February 24, 2007
John 21:15-19
Grace and peace to you from God the Creator and the Lord Jesus. Amen.
Well, we certainly are making a big deal out of you today, aren’t we, Dave?
Look at all the fine folks who have turned out for this occasion: Hopeful and expectant people from Holy Cross in Overland Park, a congregation that has displayed wonderful openness to God’s Spirit and marvelous good fortune in calling you as a pastor; devoted members of Trinity in Lawrence and Advent here in Olathe, two congregations that are proud as can be, and justifiably so, because we were in on your formation as a minister; family and friends from Chicago to California to Washington State who have been with you in prayer and conversation as you have made this lengthy and most rewarding transition to ordained leadership in God’s Church; your clergy colleagues here in Area 7 who already have experienced and are grateful for both your bright theologian’s curiosity and your fine pastoral sensitivity. Yes indeed, Dave, you certainly draw a crowd.
And so it might be easy to miss a primary fact, one you would be the first to agree with: As important as you are, this is not primarily about you. It is primarily about the One whose voice you have heard through the years, in times of quiet and in times of chaos, the voice that resonated patiently through it all, the voice that said, and still says, “Follow me.”
I heard a Jewish folktale recently about wisdom. According to this tale, Wisdom went forth from God to walk upon the earth. But wherever Wisdom went, no one would pay attention. Some said, “You are ugly.” Some became angry and turned away. Some were afraid; they ran and hid. Finally, in dejection and disappointment, Wisdom floated back up to heaven.
And God said, “What’s wrong?”
“No one pays attention,” Wisdom said. “When I come near, they turn away; when I speak, they will not listen.”
God nodded an understanding nod.
And then God said, “Go forth once more. Only this time, clothe yourself in stories.”
This is a good way to look at what we are called to do as leaders in God’s Church: to tell God’s story, particularly as it intersects with and engages our stories; to tell it in fresh and creative ways, with vitality and joy; and to tell it carefully, in ways that do not reshape God’s story to fit our stories but, rather, respect its singularity.
In a few moments we’ll hear precisely the call of the ordained pastor: to, among other things, preach and teach in accordance with the Scriptures, the creeds and the Lutheran Confessions; to feed and strengthen the Church with God’s Word and Holy Sacraments; to lead Christians by example in faithful service and holy living; to tend and protect the flock; to give faithful witness to Christ in the world. In other words, to keep and vividly to tell God’s Story.
The Scripture readings that give shape to this day reflect the richness and some of the contours of that story.
God tells us through the prophet Isaiah that the rhythm of God’s story with us will include times of difficulty, troubles which we often bring on ourselves; but that God will take the initiative and will act to bring blessings to God’s people, who will in turn flourish; and we are to be witnesses to that rescuing, sustaining power.
The psalmist continues and reinforces that theme of rejoicing and thanksgiving. Why? Because God has exalted and established the primacy of God’s name and God’s word above everything. Certain only of God’s goodness, the psalmist looks with confidence to the future and to his own place in God’s story, knowing that, in God’s time and in God’s way, God will fulfill his purpose for him.
God’s purpose for you, Dave, is that you live and work as a pastor in God’s church. It’s the gift that God has given you – a gift, the Apostle Paul points out, that is to be used to equip others for the work of ministry, to help us all grow up into him who is the head of the church, Jesus Christ our Lord.
It almost sounds like it’s been a smooth ride for you, doesn’t it? But of course it hasn’t. Real life is never that neat and tidy.
We all have questions, doubts, uncertainties – have had them, will have them, must have them – and Dave is no exception. When Dave was in college he was going through a particularly rough patch with God. Wrestling with doubts and confusion, angry over God’s irritating habit of refusing to make sense, he decided the best course of action was to stop participating in worship. He simply quit coming to church. Stubborn, he was. Thankfully, he wasn’t quiet about his struggles, and it was one of his religion instructors, a feisty little bundle of dynamite named Rabbi Rosenberg, who listened patiently to Dave’s conflicts, discerned the integrity and faith that deepened them, and said, finally, “Dave, go back to church.”
He knew that it would be in the community of God’s people where Dave’s struggles would lead him to the God who calls, the God who comes in the disarming disguises of refreshing encouragement and direct challenge, the God who shapes us all through the regularity of confession and forgiveness and the preaching of the Story that has the power to convict and to heal and to save.
Thank you, rabbi.
