Gospel of John

Hard Goodbyes and Pentecost Promises

John 15:26-27; 164b-15

Jesus continued… ”When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf. You also are to testify because you have been with me from the beginning.

But I have said these things to you so that when their hour comes you may remember that I told you about them. “I did not say these things to you from the beginning, because I was with you. But now I am going to him who sent me; yet none of you asks me, ‘Where are you going?’ But because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your hearts.

Nevertheless I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. 

And when he comes, he will prove the world wrong about sin and righteousness and judgment: about sin, because they do not believe in me; about righteousness, because I am going to the Father and you will see me no longer; about judgment, because the ruler of this world has been condemned. 

“I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. 

He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.


For the fourth week in a row, we are still in Jesus’ farewell discourse, a long farewell to his disciples. In my mind, it's similar to our midwestern goodbye. You must know what I mean. It starts off with a loud “welp” to initiate the process, followed by saying goodbye in the living room, again at the front door, and then a final goodbye in the driveway with conversation at each point along the way. And believe me, I am not knocking the midwest goodbye! If anything I do it pretty well! And I think we do this long process because saying goodbye is hard.

Finding the right words, the right tone, it’s all hard. Shakespeare was certainly right, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.” Leaving brings pain and yet at the same time rouses a sense of hope and anticipation of coming together again. In his goodbye to the disciples, Jesus says, “I tell you the truth; it is to your advantage that I go away”. When someone is saying goodbye, I don’t think we necessarily always want the truth. The truth can be unnerving, shocking even. Like when someone’s going back for surgery you don’t say, “Well the truth is I might not ever see you again”. That’s not helpful or comforting in any way. We would much rather have a promise, “I’ll be right here when you get back”. 

Here, however, Jesus gives the disciples both. The truth is, it is better for you that I go away. And here we should pause. How can it be better that Jesus go away? For many, if not most, people in the Christian tradition, closeness to Jesus is the most important thing. We long to be close to Jesus, to be in a relationship with Jesus. 

And we wait with great anticipation for Jesus' return, for the time when he will once again be close in a physical, incarnate way as he was. Being far away, separated from Jesus then would be the worst thing for our faith. Why then, is it to the advantage of the disciples that Jesus goes away? And is that to our advantage too? How can Jesus saying goodbye be a good thing?

This is the house I grew up in. Last weekend I walked barefoot in the yard, pushed my son on the swingset I had when I was his age, and pulled out of the driveway for the last time. After 33 years, my parents sold the house and our family said goodbye to the house and land we called home for all those years. It was the place of birthday parties and barbecues, arguments and reconciliations, and too many firsts to name. On that land we planted a garden and trees and a family and were nourished by the fruits of it all. Whenever I moved away, it was the place I knew I could always return to for a meal at the table, a bed, and fireball in the freezer. It was the best home a family could have.

If my parents had stayed, they would have been bound to take care of the yard. They would have been the farthest house away in our family. They would have collected more stuff (and there was no more space in the hoarder closest). All of that, in one way or another, would have limited them on how they spent their time and what they could do. Was it hard to say goodbye? Yes. But we reminded each other of the good things this meant for not only my parents, but for our family. They are now closer to more family and are the meeting place in between all the grandkids. 

Now weekends can be less mowing, weeding, or mulching and more camping. Moving brought downsizing and getting rid of stuff that had accumulated over 3 decades. Saying goodbye will hopefully give my parents a freedom they have not known for quite some time and could not have had if they stayed. The promises of moving outweighed the good of staying. And that right there, helps me understand just a bit more of how Jesus’ leaving was not only to the advantage of the disciples, but for us too. 

It is easy for us to overlook the fact that when Jesus was on earth, he was human, fully human. He had a body just like you and I, which means he had limitations, just like you and I. We see these limitations throughout his ministry: he grows tired and takes naps; he gets hungry and thirsty; he can’t be there for everyone who needs him, like when his friend Lazuras died. Jesus was constrained by the physical and spacial limits that come with being incarnate, with having a body, and with being human. 

