Sermon by Walter G. Edmonds
Damascus United Methodist Church
Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; I John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17
Sixth Sunday of Easter - May 17, 2009
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” St. John 15:12-13.
“There was once a little girl who didn’t have any friends. Her name was Hattie. But Hattie wasn’t really a ‘little’ girl. You see, she was the tallest girl in her class. She was three inches taller than the next tallest girl, and she was five inches taller than all of the boys. And what was worse. Hattie was new at school and everyone made fun of her. They called her ‘giraffe legs.’ And they laughed whenever she bumped her head on the swing set. Hattie didn’t know what to do, so she would just run behind the school building and cry.
One day, Sean noticed one of the other kids making fun of Hattie, and he remembered that he had been treated the same way when he first moved to town. You see, Sean was short for his age, and the kids used to call him, ‘Sean, Sean, the leprechaun.’ Sean remembered how bad that had made him feel, and he decided right then and there that he was going to be Hattie’s friend.
So, that afternoon, after school, Sean sneaked away from the other boys and walked Hattie all the way to his house. Hattie was a little suspicious at first that it might be some kind of trick, but when Sean told her that he knew just how she felt, she thought it was all right. Then, when Sean invited her in to meet his sisters, Betty and Lois, she was delighted, (and felt very much at home.)
The next day at school things were entirely different. When the other kids saw Hattie playing with Sean and his sisters, they didn’t tease her anymore. In fact, they wanted to play too, and pretty soon Hattie had more friends than she could count on her fingers. As for Sean, he went back to playing with the boys, but he was happy that he had helped someone who needed a friend.” (John E Sumwalt, Lectionary Stories Cycle B; Sixth Sunday of Easter; pp.87-88.)
Simple story without question. A story that all can relate to, for we have all suffered ostracism, and yearned for someone to love us and take us in.
For many of us that person was, indeed, Jesus. In our humble beginnings we felt we were too fat, not as good as others in sports or school, that there was something wrong with us because our parents argued and got a divorce, that we were different and too shy to speak. Many of us lived in fear and nervousness until somewhere and at some moment, somebody told us about Jesus and how we could have his love in our heart, and not feel like we were worthless, or unacceptable even to ourselves. That was a great day, because we could call Jesus, Lord.
Some of us grew up and did some things that were really pretty bad. We wandered aimlessly indulging in things that only made us more unhappy and bored. We made poor decisions about what we knew to be right. We clung to people who we thought were cool and would give us love, and they turned out to be self centered jerks, who used us and yes abused us. Then somewhere and at some moment, somebody told us about Jesus and how we could have his love in our heart, and not feel like we were worthless, or unacceptable even to ourselves. That was a great day, because we could call Jesus, Lord and Savior.
Some of us grew up in good homes where we were given the best our parents could offer. We did everything, and we had good grades, played sports, made music, got the highest achievements, and were regarded as “pretty darn good kids.” We went to college, got good jobs, married the people we fell in love with, but found out in time that we were too self centered and self serving, with egos that were never satisfied. We had a “parting of the sea,” or “a mid life epiphany” and realized that the relationship with our Creator was minimal if not nonexistent. Then somewhere and at some moment, somebody told us about Jesus and how we could have his love in our heart, and not feel like we were worthless, or unacceptable even to ourselves. That was a great day, because we could call Jesus, Lord, Savior and Redeemer.
