Bootstraps, Baptismal Waters and Being Made Well

John 5:1-9

After this, there was a festival of the Jews and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.

Now in Jerusalem, there is a pool by the Sheep Gate that is called, in Hebrew, Beth-zatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many invalids – blind, lame and paralyzed. One man who was there had been ill for 38 years. When Jesus saw that he was ill and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you wish to be made well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to lower me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and when I try to make my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take up your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, he took up his mat and he began to walk. Now that day was a Sabbath.

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I had a new, less-than-charitable thought about Jesus when I read this Gospel this time around. Let me explain.

There’s this gaggle of sick, hurting, broken people gathered around these healing pools near the gate by the Temple entrance in Jerusalem. And they are literally waiting for a miracle. See, the lore, legend and tradition about those pools and porticoes suggested – that an angel of God was what stirred up the waters from time to time – and that to be healed by their mysterious power you had to be among the first into the mix once that happened. So there’s this guy who, for 38 years has been ill, unable to walk on his own, and who has been trying for who knows how many of those years to reach the water at just the right time to be relieved of his disease.

And when Jesus sees him there he asks him, “Do you want to be made well?” Maybe Jesus was just being polite. Maybe he was giving him some ownership over what was going to happen next. Maybe he didn’t want to be presumptuous. But what a strange, silly, cynical question, really. “Do you want to be made well?”

Surely this guy wasn’t happy being sick and unable to walk. Surely he wasn’t just enjoying the show – watching all those other sick people receive their miracle. Surely he was there because he wanted to be healed right along with the rest of them.

So I heard Jesus’ question this time around as a little insensitive… a little judgmental… a little presumptuous in all the wrong ways. And I saw myself asking that question, too.

“Do you want to be made well?” I think I ask that question in all the wrong ways myself a lot of the time. Maybe you do to.

When someone is struggling in some way, don’t we assume they would, could, should just pull themselves up by their boot straps and make things right? Don’t we assume, too often, that a person who’s homeless must have done something – or not done enough – to end up in that predicament? When someone’s in prison, don’t we assume they’re guilty or less than or that they chose and deserve the fate that’s befallen them? When someone’s addicted don’t we think they just need to make better choices? Gain some will power? Pray more or harder or better?

That’s the kind of thing I heard in Jesus’ question this time around…to the sick man lying helpless by the pool. “Do you want to be made well?”

And I feel that sick man – broken and hurting and desperate to find help wherever he can get it – trying not to roll his eyes and write off this jerk who seems just like all the rest of them. And I hear that sick man respond with as much respect as he can muster, because he’s just that desperate, as he explains himself saying something like, “Sir, I’m not well enough or fast enough or lucky enough to get into that water when it moves and no one around here will help me. All these people are just looking out for themselves… or they aren’t as sick as me… or they have someone else to help them. Of course I want to be made well. I just can’t do this on my own.”

And I wonder if this might be one of those moments in Scripture – and there are others – where Jesus learns a new thing and changes his tune; where he hears this man, fully; where he sees this man in all of his brokenness and suffering and desperate need in a way he hadn’t at first. Jesus was as human as the rest of, remember. And you and I do this all the time.

We forget or deny that bad things happen to good people – that the sun rises on the evil and on the good, and that rain falls on the righteous and on the unrighteous, just the same – as Scripture tells us. And I think we forget or deny or ignore the injustice around us in an attempt to make sense of things that don’t make sense; to justify what cannot be justified; to pretend we have more control over or power over or influence over our lives than is possible or true a lot of the time. And I think we project that kind of judgement onto others because it’s a great way to justify our lack of help; our lack of compassion; our self-righteousness; our “thoughts and prayers” as a suitable measure of response to the suffering around us, when we know there’s more to be done – and more we could do.

We forget or deny that people are arrested and convicted and sentenced to prison unfairly and for crimes they never committed – and it happens to people of color at significantly higher rates than it does to people who look like me. (“Do you want to be made well? Do you want to be better? Do you want to do better?” “Yes, but the system is stacked against me,” they might say, “and I have no one to help me into the water.”)

We forget or deny that poverty is inherited – and it’s a cycle – for so many people who didn’t do anything to “deserve” their misfortune any more than I – and most of us here – have done as much as we pretend to earn or maintain the good fortune or status or the middle-class starting block from which we began our life’s journey. (“Do you want to be made well? Do you want to be better? Do you want to do better?” “Yes, but these people keep stepping ahead of me before I can get where I’m trying to go.”)

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about hard work and bootstraps. But I’m also very clear about the grace and good fortune I’ve enjoyed in my life. And today I want to learn from Jesus about what it means to break the rules and buck the system for the sake of that kind of grace in a world that doesn’t always play by the same rules everybody.

See, so much of this Gospel’s point is found in those last six words. “Now that day was a Sabbath.” It matters that that day was a Sabbath day, because work wasn’t to be done on the Sabbath – the high, holy day of rest for God’s Chosen Ones. The Sabbath was for worship, rest, reverence and nothing more. Carrying anything – like a mat, for instance – was against the rules. So it’s no small thing that Jesus tells the sick man to pick up his man. And, healing in an emergency was allowed on the Sabbath, but curing a chronic disease that could be cured before or after a Sabbath was a no-no.

