to care for others- to experience the very depths of life of love and joy, of loss and pain, of fear and trust, of hope in the midst of the depth reality of despair.
We must know that we make choices or decisions about which voices we are listening to, which voices we are heeding, on a daily basis. We make our choices consciously or unconsciously. Our choices are fleshed out in the ways we spend our time, our money, where we place the investment of our hopes and our dreams. We make choices as we actually make the effort to see and listen to each other, pay attention to them, become willing to journey with those in pain and those rejoicing – or not.
So, I ask you again, "Would you, would we see Jesus?" I mean, really SEE? This isn't a philosophical question, with an answer one can tick off and then move on to something else. This is the question that directs our life, individually and collectively. This is a question that has the capacity to take our lives as grains of wheat and plunge them into the ground of all of God's life (isn't all life God's) where they die but then in that death bear amazing fruit, fruit that feeds and fills the world with the possibility for new life. OR ... this is a question when abandoned or ignored which leaves our life as a "grain" simply unfulfilled, lying on a path completely powerless to be and do what we are meant to be and do. In fact then that grain of our "life" – cannot even begin to glimpse his/her life potential. Instead our "life" grain then is caught up with something it calls "survival".
Would we see Jesus?
If we are, to see Jesus, we need God's help and deliverance to see and hear BEYOND OURSELVES. If we are to SEE JESUS, we need God's very Spirit within us to trust the One we can never fully understand, to dare to believe that this One loves us and is with us, through thick and thin. If we are to see Jesus, we need to begin to see Him on the cross. For it is there, in His self emptying, in His giving Himself over to all the powers of evil lurching towards death that we can realize that He is with us through thick and thin. Yes, He is even with our world through thick and thin. It is there on the cross, that we might begin to see - Jesus truly loves us!
There is no doubt about it. To be sure, we too will die. But will we die living or will we live already dead, seeking only to survive to make it to the weekend or through school, or to retirement?
Would you see Jesus? Would I see Jesus? Might we hear him even now, "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies"... And then later, either a long time or just a few short moments later, "And I when I am lifted up, I will draw all people to myself".