Sermon at The Church of
the Holy Apostles, New York City
April 20, 2008,
The Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year A
Cheryl Fox
Acts 7:55-60
Psalm 31
1 Peter 2:1-10
John 14:1-14
‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the
Father except through me.’
If there’s one sentence that that expresses what was
responsible for keeping me away from the church for 25 years,
it’s this last one. So, it’s a bit ironic that this passage is
the one I draw for my first Sunday morning up here. I actually
thought of avoiding it, but I think we owe it to ourselves, and
to God, to wrestle with the hard questions.
The sentence ‘no one comes to the Father except through
me’ has always made me feel wary; in fact, it bothered me so
much that it made the whole Bible seem incomprehensible.
I guess I approached the Bible like I approached modern
art. I loved the more traditional works—the kind that are easy
to identify as something I know. Not necessarily like a
photograph, but something with parts that I can recognize, that
make it easy to see what it’s all about. I would look at
abstract art and not know what I was supposed to be looking at.
I lived the five years or so before I came to New York
in Las Vegas. Now, Las Vegas offers some things that one doesn’t
easily find elsewhere, but world class art museums aren’t one of
those things. So, when Tex and I saw that Steve Wynn, who was
then the owner of the Bellagio, had his personal collection of
artwork on display there, we went to see it. I didn’t expect
much—and it was very small by Met standards. But it had those
recordings you carry around that explain each piece, and at one
of the modern works, the narrator said something like, ‘don’t
look at the particulars there. Just notice how you feel when
you’re looking the whole work, and let that lead you.’ No one
had ever said that to me about art. It was an epiphany for me.
The parts are essential, but they all together lead to the
meaning of the whole. And, my instinctual reaction was the
conduit.
As I’ve gotten older, I notice that many times in my
life when I’ve reasoned myself out of valuing my instincts, it’s
been a mistake. I’ve learned to take them seriously. So, I paid
attention to my instincts recently when I saw a particular full
page ad in the first section of the Times. The page was titled
‘The Gospel and the Jewish People, an Evangelical Statement.’ It
was taken out by the World Evangelical Alliance. Half the page
was a statement, and the bottom half was a ‘partial’ [it said]
list of people identifying themselves with the ideas expressed;
this list included the director of the Billy Graham Center,
various seminary presidents and professors, representatives of
many faith groups including Anglican, Presbyterian, Baptist,
Mennonite, and other Christian groups. The message was that,
while they affirmed their friendship with the Jewish people,
they still believe that [quote] ‘it is only through Jesus that
all people can receive eternal life…we believe that salvation is
only found in Jesus, the Messiah of Israel and Savior of the
World.’ These folks spent a lot of money to spread this message.
It seems that it’s very important to them to let everyone know
that Jesus is the only way to salvation. It seems very important
that everyone know that they’re right and the Jews are wrong.
I’m pretty sure that if we ask the signers for a
scriptural basis for this statement, they would include our
passage from John. ‘No one comes to the Father except through
me.’ It sounds quite clear and quite obvious. Yet, I get a knot
in my stomach when I read this. We all hear scripture through
the lens of our worldview, and for me, this just doesn’t sound
like good news…the words I hear are painting a picture of
division and exclusion. I hear the “we’re right and you’re
wrong” that so easily slides into ‘us’ against ‘them’. I have a
gut reaction that such boundary-setting leads to exclusivism,
and that often leads to hurtful, destructive behavior. We might
conjure up images of the Crusades, of Catholics burning heretics
at the stake, Catholics and Protestants in Ireland killing each
other, Nazis persecuting Jews, Jews and Palestinians killing
each other, or even suicide bombers flying planes into the World
Trade Center. Christian against Christian as well as faith group
against faith group; this mindset leads to discrimination by
race, gender, sexual orientation—so many examples of neighbor
against neighbor.