We know what it's like to have limitations too: limits to what our bodies can do and what our minds can understand. There are only so many relationships we can balance, stress we can handle, or fear we can face. And while it may seem like the way to overcome a limit is to work harder or to push past it, Jesus shows us that it’s quite the opposite. 

The truth in this goodbye is that Jesus must leave. But the promise in this goodbye, the promise of Pentecost, is that Jesus will give all disciples the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, the Helper. Which means Jesus is no longer limited to a body. Instead, as the Holy Spirit, Jesus would be at work in multiple people, in multiple places, all at the same time. And where one part of the Trinity is at work, there the entirety of the Trinity (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) is at work also. In other words, as one Rob Saler puts it, “When you get the Spirit, you get all of Christ.”

Here’s one example of how that’s good news for us. Today is First Communion Sunday for 11 of our young partners in mission. They spent a Saturday morning with me learning what this meal is, and what it does. One of, if not the hardest thing to explain, is that as Lutherans we believe that Jesus is really present in the bread and wine at communion. That’s what makes this regular bread and wine special, Jesus is truly “in, with and under the bread.” 

It’s not that the bread becomes Jesus' body as in you get a piece of a finger or part of the leg when you eat the bread. That’s not how this works. Because Jesus is no longer limited to a body, to being human, Jesus, by way of the Holy Spirit, is really present at this table and every table, wherever people are gathered to eat bread and drink wine in remembrance of him, giving us love and grace and forgiveness, here and now. 

Jesus knew that the answer to his limitation meant saying goodbye to the disciples, to his friends. But, ironically, only in his leaving would he be able to come closer not only to the disciples, but to all people in every land. 

We too have limitations and must say goodbye to some things in order to be who we are called to be, and to do what we are called to do. Maybe it's time to make that move, quit that job, end that relationship, drop that grudge, let go of your pride, or money, or fear. I’m not saying it’s easy. 

Goodbyes are hard. But Jesus gives us the Holy Spirit, an Advocate, a Helper to guide us in whatever comes after the goodbye. All that you will need for this new life, for life after the goodbye, the Spirit will give: strength in our weakness, prayers when we have none, and comfort along the way. 

That’s the promise of Pentecost. 

Amen.


So Long, Farewell, You Got This

John 17:6-19

“I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me.

“I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one. While I was with them, I protected them in your name that you have given me. I guarded them, and not one of them was lost except the one destined to be lost, so that the scripture might be fulfilled.

“But now I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves. I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world.

“Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they also may be sanctified in truth.”


‘Tis the season for goodbyes … and farewells … and “so longs” … graduation season, I mean. Yesterday, I got to offer the Invocation and the Benediction at the commencement ceremony for my alma mater – Capital University, over in Columbus, Ohio. It always brings back all sorts of memories to be on that campus and yesterday, for graduation, was no different – maybe even a little more poignant – to reflect on what all of that meant for me 28 years ago. (I would have bet a million dollars I wouldn’t be the one offering the Invocation or Benediction at a Capital commencement back then. And none of my friends would have taken that bet, either.)

Well, it’s not an Invocation, or a Benediction, or anything like a commencement address, but we call what we hear from Jesus this morning part of his “Farewell Discourse” – his own sort of “goodbye” and “so long,” if you will. Jesus was readying himself for the cross, for his death, for his resurrection, and for his ascension into heaven, too. And all of that gives these prayerful last words some heft, some weight, and some poignancy of their own.

And, even though he knew what was coming for himself – all of that suffering and death, I mean – Jesus’ greatest concern was for his family and friends. He wants to entrust them to God’s care. He wants them to be protected, to be guarded, to be safe. He wants them to know joy; to be “sanctified in the truth” as he puts it. He wants them to go about their lives – in the world, but not of the world – fulfilling their call as children of God. And so he prays these heartfelt, passionate words of love and concern and hope for his people – for his disciples, for these children of God he’s been walking alongside and raising up in the faith until now.

