Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
You may know the name Stephen Furtick. He is a rather
famous, modern American pastor at Foundation Church in Charlotte, North
Carolina. He doesn’t have the brand of Joel Osteen, but he’s no slouch. Furtick
is watched on television, the internet, and listened to on radio. His podcast
gets thousands of downloads each week. His books are hot sellers. If you went
to your favorite store and polled shoppers, I suspect a wide majority would at
least have some idea of who he is.
In an Instagram post last week, he wrote, “In between denial
and despair is destiny – the place where you stand and know that God has
planted you to produce your purpose. You have a disappointment in your life? It
is what it is. No need to deny it. You fell short? It is what it is. But whatever you’re looking at, it’s not the
end. It’s a portal to your potential. It’s what’s beneath the surface. It’s not
buried; it’s planted. It’s not over; it’s just a transition.”
Boy, that sounds slick. Having a bad day? Boss disappointed
in your work? Did you fail a final exam? Did you get cut from the team? *shrug*
No worries… “It’s a portal to your potential!” We say things like this all the
time to our kids, to our spouse, even to ourselves when things don’t go quite
right. You can do it. It’ll get better. It builds character. You’ll rise above
it. You’ll be a better person coming through this. It’s a life lesson. It’s
part of our unique American-pan-Christian pop-theology that pats our back and
sooths our struggles. Nothing like an attaboy to give you a boost after an “aw,
man” moment. The theology of glory tells you everything is OK when things are
far from it.
Let’s think about this for a minute - is it true? Your boss tells
you that due to shrinking markets and profits, Friday will be your last day. There you are, between denial and despair, but
then he adds, “Don’t worry – it’s just a portal to your potential.” As a
process server hands you the paperwork that you are being sued, and you stand
there, between denial and despair, concerned that you may have to sell your
house and empty your retirement to pay the lawyer. Fortunately, he says, “But
don’t worry – it’s a portal to your potential.” Could you imagine a doctor, or
a fireman, or a funeral director, at the worst moments of your life, telling
you, “It is what it is…it’s a portal, a transition…”?
The Gospel lesson takes us again into the upper room on that
first Maundy Thursday with the disciples. Jesus is speaking with the Disciples,
but the conversation is drawing to a close. The hour is coming, Jesus says,
where the disciples will flee and scatter and leave Jesus alone. He knows; they
do not yet understand what is about to happen. They don’t know the arrest, the
betrayal, the soldiers and torches, the trial, the servant girl. Led by Peter’s
boast of dying rather than denying, they don’t understand that, ironically,
Jesus is going to do just that: die rather than deny the Father’s will. Our
salvation is Christ alone; for our salvation, Christ will be alone. This is the
hour that is coming.
Heavy, sorrowful words. Talking about death and dying always
is when it is someone you love. Had Jesus left the conversation there, had He
stopped with “you will leave me alone,” it would have been a sad-and-true
prophecy that would soon find conclusion. But Jesus, even in these last hours, instead
speaks through the suffering with words of hope and delivers a promise of life.
Instead of seeing His soon-arriving Passion as a thing of mere sorrow and pain,
they must understand – no, rather, they must believe - this is for their
salvation over sin, death, evil, and the fallen world that rejoices when the
disciples and the church fail. “I have
said these things to you that in Me you may have peace.”
Peace: we spoke of this a few weeks ago. Restoration,
wholeness with the Father, reunition into the family of God through Jesus’
death and merit. This only happens one way, and it’s not with platitudes and simple
buzzwords. Jesus is again pointing the disciples to the cross. Peace,
restoration, comes through the cross of Jesus Christ. Iin His innocent death,
Jesus overcomes sin’s power. He suffers so that suffering is no longer the end
in all things. He undergoes a terrible suffering for you.
But Jesus does not take the disciples out of the world.
“This will happen,” Jesus said; “you will have trouble.” Discipleship won’t be
a life free from difficulty. In fact, difficulty will begin for the disciples a
few hours after these words were spoken and difficulty will not end until Jesus
returns in glory for the great resurrection. He does not offer an “Easy
button.” He does not give a convenient time travel so we can zip past that
which is uncomfortable or unpleasant. He doesn’t snap His holy fingers and make
things disappear. And He doesn’t pretend that suffering is a portal, potential,
or transitory. He didn’t do it for Himself; He does not do it for His people. Jesus
calls it what it is: tribulation. Difficulty, sorrow, suffering and death. While
there is some truth in suffering because we live in a fallen world, given the
immediate context, I think Jesus means tribulation because of Him, because they
follow Christ.
