John 14:8-17, 25-27
For our scripture today I chose to go back to a text that was the gospel reading for Pentecost Sunday. We didn’t read it that day—in fact, we often don’t read it because the story of the Day of Pentecost in the Book of Acts is so compelling. But it is a wonderful scripture for Pentecost Sunday, and a wonderful scripture about the power of the Holy Spirit. This is when Jesus tells the disciples that the Spirit, the comforter, will come to them.
It takes place shortly before Jesus dies, and is part of what is called Jesus’ Farewell Discourse. If you look at the chapter before our passage, you will see John’s account of the Last Supper. In fact, the last verse of chapter 13 has Jesus predicting that Peter will deny him three times. And the first verse of our chapter begins, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” It’s a strange follow-up, if you ask me. You’re going to deny me, Peter, but hey, don’t worry about it!
Of course, that is not the point of the passage. Jesus is saying, “In spite of everything that is to come, in spite of your failure, in spite of your doubts and denials, I’m still preparing a place for you. You will still be with me in the life that is to come.”
But our passage for today begins with verse eight. Jesus has just said that if they know him, they know God also. But Philip says to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus replies, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’?
I wish I knew Jesus’ tone of voice in these words. Somehow I don’t hear it as rebuke, but perhaps as frustration, or disappointment, or maybe even a little injury—like how we might feel if a close friend suspected us of something we would never do, or how we feel when our child or spouse can’t see themselves the way we do. How can you not know?
Maybe that’s how I want to hear it because I wonder if God ever asks me that . . . when I wonder where God is in the midst of my turmoil, when I ask for proof of God’s presence, when I question if God can bring good out of a frightening situation . . . does God say, “How can you not know by now?”
But there are so many things we don’t know. The youth at my last church created an anti-bullying project called “In Our Shoes.” Anybody who had been bullied could submit a pair of their shoes, along with a note card telling their story, and then we took the shoes to various venues as an exhibit. There were big shoes and small shoes, stories of mild harassment (though it might have felt large) and shoes submitted by grieving parents whose daughter committed suicide because of bullying.
We led a workshop at the Connecticut Conference Annual Meeting about the project—two adults and three teens. Twenty other people gathered in that classroom—some were concerned Christian folks who had heard about the problem and thought they should learn more about it; some of them were grandparents whose grandchildren were being bullied, and they needed to know that somebody out there was doing something to help. And then there was a young teenage girl and her mother. The mother spoke about how early bullying begins, mentioning an incident that occurred when her daughter was in pre-school. But when the parents of the bullied children came forward, the parents of the child who was bullying the other children threatened to file a “defamation of character” suit because of the accusations. In preschool.
After the mother told us this, the daughter said, “Wait. I want to tell the whole story.” She told of how she and another little girl—just three years olds—were the outsiders at preschool. The other children didn’t like them, wouldn’t play with them, were mean to them. They didn’t know why. Finally one of the children came to her and said, “We don’t like you because you’re black.” Until then she hadn’t realized that she and her friend were the only African-American children in the class. I looked at the mother and suddenly realized that she was hearing this for the first time—her daughter had never told her about this conversation. And the daughter was crying and the mother was crying and most of us were crying as we watched a thirteen year old girl cry over a ten-year-old wound.
At the end of the workshop we sang together Christina Aguiler’s song, “I am beautiful, no matter what they say,” and the girl just cried. As the mother stroked her daughter’s hair, I could almost hear her unspoken words, “How can you not know by now?” How can you not know that you are beautiful? How can you not know that you are loved? How can you not know that you have seen God?
I am reminded of the concept of the word Namaste. Namaste “is a respectful form of greeting in Hindu custom … usually spoken with a slight bow and hands pressed together. In Hinduism it means ‘I bow to the divine in you.’”[1] Others translate it as “The Spirit within me salutes the Spirit in you – knowing that we are all made from the same One Divine Consciousness.” We are made in the image of God—so when we see one another, we see God.
Show us God, and we will be satisfied. But seeing is just the beginning.