Yet, there are plenty of examples of such attitudes and
actions in the Bible. Both the Old and the New Testaments are
the stories of the formation of two faith groups, and there is
much about boundaries, and who’s in and who’s out. There are
many examples of attacks on those outside the boundaries. If one
focuses on these parts, it’s surely possible to get a picture of
a God who rewards the favored by condemning or destroying the
non-favored ‘other.’
But they aren’t the whole of our picture. There are
other pieces that seem quite different. In our passage, Jesus is
trying to prepare his disciples for his approaching death. A few
verses earlier he told them ‘where I am going, you cannot come,
but you will follow afterward.’ As usual, they didn’t understand
what he meant. And, they are worried. Upset. Jesus is trying to
comfort them. ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled.’ We feel the
love as Jesus tries to explain the unexplainable: ‘I go and
prepare a place for you…I will come again and will take you to
myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.’ Promises of
peace, and a future with Christ. But, we can just see that they
still look troubled. They still don’t get it. Thomas states it:
‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the
way?’ Jesus’ next words can comfort us today just as they
comfort the disciples when heard as reassurance that we’re on
way of Jesus: ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one
comes to the Father except through me.’ These are words spoken
in private, spoken to and for the disciples out of love and
caring. With them he was trying to guide those he knew so well
through an impossible time.
The community of John consisted of Jews who, because
they believed Jesus was the Messiah, were being shut out of what
they considered to be their community. They were in the process
of establishing their identity and justifying their own
boundaries, and would struggle to define themselves when Jesus
was no longer there. Being on the outside hurts; Jesus’ words
would comfort them and give them strength. So perhaps we can see
this language through the lens of hurt.
But, in looking at the whole canvas of John’s gospel,
we’re led by images of Jesus not only as the Way, the Truth and
the Life, but also as the good shepherd, and the light of the
world—positive, expansive, embracing images. Surely Jesus’
private language here doesn’t mean to do the very thing that was
causing this community so much hurt. Could Jesus really have
been looking towards an exclusive club for salvation; intending
that they make boundaries that do the very thing that was
causing them so much pain?
There are examples in scripture of God working outside
the boundaries. God visits Hagar in the desert and promises to
make a great nation of Ishmael; Muslims see their beginnings
there. During his life on earth, Jesus reached out in love,
healing and forgiveness to all kinds of people; those who didn’t
believe in him as well as those who did, those outside the
boundaries of his community as well as within. Samaritans—a
group definitely on the outside—are the focus of at least a
couple of Jesus stories.
A doctor who worked in the hospital where I did my
student chaplaincy training last summer was Muslim. She spoke to
us about Islam, so we could better minister to Muslims in the
hospital. As she spoke, it was impossible not to hear God
speaking and acting through her. She was living the Word of God.
She didn’t call it Christ, but she sought the same God we seek.
And—she acted in the world in a way none of us could distinguish
from a Christian understanding of how Jesus showed us to live.
Her love seemed to break down any boundary we might have been
trying to maintain.
Jesus tells us: ‘In my Father’s house there are many
dwelling places.’ Surely this is an image of inclusivity rather
than exclusivity. ‘No one comes to the Father except through
me.’
Does the question have to be whether or not others are
saved? That’s for God to decide, not us.
In struggling with the tension of this message of love
and inclusion and boundaries—we could also seek to redefine our
own community. Not as a way of reassuring ourselves of our place
with God. Not as a way of excluding others, but as defining our
identity by being sure that others really can see Christ here in
us. A community defined by its very expansiveness. If we have
enough of a sense of our own distinctiveness in the positive,
outward reaching love that Christ proclaims, others will be
irresistibly drawn to us and to our vision.
Boundaries and identity are part of our scriptural
canvas. But the frame that holds together the parts is love:
love of God and love of other. The canvas I see is an image rich
in embrace of the other, in healing and reconciliation in God’s
kingdom—both here with us now and in hope of a future with
Christ. Even so, God’s vision is so much greater than what we
can imagine.
In Christ we know the Way, the Truth and the Life.
God’s story continues, and in it there is room for
all creation. Thanks be to God.
.