So Jesus shows up in just the right place – Jerusalem, at the healing pools by the Sheep Gate; at just the right time – during the Jewish festival and on the Sabbath, and he ignores the law, he breaks the rules, he heals this man who had been sick for 38 years – crippled, ignored, overlooked and stepped over.

And I think that’s our challenge and invitation, too, as believers and followers of Christ in the world these days. To choose, to work for, and to extend grace as often as we can. To acknowledge the brokenness around us and the blessings we enjoy and to do something about the disparity between the two. To not be played for fools – but to stop pretending that others would choose or deserve their misfortune any more than we deserve the abundance we enjoy.

And when I think about Maddy Brown, who will confirm her faith this morning, I think about the waters of baptism she shares with the rest of us and about how those waters are meant to stir us up – and to be stirred up – not by some mysterious, miraculous angel like the water in those pools and porticoes back in the Jerusalem of Jesus’ day; but stirred up like the waters of baptism that bring the promise of healing and hope, grace and goodness for all people.

These waters are meant to be stirred up, even if that means breaking some rules to do it; stirred up, by the likes of the baptized; stirred up, by you and me; stirred up, for the sake of those who can’t… stirred up in the name of Jesus who can, and who does…at all costs, for the sake of the world.

Amen

Practical, Holy, Middle Road of Grace

John 21:1-19

After these things, Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias. This is how he showed himself to them. Gathered there were Simon Peter, Thomas who was also called the Twin, Nathaniel of Cana in Galilee, the Sons of Zebedee and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” And they went and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

Just after daybreak, Jesus came and stood on the shore, but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. He said to them, “My children, you haven’t any fish, have you?” They said to him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” So they cast it and they were not able to haul in the net because it was full of so many fish. The disciple whom Jesus loved said to Simon Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was Jesus, he put on some clothes for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. The others went in the boat, bringing with them the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land; only about a hundred yards off.

When they had come ashore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring with you some of the fish you just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, one hundred fifty-three of them. But even though there were so many fish, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”

Now, none of them dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they new that it was Jesus. He came and took the bread and gave it to them and he did the same thing with the fish. This was the third time he had appeared to them since he had been raised from the dead.

After they had eaten breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time, Jesus said to him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” A third time, Jesus said to him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter, upset that he had asked him a third time, “Do you love me?,” said to him, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. When you were a child, you used to fasten your own belt and go wherever you chose to go. But when you grow old you will stretch out your arms and others will fasten a belt around you and lead you to places that you may not choose to go.” (He said this in order to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.”

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That’s a lot of Gospel for today, considering the small portion at the end of it all that I want to look at.  I don’t want to talk about the fishing or the breakfast or the net that didn’t tear or why in the world Peter fishes naked.  I just want to look at that last little bit where Jesus talks about Simon Peter’s youth, his old age, and then invites him, simply, to “Follow me.”

I got an invitation, a week or so ago, to attend my college roommate’s daughter’s high school graduation. … I wish you were as surprised by that as I was. People, this means I have a friend who has a daughter that’s graduating from high school in just a few weeks. This means his daughter is an adult. This means my friend is old enough to be the Father of an adult. This means – I think – that I’m old enough to be the Father of an adult. Theoretically.

My friend’s birthday was a couple days after the invitation came and we were texting back and forth about the surprise of it all – about how old he is; about what our kids are up to; and I wondered about whether I would/could/should try to make it over to Ohio, for the graduation party.

It may seem strange to you – and a stretch – but I thought about that invitation when I read about the one from Jesus to Peter at the end of this long Gospel story. I connected the two because of the way Jesus compares Peter’s younger days to the old age he knows is coming.

See, this friend of mine who’s old enough to be throwing a graduation party for his daughter is a fraternity brother of mine, and there was a time when one of us would call about a party and there was no wishful thinking or debate, even, about “would,” or “could,” or “should” we make it to that party. The answer was always “yes,” and “when,” and “where” or “I’ll be right over.” Just like Jesus told Simon Peter: when we were young we fastened our own belts, we made our own plans, we did our own thing; and we did it all when and how and where and if we wanted to – or not.

Nowadays, of course, there are spouses to consult, and calendars to check, and children to consider, and careers to manage. And all of that is nothing, really, to the way it will be one day, for so many of us, I know. Jesus goes on to point to a different future for Peter, too, when he predicts the way he’ll die – with his arms outstretched, being led around by people and taken to places he won’t choose for himself.

We won’t all die martyrs, led around in the way Jesus warns Peter about, but if you’ve ever cared for an aging parent, or tended to a sick loved-one, visited a nursing home, even, or if that kind of future isn’t too far off or too hard to imagine for you, you know what it means to be at the mercy of others – whether you like it or want it or need it or not.

