This morning’s Scriptures are: Psalm 92; Exodus 33:18–23; 1 John 1:1–9; John 21:19b–24
This morning’s Canticles are: following the OT reading, Canticle 9 (“The First Song of Isaiah,” Isaiah 12:2–6, BCP, p. 86); following the Epistle reading, Canticle 19 (“The Song of the Redeemed,” Revelation 15:3–4, BCP, p. 94)
Feast of St. John (transferred). In the tradition of the Christian Year, December 27 is a day to celebrate the life and ministry of St. John, Son of Zebedee, Beloved Disciple, and author of the Fourth Gospel, 1,2,3 John, and Revelation. Because December 27 falls on a Sunday this year, the Feast of St. John gets transferred to today, December 28.
John’s is the gospel in which Jesus unveils his divine nature—most especially, it appears, to John the Beloved Disciple. The early church’s choice of the soaring, majestic “eagle” to represent the Gospel according to John seems altogether appropriate. In this gospel, despite the all too familiar struggle of the disciples to understand, Jesus’s glory and majesty are unwrapped in high-altitude language. John begins: “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” From the outset, we are put on notice that we are in a rarified atmosphere.
One of the profound ironies of this gospel is that while it is unparalleled in its portrayal of the unambiguous divinity of Jesus, it has some of the most poignant cameos of his humanity. It also provides vital hints as to the course of his earthly ministry. Jesus has “compassion” all over the place in the synoptics, but this is the only gospel in which one of his associates is called “the disciple whom Jesus loved” (John 13:23; 19:26; 20:2; 21:7,20). Here are reflections of one whose words leap off the page: “What we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life—this life was revealed, and we have seen it and testify to it, and declare to you the eternal life that was with the Father and was revealed to us!” (1 John 1:1b–2). And while Peter’s call is to bear the keys of the kingdom and to go the way of martyrdom, John’s call is to live long and to meditate deeply on the life and words of the One who loves him especially—and to make Him especially real to us.
Because John’s Jesus is so preeminently divine, he is for that same reason so sublimely human. It is only in John’s gospel that he stands before a friend’s tomb and angrily weeps at the tragedy and awfulness of death (John 11). He attends a wedding (John 2). He accepts an interview with a member of the Sanhedrin (John 3). Instead of, as in Luke, talking about a Good Samaritan, here he actually befriends a Samaritan woman rejected even by her own folk (John 4).
Maybe there’s a message in this point alone: the tendency of the church to pit Jesus’s humanity and divinity against one another is altogether wrong. In reality, the closer you get to his divinity, the more striking are his human features. He has forever wedded his eternal divine nature to our finitude, and promises us a share in his glory. It was John’s Gospel in particular that inspired early church theologians to assert, “He became what we are that we might become what he is!”
Yesterday’s gospel reading from John included this staggering claim: “And the Word became flesh and (literally) pitched a tent among us” (John 1:14). The eternally existent “I AM” who sent Moses to Pharaoh has now done more than make an appearance in a burning bush before which sandals must be removed—he has now walked the earth himself and sanctified it with his sandaled feet. In the past, the Bible’s great “I AM” (Yahweh) pictured his presence with the tent of the tabernacle that followed a pillar of cloud and fire. Now he has become the tent—and his life lights up the world. In the past, Yahweh displayed his “I AM-ness” in ten judging plagues. Now he has unpacked his “I AM-ness” with seven predicates of blessing:
The Bread of Life and the True Vine (John 6 & 15). Having once provided manna from heaven, he now becomes bread from heaven. He provides the nourishment a man as crippled by his sloth as by his useless legs needs in order to stand and flourish (John 5). Not only is he food, he is drink as well: “if anyone is thirsty, let them come to me” (John 7:37). But he offers not just water. As True Vine, he offers a wine of celebration and joy. Somehow Jesus knows that the truly thirsty person at the well in Samaria is the woman who needs words of life and welcome and truthfulness from him. For every one of us who is joyless and famished and dying of thirst, here is food and drink.
The Light of the World (John 8–9). For the darkness of the man born blind, there is light; for the pretended sight of the blind teachers, darkness (John 9). For the shame of the woman caught in adultery, there is the bright new day of being forgiven and being given a new start (this is why, I think, this independent story found its way to its home at the beginning of John 8). For the pseudo-righteous who would cast stones, there is the glaring light that exposes their own stonable offenses. For every one of us stumbling in the dark, especially the darkness of self-destructive behavior and guilt and shame, here is the light of pardon and a new direction.
The Door of the Sheep (John 10). The door of the sheepfold both protects the sheep from predators and provides them their only access to their pasture. From a world that would savage us, there is, finally, protection. To places where our souls can feed, an opening—no, the opening. For lepers who have to live outside the gates, for demon-possessed and smelly beggars whom nobody wants to be around, here is a door into a fellowship where we are really wanted.
The Good Shepherd (John 10). On the one hand, the old covenant promised that a Shepherd King in David’s line would rule. On the other, God himself—so said Ezekiel—would need to come: “I will feed my flock and I will lead them to rest,” declares the Lord God. “I will seek the lost, bring back the scattered, bind up the broken and strengthen the sick; but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with judgment” (34:15-16). For a Nicodemus, the great teacher of Israel, who needs a new birth so he can understand the point of the story, here is the point of the story: in one and the same Person, the King has come and God has come. For every person to whom the Bible is a closed book—even for every lost soul in seminary or Bible college or Sunday school, here’s the point: the King has come and God has come, for you!
The Resurrection and the Life (John 11). So captivated is John by the glory of the resurrection that it governs his perspective on the death of Jesus. The Good Shepherd will sovereignly lay down his life for his sheep (John 10). Jesus is a friend laying down his life for his friends (John 15). At his arrest—can you even call it that? —, his thrice-repeated “I AM” (John 18:5,6,8) throws his would-be captors to the ground. On the cross, instead of Psalm 22:1’s plaintive “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (as in all three synoptics), John records something like Psalm 22:31’s triumphant “He has performed it.” At John 19:30, Jesus says “tetelesthai = it is finished.” And as if to offer an inclusio on the sayings about the shepherd giving his life for his sheep, about no one taking his life, and about the friend giving his life for his friends, John says Jesus “gives up” his spirit. The “lifting up” of Jesus on the cross is simultaneously his “lifting up” to resurrection, to ascension, to glory. For every person who knows their so-called “life” is but a walking death, Jesus is resurrection, and he is new and everlasting life.
The Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14). He is the Way: not a set of principles about how to discern the correct path among the many choices in a given situation, but a person who leads. Not a map, but a personal guide. Jesus is the Truth: not abstractions about how to get to truth among the various claims for normativity, but a person who teaches. Not a rulebook, but a coach. Jesus is the Life: not a leap into an existential mystical goo or a brave assertion of personal worth, but a presence that makes alive. Not a dead end to “personal authenticity,” but a friend who takes up life in and with you.
We remember this day “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” I pray you know your measure of that same love, and are able to answer it: “A new commandment I give you: love one another as I have loved you” (John 13:34).
Be blessed this day,
Reggie Kidd+
