Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” Those of us who preach have
often seen those words carved into the wood of a pulpit or onto a brass plaque
placed into it. The first time I saw it was on my internship year, at Trinity
Lutheran church in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. As he was giving me the tour of
the building, Pastor Dissen deliberately showed me those words, the implication
being, “Remember, Vicar, that’s the whole reason you stand in this place on a
Sunday.” The arrogance I felt that day has long been replaced with the wonder,
the awe, and a bit of fear as I stand to proclaim the word of the Lord to show
Jesus to those who gather to hear.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” These were Greeks, Gentiles,
non-Jews who first said these words. They probably said it in Greek, “κύριε, θέλομεν τὸν Ἰησοῦν ἰδεῖν.” They said this to Philip,
the disciple with the Greek name, who had grown up in the area of Bethsaida
known for its mixed population of both Jews and Greeks. Perhaps they didn’t
speak Arabic or Hebrew and needed a Greek speaker to help them. Perhaps they
just hoped for someone with a common background who would be sympathetic to a
non-Jew. Likewise, we don’t know if they were Jewish converts, Greek businessmen,
curious onlookers who got caught up in the excitement of the morning’s Palm
Sunday processional. Whomever they were, whatever their reason, they sought an
audience with Jesus.
That was not unique that day. The stories were flying fast
and furious, how Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead. When you go home
today, read John 11 and 12. The Triumphal Entry is practically a footnote
compared to the narrative surrounding Lazarus. In fact, John specifically
stated that the reason so many were at the city gates to welcome Jesus when He arrived
into Jerusalem was the fact that they heard Jesus had raised Lazarus from the
dead. But, Lazarus’ resurrection also
was fuel for the fires of jealousy and hatred for the Jewish leaders. Lazarus’
resurrection caused the Chief Priest to assemble the Council and the Pharisees
and report, “This man performs many signs. If we let him go on like this,
everyone will believe in Him, and the Romans will come and take away both our
place and our nation.” They soon gave orders that if Jesus was found, He was to
be arrested. In fact, Lazarus’ resurrection was so troubling that they also
made plans to murder him so there could be no evidence that he was ever raised.
Back to the Greeks. They make their request to Philip, who
in turn grabs his brother Andrew. John does not record that conversation when
they come to Jesus, but I can imagine how it might have gone: “Hey, Lord –
check this out! Such a glorious welcome to the city. The Jews are calling out
to you like they did for David centuries earlier, and now these Greeks want to
see you, too!” Glory will do that to you. All the pomp and circumstance, the
road being paved with branches and coats, the crowds shouting “Hosannah,” and
correctly identifying Jesus as the Son of David. I could easily imagine the
disciples walking along, slightly behind Jesus on the donkey, soaking it in
with their chins high and chests thrust out. They’re riding the glory train and
can’t wait to see what’s ahead.
But, here, something strange happens. First, there is no
indication that Jesus paid attention to the two disciple-brothers or addressed
the audience-seeking Greeks. Instead, we get this statement that is the second
half of verse 36, “When Jesus had said these things [see v. 35 & 36a], He
departed and hid Himself from them.” Jesus deliberately hid Himself from the
Greeks and, in fact, every other person, Jew or Gentile, who sought him. When
you get done reading chapters 11 and 12, if you keep skimming the rest of
John’s Gospel, you’ll notice Jesus remains in hiding, refusing to appear in
public, until His arrest in the Garden of Gethesmane.
So, why would Jesus hide?
We get a clue when Philip and Andrew bring the Greeks to
Jesus. Jesus says, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified,” and
then uses a short parable about how a grain of wheat must die to bring forth
fruit of harvest. He’s speaking about His own death. He must be glorified in
His death. In John’s Gospel, the very first miracle Jesus does is at Cana,
changing water to wine. When His mother approaches Him with the request to
help, He replies that it is not His hour, yet He performs an incredible
miracle. John notes that in this, the first of His signs, He “manifested His
glory.” Now, in chapter 12, His hour has come and His glory is soon to be
evident to all.
Think about that word glory, for a moment. It means
grandeur, dignity, honor, majesty. We connect it with elected representatives,
star athletes, famous actors, or with winning awards, big games, or doing
something extraordinary. We often use it
as an adjective, as in “That was a glorious catch,” or “What a glorious song.”