In the words of our Gospel writer today, we hold on to this promise. “For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten Son, so that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.” (St. John 3: 16 (Modern King James))
The Greek word here for this relationship with God, this most fundamental awareness that only God can save us, is thulos, slave. We experience Jesus Christ as the ultimate Lord of all things, and we bow in complete dependence upon feeling and knowing God’s saving grace in his act on the cross. We admit our utter inability to do anything to save ourselves, and like sheep to be slaughtered, are waiting for our Lord Jesus to deliver us from death, spiritual or otherwise. It is not a relationship of intimacy where we begin. It is rather one of abject submission to the only grace that appears to bring any true consolation. Slaves, thouloi (thu-lee) we can barely raise our eyes to encounter our Lord Jesus. Slaves, we grovel to find the right words or even a suitable posture to speak to this overwhelming holy presence of God who allows us to say, please forgive me, and forgive the way I never really let you into the picture. But as slaves, we do not enter into the dialogue of what we need to do in and of ourselves. The Master is overwhelmingly there, and we find we can do little more than groan and breathe words of gratitude for God’s rescue of our sinking souls. Talking to God with any sense of worthiness and comfort requires much more than the initial response to Christ’s salvation. It demands another step that must arise within us as we stay intimately connected to the Redeemer. We must know and confess that we can no longer live without genuine relationship with Christ and the one he called abba Father.
In some ways we might call this next level the entrance into servant-hood. Servants, misthotoi (me-stow-tEE) are we who know we must do what the Master has commanded, do what is expected, meet the requirements of being in relationship with Jesus. We feel the obligation to conduct ourselves accordingly, keep the “big ten,” work at forgiving all those who transgress us, invite those who are lost to come to Jesus as we have. Our conversation with the Master becomes more like one between the employer and the employee. We become the “redeemed” servants who feel the allegiance and desire to keep our covenant with God for the “great things he has done.” In a sense we are always “checking in” to see if we are doing enough, well enough. We are looking for Christ’s commendation for what we have done, or God’s blessing for the obedient attitude we have attempted to maintain. We may find ourselves measuring our response in our own mind as to our faithfulness to the Lord and the Lord’s work. We may even place ourselves in juxtaposition to other believers, to measure our servant-hood in the light of theirs. This second stage, if you will, of relationship to Jesus and the abba Father is one of esteemed obligation. Yes, we dialogue with God. But the conversation and prayer is more about how well we perceive ourselves doing and what Christ thinks of our words and actions. The servant role is obviously necessary in the Christ pilgrimage to the abba Father, but it is worlds away from Jesus’ invitation in today’s Gospel.
Jesus says in St. John, the fifteenth chapter, verse 15: “I do not call you servants or slaves any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, philoi (phe-lee), because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from the Father.” In conversation with Ted Constantinides about these three words thouloi (thu-lee), slave, misthotoi (me-stow- tEE), servant, and philoi (phe-lee), Ted became exceedingly animated (imagine that) when he spoke about the third word (philoi) meaning brother, as in Philadelphia, city of brotherly love. In Ted’s words, “If the power of relationships were thought about as an elevator in a building, philoi is the elevator at the tenth floor. Thouloi doesn’t make it into the elevator, and misthotoi is just barely inside the door.”
What this means is that Jesus is most interested in us becoming one with him “traveling up the elevator in this house of faith to the tenth floor,” where He can call us brother, call us sister, with all the power of love that He knows in His “daddy.” Philoi has no equivalent in English, I am sad to say. Philoi was the intent of Jesus for his apostles in that final hour. You are my brothers! Philoi is the intent of Jesus in this hour. You are my brothers and my sisters! I am giving you everything I know of my “daddy.” “I am choosing you, you did not choose me. I am appointing you to go out and bear fruit, fruit that will last.”
We began this sermon with a story about making friends. Hattie had none and Sean saw her sadness and remembered his own. Sean chose to walk with her after school and take her to his home, taking her inside where she meets his sisters. The next day is quite different, and she begins to be loved and she is given friends.
Can you interpret this allegory? Can you see Christ in Sean and his taking Hattie into “His Daddy’s House?” The tenth floor revealed! Can you see Hattie moving from thulos to mesthotos to philos? Can you understand that like Hattie, you and I are not meant to be only a slave to Jesus, or even an indentured servant to Jesus, but to be His beloved sister and brother? I hope so. This is the Good News for this Sabbath day.