So after Jesus imagines both of these extremes for Peter – the freedom of his youth, on one hand, and the hardship of his later years, on the other – I wonder if he isn’t suggesting a holy, middle road of grace, somewhere in between the two, when he says then, simply, “Follow me.” It seems Jesus is inviting Peter – and the rest of us, whether we’re 1 or 100 – to a holy road, somewhere in the meantime; somewhere between our own way and our own wishes at one extreme, and the way and the wishes of the world around us, at the other.

And it seems to me, that middle road of grace looks something like the life of faith and the way of discipleship we’re all trying to follow as Christian people on the planet.

Between what used to be and what is to come – in the meantime – “Follow me,” Jesus says.  In the meantime, find the middle way of God’s love and “feed my lambs.”  In the meantime, don’t rely fully on your own understanding…don’t follow every whim and every way that feels good to you…don’t just do your own thing, especially if it’s done at the expense of someone else.  In the meantime, feed my lambs – follow me.  In the mean time, tend my sheep – follow my way.  In the meantime, feed my sheep – follow my will …and your life will be blessed and better because of it.

This middle road of discipleship is one of those ways, for me, where God’s call for us is as holy as it is practical. And this middle road is one of the ways this life of discipleship can be as comforting as it is challenging. This middle road, in the meantime, calls us to do some amazing things by the world’s estimation – like love one another, like forgive our enemies, like turn the other cheek; like choose humility over pride; like choose grace instead of judgment; like choose peace instead of war; generosity instead of greed, forgiveness instead of grudges, and more.

And there are some strikingly practical ways to go about this – practical ways to follow Jesus, I mean – practical ways to feed his lambs, to tend his sheep and whatnot. We talk about them as “Marks of Discipleship” around here when we talk about “GROWing in the Word,” “SHARING our money,” “TELLing others the good news,” “PRAYing daily,” “WORSHIPing regularly,” and “GIVING of our time and abilities.” And these marks of discipleship – each of these ways of following Jesus – are as practical as they are holy.

I don’t want to debrief each of them now, but I do want to tell you what I mean about this practical… holy… “in the meantime” sort of stuff with a few examples.

In my younger days, giving financially was never a priority – and seemed an impossibility, really. My money was my money and I did what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted with every penny of it. And, to be honest, it was rarely faithful, hardly wise, and never did a thing for anyone else but me.

But I’ve learned over the years – ever since I’ve seen it work in my own life and around here – that the practice of tithing (giving 10% or more of your income away for the work of the Church in the world) is as practical as it is holy. It’s a discipline. It’s a practice. It’s following God’s way. And when we do it…if we do it…not only do we “feed some sheep” as we go, we also gain a holy perspective about how much we really need, how much we actually have, and about how God blesses us with every bit of whatever that is – not just for us, but for the world around us, too.

And, like I said, giving money is just one of the many ways we try to follow Jesus, around here.

If we pray daily we’ll eventually stop praying for our own concerns and our own needs. We’ll begin to pray for others and we’ll learn to listen to God’s power and presence in our lives and be informed and encouraged by that day in and day out.  (Even the call to prayer is as practical as it is holy.)

If we use our God-given abilities – our musical gifts, our artistic craftiness, our knack for teaching children, our skills with woodworking or tools, our love for the written word, our penchant for a hard day’s work, whatever – for the sake of the kingdom, we become more of who God created us to be and the world is blessed, and fed, and changed because of it.  (Again, this following Jesus stuff is practical and it’s holy, when we get it right.)

My point is, when it comes to following Jesus, to living life as disciples, we can act like children (or fraternity brothers, for that matter!) – doing what we want, when we want, thinking only of ourselves, acting only for our own benefit and blessing.  And we can do all of that until it’s too late, until the time comes when we can’t do anything anymore – for ourselves or for anybody else. But Jesus invites us today, just like he did Peter, in the wake of Easter’s resurrection, to follow a better way; a different way; a holier way; a practical way, too – right here and right now – that benefits us and that blesses the world, all at the same time.

And all of this following – the way, for followers of the crucified, resurrected and living Jesus – is meant to be a way we choose – not because we have to, but because we get to – to be accountable to the God of our creation; to be beholden to the maker of heaven and earth.

It’s like choosing to be accountable to someone you love – a good friend, a husband, a wife, a child…it’s not always easy; it’s not always fun; sometimes it requires more than you feel like you have to give; it takes work; it requires sacrifice; it demands selflessness; it can change you from the inside out. But once you choose that kind of accountability – or once it chooses you – your life, your way, will never be the same.

And all of this is something like what the good news of Easter means to do for us.  When Jesus started showing up for those disciples after his death and resurrection (behind locked doors, like he did last week, and on beaches for breakfast, like he does this morning) he was reminding them – revealing to them and to the world – that God had chosen to do this amazing thing: to love and to redeem and to save the whole lot of us from the beginning of our lives, until the end, and even throughout eternity. 

And God’s great hope is that, in the meantime, because of God’s choice to love us, we might choose to love God back – to travel this middle road of grace and faith and discipleship – to be blessed by the journey, and to bless the world in return.

Amen