Texts: Acts 7:55-60; 1 Peter 2:2-10; John 14:1-14
One of the great human fears – particularly in childhood – is the fear of abandonment, the fear of losing our Mum or whoever it is that seems to be our protector. Our peace in Waikouaiti was temporarily interrupted last weekend by the panic-stricken screams of a young lass as her Mum drove off in a car, leaving her and her young siblings behind. She wasn't, of course abandoning her children, but that's what it obviously felt like to this young miss, who ignored the repeated assurances of her older brother and went on screaming, "My Mummy! My Mummy!"
We see another example of this sort of fear in some of the death notices and in memoriam items in our newspapers. It's not uncommon to find even adult children expressing a belief that Mum is up there looking down and taking care of us. It would be easy to be dismissive of those sentiments, of course, but they illustrate that deep need for security, that belief that we cannot manage without certain people keeping an eye out for us. Just in the last few days I saw what I think was a bit of a video made by a young mother who was dying. In the video she was assuring her children that she loved them very much and would "always be there for them".
And that's the theme, really, of our gospel readings from St John during this latter part of the Easter Season. Jesus is preparing his disciples for his death: this is his pre-death video message to them, so to speak. In fact, later in these so-called "Farewell Discourses", he expressly says to them, "I will not leave you as orphans". And, of course, at the very end of St Matthew's Gospel, the Risen Christ, about to ascend, says to his disciples, "And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age".
Of course, even with the benefit of two thousand years of hindsight, we are in the presence of mystery here. How can it be that he is going away, going back to the Father in heaven, and so on, and yet remaining with us for ever? It's not surprising that his disciples weren't able at the time to grasp much of what he was saying to them. St John has already used the same approach in his stories of the meeting between Jesus and Nicodemus, and Jesus and the woman at the well. Jesus talks in symbols and images to get across spiritual meanings, but he is misunderstood by those he is talking to because they are operating at the literal, material level.
That's what happens in this morning's reading. First, notice where this passage starts. We are back on the evening when Jesus was betrayed, the night before he died, what we now call Maundy Thursday. Immediately before the start of our passage, Jesus has just predicted Peter's denial: "Will you really lay down your life for me? I tell you the truth, before the cock crows, you will disown me three times!" We are so familiar with all this now that it has probably lost much of its shock value for us. But think for a moment how it must have struck them at the time. Peter, of all people, was going to deny even knowing Christ.
But immediately Jesus started to comfort them. They can trust in God and in him. Then this strange dialogue occurs as they talk past each other. Jesus says he is going to a place, his Father's house, to prepare a place for them. Then he will come back for them so that they might be where he is; and he assures them that they know the way there. But they protest. Thomas insists that they don't know where he is going so how can they know how to get there? To which Jesus replies that he is himself the way, the only way, to the Father.
But who is this Father Jesus keeps talking about? What's he like? How can we get to know him? Jesus tells them that those who really know Jesus really know God. As they, his disciples, really know Jesus, it follows that they really know God, and, even, that they have seen God (because they have seen Jesus). But they're still not convinced. Philip speaks for them all when he asks Jesus to show them the Father "and that will be enough for them".
Still they cannot understand; and as we learn later in these chapters, the reason why they cannot understand is that the Spirit has not yet come. Human understanding is insufficient. As brilliant as the human mind can be sometimes, as great as human intelligence can be sometimes, there are truths that are beyond the capability of human reason and rationality. To grasp those we need the gift of the Holy Spirit, the gift we receive in baptism. Even Jesus' teaching is not sufficient without the presence of the Holy Spirit working within his hearers to empower them to understand these spiritual truths. That's why the disciples, at the end of this period, will be told to wait together until the Spirit comes. Who is that Spirit? The Counsellor, the Advocate, the Spirit of Truth, the Spirit of Christ, he has many names; but strangely the Scriptures have omitted one name that should surely be attributed to the Holy Spirit.
That name is Emmanuel, God with us. For after Pentecost it is through the Holy Spirit that God chooses to be with us. It is through the Holy Spirit that Christ fulfils his promise to be with us to the very end of the age, not to leave us as orphans. That's not how it feels at times, of course, as Jesus discovered for himself on the cross. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!" he cried out, much as the little lass in Waikouaiti cried out "My Mummy! My Mummy!" Those are the times when our faith is tested, when we wonder if he really is with us. Those are the times when we know how the Israelites felt in the wilderness when they demanded, "Is the Lord with us or not?" That is the question that is, perhaps, swirling around all those who have suffered from the tragedy at the Mangatepopo river.
What comfort can we offer them at such a terrible time as this? Perhaps we can point to Stephen, a man, we are told who was full of the Holy Spirit, a product of Pentecost. When the Spirit came the little group of Christ's followers suddenly expanded from about 120 to thousands – three thousand converts on the Day of Pentecost itself. Very soon the church was the victim of its own success, as we might say. Divisions occurred, people felt ignored. The whole thing had become too large for the Apostles to lead on their own. So helpers were chosen to attend to the pastoral ministry, leaving the Apostles free to concentrate on teaching. They called the helpers deacons, and Stephen was among those first appointees.
Obviously, he hadn't limited himself to pastoral ministry; he had been doing some preaching as well, as a result of which he had fallen foul of the authorities. He is condemned to death and taken out to be stoned. If this had been a Superman story, Superman would have zoomed down from the sky and whisked Stephen away just as the first stones were on the way. But we don't worship a God who appears among us as a Superman: we worship a God who appears among us as a Suffering Servant.
A god who is with us in our times of suffering, as well as our good times. Stephen looks up and sees the truth of our faith – Jesus, the way, the truth and the life. Jesus who is with his Father just as he had said he would be. Jesus who has gone on ahead of Stephen to prepare a place for him. Jesus who is with Stephen through the Holy Spirit.
And so Stephen dies trusting in all those marvellous promises Jesus has made to us, trusting in God, trusting in Christ. He dies forgiving those who are killing him, just as Jesus did on the cross. That did not take away the pain of being stoned to death; but it did give his death meaning, and it did give his companions hope. That's why we have this story in the Easter Season, to tell us that because Jesus died death has been defeated. Because Jesus died the Spirit came. Because the Spirit came God is with us always and we with him in all eternity.
We hope that in the pain and tears of the tragedy of Mangatepopo those people will be comforted by that same Easter message. On the last day those children and that teacher will be raised up because, Christ is risen! He is risen indeed.
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