Rise and Shine: A Holy Week Meditation

John 12:20-36
Among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, "Sir, we wish to see Jesus." Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. Jesus answered them, "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.

"Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say-- `Father, save me from this hour'? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name." Then a voice came from heaven, "I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again." The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, "An angel has spoken to him." Jesus answered, "This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself." He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die. The crowd answered him, "We have heard from the law that the Messiah remains forever. How can you say that the Son of Man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of Man?" Jesus said to them, "The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light."

After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them.

I woke up extra early this morning. Spring has been teasing us with extra warm days directly followed by unseasonably chilly ones. I wondered what kind of weather was in store for us today. I opened the door and was surprised to be met by a gentle, warm breeze, slightly balmy, on my face. No birds seemed to be up just yet, but there was a gorgeous, almost-full moon in the sky. The Big Dipper shone bright, off to my right. A peaceful early morning. What a gift.

These thoughts arose as I stood there waiting for the usual cacophony of morning birdsong: "Why are we always waiting for something outside of us? What if what we are waiting for is actually coming from within? What if that arising was soft and gentle as a breeze? We would need to be very calm and still to notice its presence."

In yoga, which comes from the Hindu tradition, our kundalini energy is said to lie dormant until it is time to rise up from the base of the spine, through channels, to the crown of the head. From what I have read, Kundalini is powerful. If it rises too quickly or without adequate preparation, it can cause mental and physical distress. Experts warn, kundalini is nothing to play around with. The practice of yoga can help prepare our bodies and minds. Some say kundalini can be directly transmitted by a guru. 

Jesus doesn't seem to have time for the "Greeks" who wish to see him. He's focused and aware that his time in his physical body is limited. "Walk while you have the light so that the darkness may not overtake you," he tells his disciples. "While you have the light, believe in the light, so you may become children of the light." 

In the Gospel of John, "the spiritual gospel," Jesus takes time to prepare his beloved students and disciples for his ultimate departure and glorification so that they may become "children of  light." Most of them, however, seem to remain in the proverbial dark, perhaps waiting, expecting, imagining something entirely different to happen, despite Jesus' teachings. 

Why does it seem we are always waiting for something outside of ourselves to save us? What if that which wants to arise has been with us all along? 

Be still and know that I am God

~~Psalm 46:10

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don’t go back to sleep.

~~Rumi

On Being a Disciple of Jesus in this Moment

 

Watch this sermon here.

Do any of you have certain movies or shows you’re planning to watch during Holy Week? Personally, I love the musical Godspell. Much of the music comes from our Episcopal hymnal. In his director’s notes, Stephen Schwartz writes that the first act of the show is all about the formation of a community – that through play and the telling and absorbing of lessons, the disciples grow as a unit, and that the application of clown makeup is the moment the community is set apart from the rest of society. But each individual’s journey takes its course over time. Precisely when and why this commitment to discipleship takes place is the important choice each actor must make. 

"In order to witness to and be a disciple of Jesus, every Christian has to figure out for him or herself what Christianity is all about."

That's from theologian Kathryn Tanner.[1]

We can come to church. We can listen to sermons and attend Bible study. We can ponder Richard Hooker's three-legged stool till the cows come home. We can go to seminary, get ordained, wear the collar — and still, in the end, no one else can hand us our faith pre-assembled. Each of us has to reckon, personally and honestly, with what it means to follow Jesus.

To add to Tanner's insight:  I’d say we don't figure this out alone. We figure out who God is, who we are, and how we live in light of our faith here — in community, at this table, in the breaking of bread and the hearing of Scripture, surrounded by people who come from all kinds of different backgrounds who are also still figuring it out. Like Jesus’ first disciples, our faith is offered freely to us before we fully understand it. The liturgy has been shaping us all along, even on those days we weren't paying close attention. 

As we stand at the threshold of Holy Week — and as we at St. Mark's stand at the threshold of our own significant transition — I want to ask you, in all sincerity: What is this Christian life about for you? Right now, today?