It’s why this prayer from Jesus – as all over the place and stream-of-consciousness as it seems – is perfect for a day like today when I feel like my words have too much ground to cover, in too little time. For one thing Mother’s Day is on the hearts and minds of many of us today. We will also celebrate the confirmation of a handful of our young people as they affirm the promises of their baptism this morning. Plenty of you are getting ready for the end of another school year and for graduations of your own. And many in our community are grief-stricken over the loss of little Sammy Teusch, the 10 year-old 4th grader who took his own life last week over in Greenfield. Like I said, there’s just too much ground to cover and not nearly enough time for all of it.

One of the most meaningful ways I’ve heard motherhood described before, is that the choice to have a child is to decide forever to let your heart go walking around outside of your body. There’s a lot of letting go, relinquishing, and surrender – there’s a lot of faith, then – in the act of living life as a mother. And it seems that’s something like what God did in Jesus – to set the divine free in the world; to put God’s very self at risk; to let the very heart of the almighty leave the safety of heaven’s protection and go walking around in the realm of brokenness that is the world as we know it.

So I think Jesus’ “famous last words” of love, his petitions of hope, his prayers of concern and for the protection for his people, have a lot to say to us still, no matter what it is that brings us here. I think Jesus is so earnest as he prays, because he knows he’s going; that he’s about to leave his friends, his family, his disciples to their own devices – he’s about to let his children … his heart – go walking around in the world without him, and he’s more than a little concerned about what might come of that.

Don’t most of us know something about what he’s feeling? Haven’t we been on one end of this sort of surrendering at some point – whether it was sending your child off to their first day of kindergarten or moving them into their college dorm for the first time? Maybe it was walking your daughter down the aisle on her wedding day.

Maybe it had nothing to do with children at all. Was it kissing a loved-one goodbye before the nurse wheeled them off to surgery? Was it “farewell” to a friend who moved away or “goodbye” to a co-worker or to a career of your own, even? Maybe it was the final goodbye to someone you knew you’d never see again, or even a goodbye that didn’t happen in time, because no one saw it coming.

I imagine Jesus has something like all of that – and more – in mind with his prayer. This loving surrender and letting go with all kinds of hope and faith and some measure of fear, too, for what was to come for those he was leaving behind. Would they remember what he taught them? Would they keep the faith? Did they know how much they were loved? Were they up to the challenges that would come their way? Were they ready for the hard choices, the setbacks, the let-downs, the disappointments, the failures, the risks, the heartbreak they might face?

Because life in the world is risky. For Jesus it led to the cross. For the rest of us, it can mean all sorts of sadness and struggle. There is sickness out here in the real world. There is disease and disaster and dying. There are accidents and addictions. There are broken relationships and unfulfilled dreams. There are bullies and despair and suicide, for crying out loud.

And all of this is what we set our children loose into – not just on the day of their confirmation – or at their graduation – but every morning when we put them on the bus or hand them the keys to the car or send them off to college, to their first job, their first date, to be married, whatever. And all of it is what God sends each of us into, just the same, as people on the planet at some time … in one way or another.

As I watched all of those college graduates marching around at commencement from my perch on the dais yesterday, I thought about all of the moms and dads, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and more – beaming with so much pride, hope, joy, and some measure of worry and concern too, I imagine – as they watched their hearts go marching around in caps and gowns and on to whatever is next. And I thought about little Sammy Teusch’s mom and dad, too, who’s heart left that one last time, shattered, and won’t ever be the same again.

And that’s why Jesus’ prayer matters for us. It reminds us that his words and his ways are of God – and that ours can be, too. We are reminded that we belong to something bigger than ourselves – something more than we can see on this side of the grave. We are reminded that we are one with the rest of God’s good creation. In spite of the differences and the divisions the world might try to impose upon us – we are one – bound together by the love and grace and mercy of our Creator.

And because of that, with Jesus’ blessing, encouragement, and holy example … we can do this, people. We can go about our lives in this world – afraid and uncertain and sad and overwhelmed more often than we’d like; but hopeful, anyway – as God intends – with faith and love to carry on in spite of the heartbreak; with faith and love to share, because of the heartbreak.

We are called, you and I … as baptized children of God … to be the very heart of God walking around in the world, doing justice, loving kindness, sharing grace and mercy and peace and goodness, so that Jesus’ prayers will be answered – for us and for the sake of the world God so loves.

Amen