Come and See The Color Purple

John 1:41-53

The next day, Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter, and he went and found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found the one about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus, Son of Joseph, of Nazareth. Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.”

Now, when Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him he said, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.” Nathanael said to him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus said to him, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael said to him, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God. You are the King of Israel.” Jesus said to him, “Do you believe because I said I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Very truly I tell you, you will see the heavens opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

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I wonder why we don’t ever use the phrase “Doubting Nathanael.” Most of us know about “Doubting Thomas,” right? He’s the one who gets a bad rap for not believing Jesus had been raised from the dead until he could see and touch the wounds from his crucifixion. Even for people who don’t know the story, “Doubting Thomas” is likely something they’ve said or heard before. To be called a “Doubting Thomas,” of course, is all about whatever it means to be cynical or skeptical in the face of some sort of news.

I suspect the reason “Doubting Nathanael” never became a thing was because his doubts came so early-on. Nathanael hadn’t witnessed yet all that Thomas had seen by the time his doubts about Jesus were revealed. I mean, Thomas had seen the water become wine. Thomas had seen some miraculous healings. Thomas knew about Lazarus stepping out of his tomb. He was there at the Last Supper and all the rest. So, I suppose Thomas is more infamous for his doubts because he should have known better.

But Nathanael – Mr. “Can-anything-good-come-out-of-Nazareth” – didn’t have the benefit of all that history and experience, yet. This little ditty at the beginning of John’s Gospel is just the start of Jesus’ life and ministry – we’re still in Chapter 1 here, after all. All the soon-to-be disciples knew at this point is what had been written, “by Moses, in the law and also the prophets,” about this guy they’d yet to meet.

So, as far as Nathanael is concerned, I like to consider that Philip probably knew a thing or two about Nathanael when he decided to tell him about this Jesus he and the others had found. After all, the story says that Philip “found” Nathanael; not that he bumped into him on the street corner; not that he ran into him on his way to somewhere else; not that Nathanael came to him for something. No, it says that Philip went and found Nathanael, which makes me think they had a history together, that they were friends in some way.

And I wonder if Philip knew his buddy Nathanael was going to react in just that way – doubtful; skeptical; cynical. (“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”) I wonder if Philip knew Nathanael was a hard nut to crack… that maybe he was lonely, or grieving, or stewing about something in particular underneath the fig tree that day… and that that’s exactly why he set out to find his friend to tell him about Jesus.

And I wonder if Philip was tired of debating Scripture; studying the prophets; dissecting the rumors around town. I wonder if he just couldn’t wait to tell Nathanael, those sweet, simple, inviting words. “We’ve found this Jesus. It’s happened. He’s for real. It’s true. Come and see.”

He’s not threatening his friend. He’s not challenging him. He’s not setting up a debate. He doesn’t judge Nathanael for whatever doubts he has, either. He just says, “Come and see.” And Nathanael goes.

And Nathanael finds, it seems, what he didn’t think he would – “The Son of God!” and “The King of Israel!” – much to his apparent suspicion and surprise.

And this story is nothing more or less than a picture of what gracious, faithful evangelism looks like, if you ask me. See, this story actually begins a couple of verses prior to what we just heard, when Andrew and Peter share what they know with Philip. See, before Philip finds Nathanael, Jesus is the one who starts this “come and see” thing. No threats. No judgment. No fear. No double-dog dares. Just a sweet and simple invitation to “come and see.”

And that’s all evangelism and sharing faith require, I believe. “Come and see.” It’s NOT a judgment. It’s NOT fearful. It’s not “if you don’t come, see, and believe what I believe, you’re doomed for all eternity.”

It’s “come and see” because this grace is for you; it will bless you; it will surprise you in amazing, worthwhile ways.” “Come and see, because you wouldn’t believe it if I told you, anyway.” “Come and see, because there aren’t enough words to describe this kind of love; this kind of forgiveness; this kind of goodness.”

But we’re timid about that, aren’t we? Some of us are out of practice. Some of us have never had the chance to warm up. Some of us might just as soon hang out with Nathanael underneath a fig tree somewhere with our questions and our doubts, not sure where to go or what to look for. And I get that. I can get pretty comfortable beneath my own proverbial fig tree every now and then.

