Knowing and Being Known

Biblical Text: John 10:11-18

This was “Good Shepherd Sunday”. The Gospel text is from John 10 which includes one of Jesus’ “I Am” statements – “I Am the Good Shepherd.” He says it twice and after each saying expands a bit on what it means. At least that is my read of what John/Jesus is doing with these I Am statements. For me the core of the passage comes from Jesus saying, “I know my own and my own know me.” The I Am statements reveal to us something about God. In this case that God treats his creation and especially his “sheep” like an owner of something precious. The sheep are life and death things to God. The core of the Good Shepherd is that we have a God who knows, but He wouldn’t be much of a God if he didn’t. Although this one went to the extreme of becoming one of the sheep. But we also have a God who has chosen to be known. He has revealed himself. And his sheep harken to his voice. This is a God for whom this relationship with the sheep – his creation – is not some minor thing, but his engrossing mission, life and death.

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The End of the Epiphany Journey

I truly hope I am not stealing any of Pastor Kalthoff’s thunder here. So I’m going to zoom out from the textual specifics to the end of the season. Transfiguration is the end of the season of Epiphany. It starts back on the 12^th night of Christmas staring at a strange star that has risen in the east. That star asked the Magi a question: do you want to see what this means, or are you comfortable here? Their journey is one of knowing something – a king has been born – but not knowing what that means. And lots of things they assumed must be changed. They head to Jerusalem and Herod, to be told to go to Bethlehem. They are given a map, but they instead follow the renewed star, possible angel, that guides them. They offer gifts for a King, to peasants in a stable. They return home a different way. The season of Epiphany is a season of seeing exactly who this Jesus is: Babe, Israel reduced to one, stand-in for us in the Jordan, miracle worker, preacher, Son of God. And it ends with this eschatological vision of the Glory of the One and Only Son, full of grace and truth. In the season of Epiphany we have heard and seen and have come to know.

But so what? This is one of my favorite phrases of all time. Don Draper in Mad Men says it to his protégé Peggy who has found herself pregnant and unmarried in the late ‘50s. Counseling her to get rid of it he says, “You will be surprised at how fast this never happened.” And Peggy’s character, like her mentor Don, lives that out. The events of life seemingly never leaving a mark on either. It is that way with many spiritual experiences. It’s the mystery of the seed that falls on rocky soil. It springs up for a short time, but soon is gone. It has no root. There is a list of once famous people who detailed their experience and their turn away from it: Paul Verhoeven (director), Barbara Ehrenreich (author), AJ Ayer (atheist philosopher). In an instant they all knew something, and then left it and went back to their current lives. Knowing doesn’t mean willing to live. Epiphany leads us from the baby in the Manger to the Mountaintop experience. We know.

And then Jesus hits us with the question. Are you following me down this mountain?

The hymn I slotted as the sermon hymn is one of my favorite modern ones. Stanza 1 sings the story. All hymns start in the biblical text. With our voices we remember, we recall the experience, we make it real before us. Stanza 2 starts to step beyond the story. Knowing and walking down from the mount, what does Jesus mean for us? Mountaintop experiences are things we ponder in our hearts. We don’t live in them like booths. They live in us. And if we have truly gained and kept their truth – not surprised at how fast they didn’t happen – they help us walk the valley in faith. And that valley is always the shadow of death. It is always the valley of the cross. The only way out is through. And you wouldn’t want to miss it.

The last stanza is the one that gets me every time. It’s the prayer. Lord, we have come to know. We leave this mountaintop for Calvary. And we know this is good if not exactly how. We also know that we would not move from this spot, not without your help. Lord, transfigure our perception with the purest light that shines. Recast our life’s intentions to the shape of your designs. Let us find no other glory than what lies past Calvary. Guide our steps, our living, and our dying, and our rising, by your will.

We know. Do we follow?

(FYI: The Hymn Referenced is LSB 416 Swiftly Pass the Clouds of Glory. I’d post a link, but you are better off searching it yourself. Or coming to church to hear and sing it! The copyright prevents easy sharing.)

Willful Moral Ignorance

Biblical Text: Mark 9:30-37
Full Sermon Text

This text is the second passion prediction and a unique to Mark saying of Jesus. The saying is mirrored a couple of other places in very similar sounding ways, but the setting and the vocabulary of this text are unique. Unique enough to support this sermon. The central theme or problem is what do you call it or what happens when you know the moral path but are afraid. And this is tied to a very specific living example.

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The Indwelling Word

Biblical Text: John 6:51-69
Full Sermon Draft

This is the third and last sermon on the “Bread of Life Discourse” in John 6. The typical and easiest way to understand the entire discourse where Jesus says we must eat his flesh and drink his blood is as a reference to the Lord’s Supper. That isn’t wrong, but we do have to ignore that fact that when Jesus said it the crowds who heard it had no recourse to the sacrament. What this sermon attempts to do is proclaim the gospel from this most perplexing text with the sacrament not as first resource but as an gift that embodies for all time the truth.

What I latch onto is Jesus’ embellishment of eating the flesh and blood as the gateway or image of Christ abiding or indwelling in us. Just as the Father dwells in Christ or Christ as the perfect icon of the Father, by eating Christ he dwells in us. Creation has always been about building a dwelling place or a temple for God. In Christ we have the perfect temple, and we are made the living stones as God dwells in us. As Christ is the icon of God, we become the body of Christ and icon of a sort (although that might be a little strong this side of the New Jerusalem). That flesh and spirit incarnation is always a scandal to the world which wants to keep them separate.

Yet as Peter says – these are the words of eternal life. The second part of the gospel explored is Peter sequence where we believe first and then come to know. We must eat first – take Christ into us – to know. The body and blood of Christ give us a sure foundation. We can know because he is the bread that has come down. If we keep it outside of us, we can’t know. Belief comes first and it is belief from the heart.

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