After Jesus tells Philip that if he sees Jesus, he sees God, Jesus talks about the works he has done on earth—possibly he means the miracles, the signs, like heal the blind and make the lame to walk; or possibly he means the words he has proclaimed. Either way, then Jesus goes on to make a startling prediction. Verse 12 says:
“Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these.” “The one who believes in me”—that means us—we will do greater works than miraculous healings? Greater works than feeding hungry crowds with a few fish and loaves? Greater works than turning water into wine? How is that possible? Jesus is saying, “I’m going away, but you’re staying here to do the work.” There’s a famous quote that says something like “The miracle isn’t walking on water. The miracle is walking on dry land with love in your heart.” The “greater works” we are called to do is act in love; and the miracles will follow.
In that workshop I mentioned earlier, the one about the anti-bullying project, there was a sixty year old man whose son had committed suicide. His son was a grown man, in despair over a failed marriage, who had slipped into a depression; that’s what led to his tragic choice. But when he was a teenage boy, he was bullied by his older step-brother and his step-brother’s friends. Apparently the bullying went on for years, and was pretty severe. His father never knew. Only years later did the man find out what his son had gone through.
after his son’s death he wondered if the bullying was a contributing factor to the trajectory of his son’s life. More importantly, he wondered if he could have done something—if he should have known—if it was his fault that his son never told him. And so in the workshop he asked why kids don’t tell their parents when they are bullied. But he didn’t ask the adult leaders—he asked the teens who were leading the workshop. The kids explained some of the reasons other kids might not tell their parents. I don’t know if they realized they were giving more than answers. They were offering forgiveness. They were offering redemption to a father who wondered if he was to blame for his son’s death.
I don’t know if he experienced the miracle in the moment, but I saw it in the making. You will do greater works than speak of God. You will offer mercy.
Preacher and writer Tony Campolo tells the story of one of his trips to missionary trips to Haiti.
I came to the little Holiday Inn where I always stay and shower and clean up before I board the plane to go home. I left the taxi and was walking to the entrance of the Holiday Inn when I was intercepted by three girls. I call them girls because the oldest could not have been more than 15. And the one in the middle said, “Mister, for $10 I’ll do anything you want me to do. I’ll do it all night long. Do you know what I mean?”
[Unfortunately] I did know what she meant. I turned to the next one and I said, “What about you, could I have you for $10?” She said yes. I asked the same of the third girl. She tried to mask her contempt for me with a smile but it’s hard to look sexy when you’re 15 and hungry. I said, “I’m in room 210; you be up there in just 10 minutes. I have $30 and I’m going to pay for all three of you to be with me all night long.”
I rushed up to the room, called down to the concierge desk and I said “I want every Walt Disney video that you’ve got in stock.” I called down to the restaurant and said, “Do you still make banana splits in this town, because if you do I want banana splits with extra ice cream, extra everything. I want them delicious, I want them huge, I want four of them!”
The little girls came and the ice cream came and the videos came and we sat at the edge of the bed and we watched the videos and laughed until about one in the morning. That’s when the last of them fell asleep across the bed. And as I saw those little girls stretched out asleep on the bed, I thought to myself, “Nothing’s changed, nothing’s changed. Tomorrow they will be back on the streets selling their little bodies.” … But for one night, for one night [they were] little girls again.
Tony goes on to say: I can’t replicate the power acts of God in Jesus Christ, but every time I perform an act of love in his name, I am imitating Jesus.[2]
You will do greater works than speak of God. You will offer compassion.
On September 9, 1943, Germany occupied the Italian territories, including Greece. Immediately, the German commander ordered all Greek Jews to be assembled for deportation to Poland. The mayor of Zakynthos, Lucas Carrer, was ordered to prepare a list of Jews on the island. Mayor Carrer made the list but before handing it over to the Nazis he went to the local church leader, Bishop Chrysostomos, for counsel. The bishop told the mayor to burn the list. He then went to the German commander and begged him not to deport the Jews. They were law-abiding citizens with the same rights as all other Greeks. The officer was unmoved and insisted on receiving the list of all Jews on the island. Bishop Chrysostomos took out a slip of paper, wrote … on it, and handed it to the German officer. “Here is the list of Jews you required,” he said.[3] The only name on the list was his own.
You will do greater works than speak of God. You will stand up to injustice.
What greater works will you do? What greater works will we do … when we offer our annual ministry of apology at Gay Pride; when we host homeless families, as part of Family Promise, which I spoke about at the congregational meeting last Sunday. What greater works will we do together?
[1] Wikipedia
[2] Campolo, Tony. “Doing Greater Things.” Chicago Sunday Evening Club, October 6, 1996.
[3] Accidental Talmudist