Is it about belonging to a community that holds you when you can't hold yourself? Is it about service — rolling up your sleeves and doing the work of mercy? Is it about following Jesus into the darkest of places where justice commands our attention? 

If we’re looking to define or refine our commitment, now's the time, folks. The passion of Jesus Christ is a defining moment for Christians. Today we’re reading John, first called “the spiritual gospel” by Clement of Alexandria, an early church father. At St. Mark’s, we’ve tried to point out some of the potential stumbling blocks in John’s narrative, especially in light of rising antisemitism. But there’s always more work to be done. More depth to uncover. 

I'll confess: Palm Sunday for me feels like a bit of a roller coaster. Some of you know that we have a genuine roller coaster expert in this congregation — Logan Bird can tell you everything about how they're built, which ones are the best, and which ones will absolutely ruin your lunch. So, Logan, I'm borrowing your expertise for a moment.

Palm Sunday begins like that first slow climb. It’s exciting. Jesus rides into Jerusalem — not on a war horse, not in a fancy chariot, but on a donkey. The prophet Zechariah saw this coming centuries earlier: "Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey" (Zechariah 9:9). This is not the entrance of a conquering emperor. This is something else entirely. 

St. Paul gives us the word for it in today's epistle: kenosis. Self-emptying. "Though he was in the form of God," Paul writes to the Philippians, "Christ Jesus did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave." . That word — kenosis — is the theological key to everything we will witness this week. God's power looks nothing like what the world expects. God's power looks like a man on a donkey, riding toward his own death, for the sake of love.

The crowd doesn't fully understand this yet. (Do we, really?) They wave their palm branches — echoes of the Maccabean victory celebrations — and they shout Hosanna! We might hear that as a cheer, but it's actually a plea: Save us. Save us, Lord! The air is electric with Passover energy, with rumors about the man who raised Lazarus from the dead, with the nervous attention of both Jewish leaders and Roman authorities who share one overriding concern: crowd control.

This is the top of the first hill. From here, if we dare to lean forward, we can see what's coming next. The drop is going to be fast and steep.

Maybe you're the kind of person who rides with your arms up and your eyes wide open. I'll be the one gripping the bar, white-knuckled, stomach somewhere near my throat.

But here's where the metaphor breaks down — and I think it's important to name this. On a roller coaster, we’re passengers. We strap in, the ride happens to us, and we get off at the end. 

When we hear John’s Passion narrative at the end of this service, we are in it. We are the crowd. We are the disciples. We are Peter, who swears he doesn't know the man. We are the Roman and Jewish officials, the women at the foot of the cross. We are - all of them. And all the while, our eyes are locked on Jesus.

Roller coaster ride that it is, Holy Week is an invitation to participate, to stay until the end.

I'd like to invite you to stay on the journey. Come to the services this week. Not as a passive rider, but as a pilgrim. Walk with Jesus through the Last Supper on Maundy Thursday, where he kneels to wash his friends' feet. Stand at the foot of the cross on Good Friday. Sit in the silence of Holy Saturday, that strange, liminal day when God lies in a tomb and the world holds its breath. And then — then — come to the garden on Easter morning, where Mary Magdalene meets a man she mistakes for the gardener, and nothing after that is ever be the same.

Maybe you've already got this Christian life all figured out. But if you're like me — still learning, still being surprised, still being undone and remade by the grace of God — then come along. There's no purchase necessary. No height requirement. Fair warning: it may get uncomfortable. You may feel the full weight of the story pressing up against your own life.

But you may also find yourself drawn into the heart of a divine mystery so deep and so wide that it reframes everything — what power means, what love costs, what it means to be a disciple of the one who emptied himself for the sake of the world. 

The journey is about to begin. Not a ride – more of a pilgrimage.

Will you come and see what God has done?💛

Extra Credit: My theology prof on what it means to be a disciple

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[1] Kathryn Tanner, Jesus, Humanity and the Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology, 1. Fortress Press ed., Repr (Minneapolis, Minn: Fortress Press, 2003), xiii.