Tuesday of Holy Week 2019

Sermon preached at Lostock Hall St James

Isaiah 49.1-7; 1 Corinthians 1.18-31; John 12.20-36

The Lord called me before I was born,
while I was in my mother’s womb he named me.

When I was interviewed for this post, one of the questions I was asked was ‘why are you a Christian?’ At first I thought it was a daft question, the kind that makes me want to roll my eyes, but actually, the question and the answer I gave have stayed with me ever since and I have been thinking about it a lot.

I talked about the very first time I ever—to my knowledge—went to Church. My mother and I worked out that I must have been 9 or 10. It was a pretty ordinary Church of England parish in a predominantly working class area of Bristol. It was neither very high nor very low: what we might call ‘middle of the road’. I don’t remember the hymns that were sung. I don’t remember what the sermon was about. What I remember is that I had a deep sense inside of me  that I was supposed to be there.

When I was around the age of 14, I had joined the Church choir and had turned up early—as I usually do—for Choir practice. The back door to the Church was unlocked and so I went in but there was nobody there. I climbed into the pulpit while nobody was there and looked out over the Church, slightly afraid that I would be caught. I had that same feeling. I was supposed to be there.

When I was confirmed, I was given a Good News bible. At one point I read the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s Gospel every single day. I remember thinking that that was how I wanted to live my life and that if we all did, then the world would be a better place.

A few years ago, after I was ordained, I met up with a friend of mine that I was at college with for lunch in Lancaster. We were talking quite personally about our faith. I said to him that where I wanted to be was in the place of the beloved disciple, reclining next to Jesus at the table, with my head on his breast. In my holier moments, I still feel that way now.

As I look back, and the more time goes on, it feels more and more that I was born for what I am doing now. That’s not to say that it is always easy. I have very human moments where I want to stray and do my own thing. I have very human moments. I like the verse in the hymn, O Jesus, I have promised that says:

Oh, let me feel Thee near me; The world is ever near; I see the sights that dazzle, The tempting sounds I hear; My foes are ever near me, Around me and within; But, Jesus, draw Thou nearer, And shield my soul from sin.

In many ways, I expect that I will always be tempted to go my own way but when I come back to myself, that same sense remains that I want to be near Christ.

When I read that the Greeks said to Philip that they wanted to see Jesus, I feel something of that sentiment in my heart. I too want to see Jesus and I want to be near him.

But if we want to see Jesus, what does it look like? What is it like to be in the presence of Christ? What is it like to recline with him at the table? What is it like to see his face?

Perhaps we all have very different images of Jesus. Do we see him as the Lord enthroned at the right hand of the father? Do we see him as the friend of sinners? Do we see him naked, exhausted, bleeding and suffocating on the cross? What does the Jesus you want to see look like?

Some people in the time of Jesus wanted the Messiah to look like a mighty warrior who would free the Jewish people from the Romans and restore God’s kingdom and rule over it. Some people wanted Jesus to be the person who would confirm and approve of all their rules and regulations. Still others wanted Jesus to be the person who would maintain the status quo and not disturb their lives too much.

The problem was that for many people, Jesus didn’t fit the picture that they had of the Messiah. Jesus spent time eating and drinking with sinners. He spent time speaking to those who would listen. He threatened their comfort when he called out the hypocrisy of the religious establishment of the day. He did miraculous deeds, even if it was on the Sabbath. His message threatened a lot of people.

Perhaps this is why so many people took exception to him. Perhaps this is why he was betrayed by one of his disciples. Perhaps this is why he ended up dying on the cross.

Perhaps it does all seem like foolishness. Perhaps the real message of who Jesus was—the one who gave his life for us on the cross, the one who chose self-emptying rather than self-exaltation—is not the message that we always want to hear. Because if that is the message, then it is also what we are called to in our own lives.

What we are called to is the same life shown to us by Jesus, where we stoop to wash each other’s feet, where we are prepared to spend time with the people who are less attractive, less successful, less wealthy. What we are called to is to empty ourselves as Jesus emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, becoming obedient to death on the cross. What we are called to are lives of weakness, lives of sorrow where we walk where Jesus walked, where we speak as Jesus spoke, where we love and heal as Jesus loved and healed. It is not an attractive picture to many people but that is the picture of the Jesus we are called to follow.

The picture of Jesus we are called to have is the picture of him who said to his disciples, ‘This is my body, which is given for you’ and ‘This is my blood of the new covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins’. This Jesus is the Jesus who places himself in our hands, in our mouths.

This Holy Week is an amazing time in which we are invited not only to see but also to walk with the real Jesus. As we seek to do so, may the real Jesus take root in our hearts that we may live like him.