So, I often ask new CrossRoads classes “when was the last, best movie you’ve seen?” Or, “have you read any good books lately?” And those questions usually let people loose with conversation. Because when we see a really good movie – whether it’s so funny we laughed our heads off, or so sad we cried our eyes out – we like to tell others about it, don’t we? When we’ve read a really good book we do the same thing … talk it up with a friend, or even pass it along to share with someone we think might appreciate it.

My point is we’re more timid or shy, uncertain or unconvinced when it comes to talking about our faith with the same ease or energy or enthusiasm, aren’t we? Maybe we think we have to have all the answers. Maybe we’re afraid we might offend. Maybe we’re reluctant to reveal too much about ourselves along the way. Maybe we just don’t want to look or sound or be like “one of those kind of Christians.”

But today’s Gospel makes it easy, I think. Philip doesn’t answer questions. He doesn’t say anything that could offend. All he seems to reveal about himself is that he’s on the same sort of journey. He doesn’t pretend to prove anything. And neither does Jesus. “Come and see.”

And so, at least this morning, all we’re called to do is invite: “Come and see.” And we have a lot to show people about this movement of grace we’re up to around here, I’m glad to say.

“Come and see,” a family of faith that’s teaching generosity to our kids by way of offerings of over $7,500 last month alone. That money is going to share the simple gift of life-giving water with some of the most vulnerable children and families in our own country and around the world.

“Come and see” a place and a people who are wrestling with the work of racial justice and LGBTQ equity and inclusion in the midst of a community and a culture that will not do that work, in so many ways.

“Come and see” by sitting in on an Adult Forum, or by coming to a Men’s or Women’s Bible Study, or by bringing your kids to Grace Quest and Sunday school, and learning, together, what we can about God’s Word for our lives.

“Come and see” on any given Sunday, because everyone’s welcome here – through the waters of baptism and at the table of holy communion, too – where we eat bread and drink wine and where we’re filled up with the fullness of God’s forgiveness, mercy, and love, with no strings attached. “Come and see.”

Speaking of movies… the last one I’ve seen was the new musical version of The Color Purple. The name of Alice Walker’s novel, on which the first movie and this recent musical are based – The Color Purple – comes from a simple, profound line in the book where Shug Avery says to Celie, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.”

“I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple … and don’t notice it.”

I think our call as followers of Jesus … as believers in God … as recipients of this amazing grace we claim … is simply to notice it, to celebrate it, and to give thanks to the God who so generously shares it with us. And I think we’re called to invite others to come and see it, too; to notice and share it, right along with us, not just because maybe it pisses God off when we don’t, but because we’re blessed and better – our lives and the world change for good – when we realize it’s not ours, this grace, but God’s to give – and God does give it – freely and with abundance, for the sake of the world.

Amen

Cold Water and Warm, Wide Welcome

Matthew 10:40-42

“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

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These three little verses of Matthew’s Gospel seem a little out of context, all on their own – plucked as they are from Chapter 10, I mean. So, before we get to the point of it, I feel like we need to back up and set the stage, some.

Up until this moment in the 10th Chapter of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus has been laying out the details for his disciples about their job description. He’s been preparing them to hit the road and to get about the work of preaching and teaching and sharing the Good News. He’s already given them authority over unclean spirits, you might remember. He’s already charged them with casting out demons and curing every disease and every sickness among the people. He’s told them to announce that, “The kingdom of God has come near.” He’s instructed them about how to dress, even. And he’s told them where to go, with whom they should stay, and what they should be wary of out there in the world.

And a lot of what they can expect isn’t pretty, to be honest. Just before what we heard this morning, Jesus warns his disciples about that, by telling them:

“… I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of them, for they will hand you over to councils and flog you in their synagogues; and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me … Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death; and you will be hated by all because of my name…”

So it doesn’t sound like such a great gig, being one of those first disciples. Hitting the streets with the Word of God. Knocking on doors to share the Good News of the Kingdom. Preaching the Gospel. Teaching about God. Healing the sick.  Inviting yourself into the hearts and lives of people who may or may not want anything at all to do with what you’re up to.

And I kind of wonder, with all of these marching orders, if Jesus doesn’t have an ulterior motive.