In this way, it’s a synonym for excellent, powerful, or remarkable, triumphant
moment. It’s used that way in the Bible, too, for both people and for God.
Probably the easiest example is at Jesus birth when the angels sang, “Glory to
God in the highest and peace to His people on earth.” For the crowds, they
wanted to see Jesus’ glory in more work like raising Lazarus. For the
disciples, they wanted to bask in Jesus glory that Palm Sunday day.
For Jesus, however, His glory will be found elsewhere
besides performing miraculous signs, or leading a socio-political uprising, or
entering the city to the shouts of the crowds, or even strangers thronging for
a few moments of meet & greet. His glory will be found in His Passion, His
crucifixion, His death. This is the very purpose for which He came to this
hour. The suffering will be terrible. His soul was already in turmoil. Battle
must be waged against the ruler of the world, satan himself. The Light of the
world will be snuffed out and the darkness will seem to overwhelm it. And those
who sought to follow and bask in His glory will all scatter and hide, even the
oft-bold Peter who runs away from a servant girl, Phillip and Andrew who
brought the Greeks to Jesus, and John, the disciple whom Jesus loved.
His glory is far from what the world would seek, desire, or
expect. But His glory leads to the cross. Jesus said, “When I am lifted up, I
will draw all people to myself.” Some people mistake this, thinking too much of
our idea of glory, that “lifted up” means resurrection. No. He was speaking of
the cross. When He is nailed to its rough beams and suspended between heaven
and earth, ignored by His own Father, people will be drawn to Him. Some will
come out of idle curiosity, wanting to see what the fuss was all about. Others
will come out of spite and sheer disbelief, like the Pharisees who sneered at
Him, mocking Him to save Himself.
But others will be drawn, in faith, with the same words of
the Greeks. So, to our request, it’s as if Jesus answers “Come see me at the
cross. See Me on Good Friday, God’s Friday. You’ll know me when you see me. I’m
the One who dies for you. It will be ugly and uncomfortable, but it will be
done in love, surrendering my life for you. I will die for you. I will be
abandoned for you so you are never separated from the love of God. I will
rescue you in my death and rescue you from the grave. ” We want to see Jesus on
the cross, for it is there He dies for me. He dies for my sins. He dies
abandoned and alone, so I am never separated from the love of God. He dies to
redeem and rescue me. He dies so I don’t die eternally. And through His being lifted up, He promises
the day will come when we, too, will be lifted up, along with all the saints of
God, in our own resurrection.
Until then, if you want to see Jesus, don’t go looking for Him
in glorious places. You won’t find Him in parades or in palaces, in so-called
miraculous moments or emotion-whipped frenzy. Remember, for Jesus, glory is
inverse of what we expect. You will find Him in beautiful sanctuaries and in
humble chapels, in nursing homes and living rooms, in prison cells and in shelters
where His Word is opened and read and taught in faith, trusting that the Word
made flesh is present in that very Word that is shared. You will find Him
present as both the host and the meal as a very humble piece of bread and
meager sip of wine is given to you under Christ’s promise that it is also His
Body and Blood, given and shed for you. You will find Him when water is poured
and splashed over a squirming child or a beaming adult in the name of the
Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. You find Him present where He
promises to be: in Word and Sacrament for you.
Havert was a kind, old man but old age and dementia were
slowly robbing him of his memories. His daughter would tell me every week how
her visits with him were digressing, what he couldn’t remember, what he couldn’t
recall. I would do the same with her,
letting her know if he recognized me, or if he repeated the same thing over and
over. When I would visit, I would bring my communion kit, prepared to offer the
Lord’s Supper if he showed even a basic understanding of what it meant. St.
Paul says we must be able to discern what we eat and drink, meaning, that we
are sinners who receive Christ’s Body and Blood for the forgiveness of those
very sins. I don’t think I’ll ever forget one afternoon, as we sat in the lobby
by ourselves, I brought the conversation to the Supper and talked about what it
is. Finally, I said, “Havert, what is this?” Without missing a beat, he looked
at me and said so loudly and clearly that it almost scared me: “It’s Jesus.”
Come and eat. Come and see Jesus. He is here.
Amen.
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