The first half of today’s reading from John’s gospel is one of those suggested for funerals. It’s wonderfully reassuring for us believers, I think, beginning as it does with “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”
As we’ve noted before that is a frequent theme in the Bible and particularly in the New Testament. Angels often mouth a similar line when they show up to deliver a message to someone. That’s what they do, as their very title means messenger. But before they deliver a message, they seem to know they need to calm down the addressee. I know it would be the case with me. I wouldn’t be able to listen to the message until I settled down a bit, whether the angel looked like something from a da Vinci painting or Clarence in “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
And that’s a good thing to hear at the burial of a loved one: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”
What follows that reassurance is a dialogue among Thomas, Philip, and Jesus. Thomas is one of my favorite biblical figures because of his questioning nature—whether that is born of doubt, or cynicism, or just plain curiosity.
The second half, roughly, of today’s gospel contains more reassurance from Jesus about his identity and authority and his attentiveness to our needs. (Not so reassuring is the notion that we believers may do greater works than he, such as Stephen’s martyrdom in the reading from Acts—just a side note.)
But it’s that first part—the one that’s read at many funerals—that I’ve teed up for us. I’ll begin by saying that at many funerals I’ve purposely forgotten to include the last line of the reading (“No one comes to the father except by me.”)
I’m sure the first time I “forgot” was when the person who had died was Jewish, or a deist, or an atheist. Or maybe many in the congregation were one or more of those. It just seemed unnecessary to hit that very sectarian tone in their time of grief. More to the point, ending so abruptly with that seems contrary to the overarching universality of Jesus’ ministry and message.
The whole exchange is one of the most memorable moments in Scripture. It speaks volumes
Thomas is, as always when we see him, forthright, if not abrupt or challenging He’s not quoted as saying, “Excuse me, but am I missing something? Did I forget where you told us you’re going?” (That’s the way I could imagine myself saying it.) No, Thomas says plainly, “We don’t know where you’re going, so how can we know the way?” Just like that.
And then comes Jesus’ own straightforward answer to the question. He seems to have anticipated it. Maybe he even deliberately arranged it so someone would have to ask it. And Thomas, of course, was his perfect, if unselfconscious, shill in the audience.
Jesus surprises Thomas by answering, not with a destination and the directions to arrive there, but with an explanation of how things are in the moment and in eternity. It’s about a person, a relationship. He says that he is the way.
The early church was known simply as “The Way,” that being the way that Jesus described in words and, mostly, demonstrated in his actions in the world; a way that he modeled for all who would follow him.
I believe that Jesus was saying, “Here’s the way to eternal life (which he calls “to the Father,” again using relational terms). I am it. Follow in my way that I have described to you by my teaching, that I have shown you by my life.
This is the way not to, but the way of, that eternal life that is already yours. The eternal is already here, it is not a destination that is definitive and final—out there in some other place and time. You’re already in it. This is the way. This is the truth. This is life.” I AM the way, he tells Thomas and Philip (and us), much as God appeared to Moses and said, “My Name is I AM.” Not “I will be some day, or will be in some place.”
We sometimes are like the dog in the Zen metaphor who looks the finger, not at the moon. We distract ourselves by looking out there, somewhere and sometime in the future. And Jesus came to tell us that we are there, where we are, now. And he calls us to act like we know that, by following his way of love, wherever that might take us. + + +
As we’ve noted before that is a frequent theme in the Bible and particularly in the New Testament. Angels often mouth a similar line when they show up to deliver a message to someone. That’s what they do, as their very title means messenger. But before they deliver a message, they seem to know they need to calm down the addressee. I know it would be the case with me. I wouldn’t be able to listen to the message until I settled down a bit, whether the angel looked like something from a da Vinci painting or Clarence in “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
And that’s a good thing to hear at the burial of a loved one: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”
What follows that reassurance is a dialogue among Thomas, Philip, and Jesus. Thomas is one of my favorite biblical figures because of his questioning nature—whether that is born of doubt, or cynicism, or just plain curiosity.
The second half, roughly, of today’s gospel contains more reassurance from Jesus about his identity and authority and his attentiveness to our needs. (Not so reassuring is the notion that we believers may do greater works than he, such as Stephen’s martyrdom in the reading from Acts—just a side note.)
But it’s that first part—the one that’s read at many funerals—that I’ve teed up for us. I’ll begin by saying that at many funerals I’ve purposely forgotten to include the last line of the reading (“No one comes to the father except by me.”)
I’m sure the first time I “forgot” was when the person who had died was Jewish, or a deist, or an atheist. Or maybe many in the congregation were one or more of those. It just seemed unnecessary to hit that very sectarian tone in their time of grief. More to the point, ending so abruptly with that seems contrary to the overarching universality of Jesus’ ministry and message.
The whole exchange is one of the most memorable moments in Scripture. It speaks volumes
Thomas is, as always when we see him, forthright, if not abrupt or challenging He’s not quoted as saying, “Excuse me, but am I missing something? Did I forget where you told us you’re going?” (That’s the way I could imagine myself saying it.) No, Thomas says plainly, “We don’t know where you’re going, so how can we know the way?” Just like that.
And then comes Jesus’ own straightforward answer to the question. He seems to have anticipated it. Maybe he even deliberately arranged it so someone would have to ask it. And Thomas, of course, was his perfect, if unselfconscious, shill in the audience.
Jesus surprises Thomas by answering, not with a destination and the directions to arrive there, but with an explanation of how things are in the moment and in eternity. It’s about a person, a relationship. He says that he is the way.
The early church was known simply as “The Way,” that being the way that Jesus described in words and, mostly, demonstrated in his actions in the world; a way that he modeled for all who would follow him.
I believe that Jesus was saying, “Here’s the way to eternal life (which he calls “to the Father,” again using relational terms). I am it. Follow in my way that I have described to you by my teaching, that I have shown you by my life.
This is the way not to, but the way of, that eternal life that is already yours. The eternal is already here, it is not a destination that is definitive and final—out there in some other place and time. You’re already in it. This is the way. This is the truth. This is life.” I AM the way, he tells Thomas and Philip (and us), much as God appeared to Moses and said, “My Name is I AM.” Not “I will be some day, or will be in some place.”
We sometimes are like the dog in the Zen metaphor who looks the finger, not at the moon. We distract ourselves by looking out there, somewhere and sometime in the future. And Jesus came to tell us that we are there, where we are, now. And he calls us to act like we know that, by following his way of love, wherever that might take us. + + +