by MaryAnn McKibben Dana
Gospel Reading: John 14:23-29
For Sunday, May 5, 2013—Easter 6
I’m reading the seventh Harry Potter book to my daughters these days.
While I love J.K. Rowling’s expansive imagination and loving attention to detail, the book could’ve been 200 pages shorter. But given how much bookshelf real estate the latter books take up, it’s clear that Rowling got so big as an author that no editor could tame her. No editor was willing to stand up to her and say, “No, Jo—you don’t need to show us Xenophilius Lovegood’s castle-shaped house in quite such exquisite detail.”
I feel that way about Jesus in his Farewell Discourse.
“I am going away.” We know.
“I will be sending the Advocate.” I believe you said that five minutes ago.
“I am with you just a little longer.” Well, the marathon sermon makes it seem like an eternity.
The Word Amid all the words
Maybe we should blame the biographer rather than Jesus. John seems reluctant to leave out any parting shot, but the effect of this epic dissertation is lulling rather than astonishing. This section begins to wash over us—there’s so much talk of love with a capital “L,” so much divine coming and going, and so much rumination on Father/Son relations.
Family systems practitioners would have a field day: is Jesus in the Father or merely with the Father? Self-differentiation issues, perhaps? In today’s passage the Father is greater than the Son—what’s that about? John must have misplaced his invitation to the Council of Nicaea.
Like a Taize chorus, Jesus’ words circle back on themselves, a seemingly endless loop. Where exactly is Jesus, and for how long? And who is this Advocate person?
What these sermonic riffs do, however, is highlight those moments when the pattern breaks open. Amid all the ontological posturing, Jesus the speaker of parables comes in for a landing a few times and offers us some startling images. Earlier in this chapter we had “in my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places.” Later we will hear about Jesus as the vine. And here, today, we receive this gem: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives.”
Not As the World Gives
Jesus’ words lead me to ask: Does the world give? How does the world give? This is a hard question in and of itself. Maybe the world gives if you’re the right kind of person. If you’re rich, pretty, young, thin, straight, white, male, you’ll do well. To whom much is given… much more is given. But for others, I’d say the world takes; it charges a hefty admission, plus service charges. The world’s fees are time, energy, anxiety, dignity.
Rob Bell has said that if it’s not good news for everyone, it’s not good news. Jesus promises that the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, will teach us everything—everything—which means that we will not be content with a half-hearted peace. This is not a day at the spa, a nice long vacation, or a day with the smartphone blissfully switched off. This is a peace doled out by a man who had every reason to be fearful himself—the religious authorities are gunning for him even now.
But instead of a tightly edited sermonette, uttered frantically with one foot out the door, Jesus offers an abundance of wisdom and grace to his followers—painstaking, unhurried, redolent (and yes, a bit redundant). That should tell us something about the topsy-turvy reign of Christ. Jesus’ peace shines brightest when things are at their abject worst.
The Hardest Question
Jesus says he will give his peace to us. What makes Jesus’ peace distinctive from other forms of peace? And how do we know it when we see it?
MaryAnn McKibben Dana is pastor of Idylwood Presbyterian Church, a small and growing congregation in Falls Church, VA. She is the author of Sabbath in the Suburbs: A Family’s Experiment with Holy Time (Chalice Press) and is a frequent conference and workshop leader on church transformation, faith formation and spirituality. When she’s not training to be the slowest person ever to run a half marathon, or keeping up with her three kids, she likes to blog at The Blue Room.