And now you will become an official keeper and teller of that story. It is by far the best story around. That God almighty became one of us in Jesus of Nazareth; to make God real to us – and more: to forgive and redeem us according to the riches of God’s grace; to give his life in order to overcome death and the fear of death and by the power of God to be raised from the dead; and by that same power ascend to the right hand of God where, with God and the Holy Spirit, he gives eternal life to all who believe.
Yes, it is the best story around. But it is a story that depends on us – all of us, not just the ordained clergy, but all of us – to tend it with respect and honor and integrity. Because God’s story is power in and of itself, it is a story that is uniquely vulnerable to being misused. Our presiding bishop, Mark Hanson, has called on the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America to become more of a public church, to speak out and act up in ways that align this church publicly with Jesus who raised up for us a vision of the commonwealth of God where true power is defined by sacrifice, vulnerability and service.
This theme of God’s story is not a popular one in our culture, or our world. We prefer themes of glory, of the crushing of evil, the victory celebration of the righteous. And so we are tempted to bypass the primary and liberating theology of the cross in favor of those lesser themes, because they suit us, they serve our agenda.
For example: In 2002, on the first anniversary of 9/11, President Bush addressed our nation from New York Harbor. The backdrop for that speech was the Statue of Liberty, brilliantly illuminated. It was a fine and stirring speech, designed to quicken our spirits, strengthen our resolve, deepen our commitment as Americans.
The speech ended with these words: “Our cause is the cause of human dignity; freedom guided by conscience and guarded by peace. This ideal of America is the hope of all mankind. That hope drew millions to this harbor. That hope still lights our way. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.”
Theologian Barbara Lundblad, reflecting on that speech, noted that the president’s use of John 1:5 involves an analogy in which the reference point undergoes a dramatic shift. In the Gospel of John, the light of the world is Christ; in the president’s speech, that light had become America.
How tempting it is for us to reshape God’s story to fit our own, to retell it in ways that serve our purpose. Tempting, but dangerous, even if our purpose is noble; for when we do adjust God’s story to fit our story instead of bringing our story into line with God’s story, we lose our way, we – particularly we preachers – fail in our calling to tend God’s story with respect and honor and integrity; and to speak that story with courage. It is for us to speak out and act up in the service of what Pastor David Carr calls “the untamable text of the untamable God.” The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness indeed will not overcome it. But that light is none other than Christ.
It is that light that shines throughout the story we are to tend, that story that surprises us with its twists and its turns, surprises us perhaps most vividly at the end of John’s gospel. We know how that story ends.
“Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God; and that through believing you may have life in his name.”
That’s it, right? End of story.
But it’s not, is it? When everything has been done that can be done, when everything has been written that can be written, John writes more. Or someone did; whoever did it, we have an epilog to John’s gospel.
“After these things, Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias.” Oh, it’s a great story! They had been out fishing all night and came up empty. Still in their boats, they saw Jesus on the shore but didn’t know it was him, and he called out to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?”
They know that voice! They said No; and he said, well, what did he say to them? You know the story. It’s OK, you can answer back, this is the interactive part of the sermon; what did he say to them? (“Cast your net to the right side of the boat and you will find some.”) Some? They caught so many fish – 153 (someone stopped to count, I don’t know who) – so many that they were barely able to haul in the net!
What a terrific story! Peter by the charcoal fire that Jesus had prepared for them, memories of that other charcoal fire, where three times the stark and terrifying question had come to him, Are you one of his? And three times Peter’s devastating answer that had cut straight to his own heart, No. And now three times he hears his master ask another question, one that brings healing, and life, Do you love me?
And finally, at the end, “Follow me.”
“Follow me” – at the end! This is a story of call; what’s it doing at the end? It belongs at the beginning of the gospel, doesn’t it? In fact, John does have a call story at the beginning, just like Matthew, Mark and Luke; but why didn’t he just leave it there and leave it at that? That’s where it belongs, doesn’t it?
Or does it?
After everything has been written that needed to be written, after everything has been done that needed to be done – the story starts again.
Just when you thought the story was over – your story, perhaps – Jesus begins all over again. “Follow me.” Jesus says it at the end as if he’s saying it for the very first time.
Tell us the story, Dave. Tell it with your life, and your words will ring true. Feed us in Word, and in Bread and Wine. Help us to live into the story of this One who calls each of us from darkness into light, from death into life, this One who makes all things new.
Amen.