You know this. There are times that we suffer for the sake
of Christ. Granted, our suffering in this country is pretty mild; more of an
inconvenience, really. HR calls us in and tells us we can only have one
religious item in our cubicle or on our desk. Students can pray at lunch or
before a test, but classmates snicker and tease. You decline an offer to go
watch a certain movie because of its coarse language or eat at a particular
restaurant because it’s objectifies women and coworkers roll their eyes. Yet, there
are other times and other places. At Columbine in 1998, the gunman asked, “Are
you a Christian?” Churches are attacked,
here and across the world. In China or in the Middle East, you dare not wear a
cross on your person, or openly read a Bible, or even speak the name of Jesus
without losing your home, your family, your life. “In this world, you will have
tribulation.” Jesus doesn’t try to reframe or rebrand it. He calls it exactly
what it is: suffering because the world hates Jesus, His church, His disciples,
and His Word.
In this lifetime, it always appears that the world is
winning. It looked like it when the soldiers tied Jesus and drug Him to stand
trial. It certainly appeared when authorities condemned an innocent Man to die.
It seemed so when Jesus was crucified, mocked, and left to die on Good Friday. It
looked like it when He was buried in a tomb – out of sight out of mind. It looked
like it as the disciples were martyred, one by one and the church scattered. The
devil and his minions and the world all rejoiced. And the world rejoices,
still. The world that hates God and opposed His Christ rejoices when power is
more important than compassion. The world that hates God and opposes His Christ
rejoices when glory is more important than the cross. The world that hates God
and opposed his Christ rejoices when we want feel-good, empty promises and reject
the difficult truth about suffering in this life for the sake of Jesus. The
world rejoices with love that dies and we grow cold with indifference. The
world rejoices. And we should weep.
What He does give, even in the midst of present-day
sufferings, is peace. “But,” Jesus says to the disciples, “take heart for I
have overcome the world.” Running away won’t help them. Hiding in the darkness
will not save them. What will save them is His victory over sin, death and the
fallen world. The world’s rejoicing is loud and it is boisterously obnoxious,
but it’s time of celebration is limited for Christ has overcome the world.
There will be a day that the world’s joy is brought to a screeching halt.
Blessedly, that will be the same day that our suffering – the suffering of God’s
people – will also end. The roles will reverse. The world will weep and suffer
into the eternal fires. And God’s people will rejoice because Christ’s victory
will be seen by all.
His disciples are about to enter a dark tunnel. Jesus is
about to be arrested. The road down into the Valley of the shadow looms large. I
suspect you know this trail. What do you do, what do you say, what do you pray
as you enter the valley, knowing Christ has overcome the world but still seeing
the shadows lengthening towards you.
A few weeks ago, Mother’s Day, was also Good Shepherd Sunday.
We prayed the 23rd Psalm together. Those words of David provide
great comfort. I suspect that for most of us, that comfort comes from the
pastoral opening: shepherd, sheep, pasture, water, paths of righteousness. Sometimes,
we feel like we are there, in the grassy field soaking up the sun. But there
are other times when it’s not so pleasant. I think that’s where David was when
he writes, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I
will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff they comfort
me.” In the middle of the valley, it’s dark, spooky, and sometimes borderline
overwhelming. The Good Shepherd doesn’t swoop in with a helicopter and pull us
up and out of trouble; He doesn’t send in His heavenly version of the Navy
Seals to attack the enemy and keep us safe. Instead, He goes into the valley
with us. Actually, He already went through it to the cross. We aren’t going
anywhere where the Good Shepherd hasn’t already been. He leads us through the valley
to the place where He has made a place for us. He prepares a table in the
presence of our enemies that He has already beaten. He anoints us with
Baptismal water, cleansing the stains of sin from us. He fills His cup and it
overflows with mercy and grace and places it in front of us so we can drink deeply.
His goodness and mercy surround us with His peace.
Last week’s theme was “Easter brings Joy.” That was Part 1.
Today is Part 2. Be at peace. Christ has overcome the world. Amen.
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