Notes from a Sojourn
May 17, 2020
Physical Loss and Spiritual Promise
A Sermon for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, Year A
John 14:15-21
Recently I had the occasion to reflect on a particular theme that can be detected in each of the church office spaces I have occupied in my work as a priest. On a shelf in the corner of the room, there has been a collection of Bibles--old Bibles. In each of the communities I have served, at various times, people have approached me with copies of scripture and asked if I would please take them. They have explained to me that a Bible belonged to a friend, a relative, that it had been found and it looked too important to dispose of or try to sell. Once, I arrived at the church to discover a small box of Bibles and prayer books with a note that simply said "Please take care of these" as if it were a box of unwanted kittens!
Dutifully, without any real consideration that I would do otherwise, I have accepted these copies of sacred text into my custody. They sit on high shelves, occupying space that is, at the same time, dignified and out of the way. They are not read often, but the untold stories they represent through their well-worn pages serve as a constant physical reminder of the lives of believers who have gone before us.
I still have the first Bible that was given to me. It is special to me for many reasons. I came to own it when it was given to me as a baptism gift by my grandparents. It is in the 16th century English translation known as the King James Version. It is also a Red Letter Edition, the product of a 20th century phenomenon that saw Bibles printed with the spoken words of Jesus presented in red type. This trend of printing dominical words in red seems to have run its course.
These days, most people I know encounter the scriptures by reading the words on a digital screen. We know that the word of God is so much more than the printed copies of the Bible we might have in our possession. We understand that the Bibles which come and go through the course of a modern life are mass printed and lack value in any commercial meaning of the word.
But we do value the physical copies of holy words. As a people of the book, our scriptures represent our very identity. The stories, teachings, commandments, and prayers of our heritage are what makes us who we are in our collective relationship with the Creator. And so it seems right that we should honour the physical representations of (and means of access to) Christian spiritual identity and truth. We are careful and respectful with copies of scripture. We cherish the Bible as a gift. And when the time comes to say goodbye to an old and worn copy, we can even experience a degree of grief.
The Gospel reading we hear today, along with a passage from last week's readings is very small excerpt from a very long part of John's Gospel account. Known as the farewell discourse, those of us who grew up with a Red Letter Edition Bible might know this segment as the part in the middle of John with page after page of almost entirely red print! Jesus is preparing his disciples for his departure. Having alluded to his upcoming death many times, Jesus is now getting ready to say goodbye.
Jesus knows that his followers will miss him. He anticipates the shock and disorientation that will come when Christ leaves his bodily and earthly life and ministry. But there is more to it than that. Assuring his friends of God's ongoing presence with them, he promises a new presence of unity with God in Christ. This new presence is the very life-breath of God: God's Spirit of Truth, pneuma!
We know what it means to experience physical separation. We live very physical lives and we require physical contact with the people we love. When that contact cannot be made, we experience real loss. Physical separation is difficult. Losing someone close to us is painful.
Jesus knows this and he recognizes the difficulty and pain of separation and loss. Part of the reason I think John gives so much attention to Christ's farewell discourse is that John and Jesus both know the disorienting experience of loss. The promise of a spiritual presence can only be fully heard when our grief over physical loss is acknowledged.
The old Bibles I keep on the shelf serve to remind me of two things these days: that the physical experiences of faith are important, and that our physical experiences are only part of the story.
Through the incarnation, Christ knows the physicality of our life. Possessions, relationships, emotions, health, illness, even death belong to God in Christ. And amid all of these physical blessings and limitations, there is the spiritual promise of life with the Father, through Christ, in communion with the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Patrick Stephens+
Incumbent