Don’t get me wrong. Of course, I’m sure Jesus wanted the dead to be raised and the sick to be cured and the good news to be preached and all of that. But I wonder, too, if the whole point of sending the disciples out into the world that way – with all of those rules and expectations and warning, even – was so that those first disciples, those rookie believers, could get a feel for what it’s like to be on the other side of the door, looking to be welcomed themselves, hoping to be heard themselves, longing to be received themselves, by whoever would have them.

See, even though they were new to all of this, they were insiders to a movement that was about to take off in a big way. And they were insiders who’d just been given tremendous responsibilities and unbelievable authority – to cure the sick, raise the dead, cast out demons; preach, teach, and forgive, remember. That’s the sort of stuff that might go to a person’s head, don’t you think? It’s the sort of stuff that’s so good…  it’s the kind of power that’s so mighty…  it’s a grace so amazing, it might make a person – or a people – lazy or entitled or stingy with the good stuff, if they aren’t careful.

For instance, a disciple might want to stay put, after a while, and let the sick come to his house for a cure. Or a disciple might want to hang a sign out front with office hours during which time demons might be exorcised. A disciple might think the forgiveness of sins should take place, conveniently, in large groups, at, say, 8:30 or 10 o’clock on a Sunday morning. Or, a rookie disciple might think this grace of God stuff is so good it will sell itself once word gets out – and if people don’t show up, if they don’t bend over backwards to receive it, it would be their loss, not the disciples’ problem.

But this morning, Jesus also says, “whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.” On top of all the rest, Jesus means to raise up gracious, generous, selfless, humble, hospitable, welcoming disciples. “…whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones…”

I read an article this week about how the Catholic Archdiocese of Indianapolis issued some new guidelines warning that transgender kids may not be allowed to enroll in their schools. Apparently, there’s an eight-page document called “Policy and Complementary Norms on Sexual Identity in School Ministries,” that means to offer guidance about how to deal with students who have sexual identity or gender identity experiences that vary from what is “typical” according to the average bear and according to “traditional” church teaching.

Specifically, and admittedly in a very incomplete nutshell, from what I can tell, kids are welcome to attend school, even if they identify somewhere outside of the “typical,” “traditional” norm and expectation of the church, but once a student does something to legally change their gender identity from their biological sex, or once they physically alter their given biology, they may no longer be allowed to enroll.

But, “… whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple — truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

Now, I don’t mean to pick on our Catholic sisters and brothers. We are all in the same boat as Christian believers. They were just in the news this week. We Lutherans have been down similar roads before. In fact, I was contacted this week about a rumor that an educator at a local Lutheran school was fired for the “immorality” of being gay. And it’s not all about sexuality, either, of course. I got an e-mail not long ago from a friend of a friend who told me she wanted to be part of a church, but that she’d screwed up so many times in so many ways – that she was such a prolific sinner according to her family and as far as any faith community she’d ever known was concerned – that she was anxious and scared to even set foot inside the doors of a church. (You’d be surprised how many people out there in the world make that kind of confession once they find out I’m a pastor.)

Anyway, all of this reminds me about how stingy we can be with the good stuff of God’s grace. And, because of it, I’m afraid, too many churches in the world are known more for who they don’t welcome than for everyone that they do – or should be sharing cups of cold water with, as Jesus puts it.

And, what struck me about all of this, this time around, is that there were no eight-page documents of policy and procedure when Jesus sent those first disciples out into the world. And if there had been, it would have had more to do with the disciples than it would with those whom they were trying to reach with God’s grace and good news.

“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me …and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple — truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

We are insiders to God’s movement of grace in the world, you and I. As far as I can tell, most of us gathered here have been welcomed – into a community of faith, into a family of believers, at the waters of baptism and to the table of forgiveness – and we know the blessing of that welcome. (If none of that feels true for you, yet. I’m especially glad you’re hearing this today. I hope it sounds like an invitation to the love of God in a way you’ve never felt it before.)

See, I think, like those first disciples, we’re to be reminded about what that sort of grace and welcome feels like – what that kind of mercy and forgiveness and love means for us – so that we are sent out into the world around us, offering it up like so many cups of cold water – to thirsty pilgrims wherever we can find them, at all costs – to anyone and everyone who hasn’t been welcomed or received or listened to or loved, just yet, in the name of Jesus Christ.

Amen