Sermon for May 17, 2020 - Easter 6 - Year A - The Rev'd Elise A. Feyerherm

Acts 17:22-31; Psalm 66:7-18;  1 Peter 3:13-22;  John 14:15-21

This passage is one of the most poignant in John’s gospel; perhaps even in the entire bible. At table with his friends, Jesus has to prepare them for what will be some of the most heartbreaking days of their lives. They do not understand what is about to happen, and he will not be with them while it is happening. He knows they can get through it, but they do not. And somehow Jesus has to do two seemingly impossible things – he wants more than anything to reassure them that they do not have to do this themselves, that they have not been abandoned, and, at the same time he has to help them understand that they have a job to do, that this very real and present danger will require everything that they have and more.

What parent doesn’t know the worry of such a task, to watch a child facing a future fraught with danger and to help them understand two contradictory realities – you don’t have to get through this without me, because I will give you what you need; and at the very same time you have to get through this without me, and here’s what you need to do. We know that both of those things are true, and yet holding them together in our lives is one of the hardest things we will ever be asked to do.

Jesus said, “I will give you another Advocate…I will not leave you orphaned.” And also, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”

One of things we have to remember about the gospels, and especially the gospel of John, is that the story of Jesus is told backwards in a sense. Normal time moves from the beginning to the end, from birth to death, from youth to old age, not divulging what will happen in the future. But the gospels are written from the point of view of the future, which is resurrection – everything in the story shines in that light, even if the empty tomb hasn’t happened yet.

It’s true for all the gospels, but especially for John – that’s why Jesus always sounds so confident, so clear about where he has come from and where he is going. The Jesus who is coaching his disciples to keep his commandments and prepare for the coming of the Holy Spirit is already the one who has risen from the tomb, defeated death, and sits at the right hand of God the Father. It’s more than just hindsight – it’s the way the world looks from the perspective of eternity, beyond time, where God is with and in all things.

The challenge, of course, is that we live our lives from front to back, beginning to end, and the end is always cloudy, unsure. We can’t see that far ahead, and even if we could, it is always the present moment that fills our viewfinder. We are Jesus’ friends at that last supper, his promise of future help drowned out by the realization that in the meantime, things are going to get very rocky and we’ll have to keep climbing.

When I am anxious about the future, I usually turn to stories. Stories generally have a beginning, a middle, and an end, and being able to see the whole narrative helps me to find similar patterns in my own experience. Lately I have been re-reading The Chronicles of Narnia, which I haven’t done in decades. These fantasy books, now more than six decades old, tell the stories of children who find themselves in strange worlds facing all sorts of danger with little or no preparation – sort of like us.

I’m up to the next to the last book, called The Silver Chair – one of my favorites. One of the protagonists, Jill Pole, is an English schoolgirl who finds herself magically transported to another world with a classmate, a boy named Eustace Scrubb (who has been in this world before, actually, but that’s another story). Because of an unfortunate squabble with Eustace, Jill finds herself alone, which means that she has to remember by herself all the instructions given to her by Aslan, the great Lion and Lord of Narnia. Jill is faced with a daunting set of tasks with an uncertain outcome. Aslan gives her four signs to look for to guide her on the way – they will keep her on track to find the lost prince and bring him back to Narnia. These signs – perhaps we might call them “commandments” – will be her lifeline, if she is faithful to them.

The words of Aslan give her a clear path in a terrifying world. This is what he says to Jill,

[F]irst, remember, remember, remember the signs. Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night. And whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from following the signs. And secondly, I give you a warning. Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the signs which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look, when you meet them there. That is why it is so important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the signs and believe the signs. Nothing else matters. And now, daughter of Eve, farewell.”[1]

Aslan must bid her farewell. She is, in a certain sense, on her own. But of course, she is not really alone. She has not been orphaned. She has the four signs to be imprinted on her mind and heart.Soon, she is reunited with Eustace. Together they find a trusted companion, Puddleglum the Marsh-wiggle, without whom they could not complete their mission. Puddleglum is not Aslan, but he is most certainly their Advocate, their Comforter, their partner and rescuer. Jill and Eustace have not been orphaned. They are not alone.

Jill and Eustace make a lot of mistakes along the way. Jill forgets to say the signs each day. They are both irritable, and selfish. They are proud, and also fearful. They miss important opportunities and almost get eaten by giants. But they also have moments of insight and courage – the signs point the way. I keep coming back to Jesus’ words – “keep my commandments,” and “I will not leave you orphaned.” These are our signs. The first sign – “keep my commandmants” – is a lifeline in an uncertain and dangerous present, something to do and be even when we are not feeling able to do much of anything. Keep loving one another. Keep checking in, keep breathing, doing yoga, walking, soaking in the sunshine, reading the psalms, praying compline, talking with friends. You may not be able to do much, and that’s okay. But whatever you can do, keep doing it.

So remember the signs; say them to yourself in the morning and at night. Keep my commandments. Say your prayers. Love one another. Know that things will not always look the same; know that your mind will not always be clear – fear and exhaustion will muddle everything. But know that the signs will carry you, if you hold to them. Nothing else matters.

The second sign is a promise from beyond this time – I will not leave you orphaned. I will give you another Advocate, the Holy Spirit. For as you repeat and remember and live my commandments, something will shift inside you. Space will open up for God to become part of your very being, like your very breath, like an internal Advocate and Compass, and you will know what to do even when you are about to be eaten by giants.

Let us pray:

O God in whom we live and move and have our being: your promise of new life fills our every cell and empowers us to follow your commandment of love. By your mercy, keep us ever mindful of those signs that lead us in your way, and by your Spirit help us to trust that with you we are never alone. We ask this in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, who promised that we should never be orphaned, and who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, throughout all ages. Amen.

[1] C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair. HarperCollins Publishers, 1953, 1994, p.27.