A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, March 30, 2008
John 21:15-19
Introduction to Scripture Lessons
Our tradition on this day is to tell the story of the one who doubted. After the Resurrection, we tell the story of Thomas who had to see to believe. This is the story that we remember on this Sunday to remember that we don’t need to see it to believe that it is possible. And yet, Christians have never stopped asking this question.
Over two thousand years of history, we have never stopped asking what it means to love after the Resurrection. We have never stopped wondering what God’s purpose is for us. We are still trying to answer these questions. We are still trying to figure out if it is possible. And so today, we listen to the stories of two Christians that did not see and believe. One denied the Risen One three times. And the other was the Betrayer. Their stories are not easy ones to tell. They are not simple stories – but like the story of Thomas – they are the stories of doubt and possibility.
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GOSPEL OF JUDAS
Translated by Karen King
Chapter 2:10-14, 16-28
10 Jesus said to them, “Do you (really think you) know me – how? 11 Truly I say to you, no race from the people among you will ever know me.”
12 Now when his disciples heard this, [they] became displeased and [became] angry, and to blaspheme against him in their heart. 13 But Jesus perceived their foolishness, 14 [he said] to them, “Why are you letting anger disturb you?
16 Let whoever is [strong] among you humans bring forth the perfect human 17 and stand up to face me.
18 And they all said, “We are strong!” 19 But their spirits did not have the courage to stand up to face him – expect Judas [Is]cariot. 20 He was able to stand up to face him, 21 even though he was not able to look him in the eyes, bu[t] turned his face aside.
22 Judas said to him, “I know who you are and which place you came from – 23 you came from the realm of the immortal Barbelo – 24 but I am not worthy to proclaim the name of the one who sent you.”
25 Then Jesus, recognizing that he perceived even more of such exalted matters, said to him, “Separate from them. 26 I will tell you the mysteries of the kingdom. 27 It is possible for you to reach that place, 28 but you will suffer much grief.
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I know who you are and which place you came from, Judas says. It is not the acclamation we expect from this voice. We don’t expect him to say anything. How could he? We know him only by what he does – that one action that tarnishes our opinion of who he is.
And yet, this account from the Gospel of Judas – a 2nd century text found in a desert cave in Egypt in the 1970s only to be abused by traders before it was finally translated by National Geographic. This account says that there is more to say about this one we know to be Judas. This account of the ministry of Jesus tells a different story than the one we know.
I know who you are and which place you came from, Judas says to Jesus. After the other disciples have insisted that they are strong, Judas proves that he is stronger with these bold words. He is the one that understands what Jesus’ ministry is all about. And so he says in certain faith, I know who you are and which place you came from.
This is his answer to Jesus’ question: Do you (really think you) know me? Jesus doesn’t ask Judas alone. It wasn’t a question asked after Jesus separated Judas from the other disciples to teach him the secrets of the Kingdom. This is a question that is asked to all of the disciples. Of course, the disciples become angry – which Jesus thinks to be a tad foolish.
So, Jesus pushes them. Further. He wants to know why they are angry. He mocks them and tells them that they don’t really know how to be human. The disciples prove Jesus right. They insist they’re strong. They don’t get it. They think they do. But, they don’t. They don’t understand who he is at all. They can’t even understand their own humanity. And so Jesus’ question strikes at their ignorance not only of Jesus but of themselves: Do you (really think you) know me?
It is the same question that Jesus asks the one that denied him three times. Not literally. It’s not exactly the same question. But Jesus hopes for Peter’s understand when he asks him: Do you love me? This is such an important question that he asks Peter three times. It is a question of commitment. It is a question that expresses Jesus’ doubts. He doubts the disciples, Judas, Peter and perhaps even us. In these stories, it is Jesus that doubts.
And perhaps he should. We think that we are certain in our Resurrection faith. We would prefer not to think of ourselves as the one that denied Jesus or the one that betrayed him.
We would rather imagine our ability in echoing Judas’ words: I know who you are and which place you came from. We would have been the one that Jesus separated from the rest of the disciples to learn the secrets of the Kingdom. We would have stood firm like Judas and echoed Peter’s words: Yes Lord, you know that I love you.
This is what Jesus asks of us. This is the only commandment that Jesus gives at the end of the Gospel of John. Unlike in Matthew and Luke, Jesus asks us of only one thing: to love one another as I have loved you. The commitment is not to love enemies but to love one another – which might just be impossible. And yet, theologian and scholar Gail O’Day reminds us with humor and honesty:
There are many circumstances in which it is easier to love one’s enemies than it is to love those with whom one lives, works, and worships day to day… Love for one another is to be the identifying mark of the Christian community in the world. The love Christians are supposed to have for one another will continue the work and presence of Jesus after his death and resurrection.
This is who we are. We are supposed to be the people that not only calm Jesus in his doubts, but each other. Our acclamation to each other is always supposed to be: Yes, you know that I love you.
However, it often sounds a bit more bitter: I know who you are and which place you came from. If we are honest with ourselves about the certainty of our faith and the reality of our interactions in the places that we live, work and worship, I bet that’s probably more accurate.
In fact, I know it’s more accurate for some of you. I heard some of you share these stories during our Lenten study Living in Times of Crisis. Most of the time, for these folks, Jesus has no reason to doubt our commitment to love. Until, well, until they got in their car. Suddenly these nice people that we live, work and worship with – including myself – are speeding, cutting off cars or making particular gestures at other drivers. The bitterness of Judas words might be heard as any of these people push their gas pedal leering at the car in front of them: I know who you are and which place you came from.
National Public Radio commentator Julie Zickefoose might have muttered these very words when she “rounded a blind curve. And he was there. The grill of an oncoming car. The driver’s face a blur.” Her Boston Terrier was next to her in front seat while her two kids and a 10-year old neighbor were giggling in the back. They were heading to her daughter’s softball game. She did the only thing that she could do. She “swerved into the oncoming lane … the lane where he should have been. He never braked. Just kept coming on.”
Can’t you see her screaming at him? I know who you are and which place you came from. However, she didn’t scream at him. She “followed him to do I don’t know what… jump up and down on his car? Introduce [her]self and her kids as the people he had almost annihilated? Grab him by the throat and lift him over [her] head and give a him a few spins with the kids as Greek chorus?” These were thoughts that raced through her head. But, of course, he got away. And yet, the bitterness persists within this NPR Commentator. I know who you are and which place you came from.
She found out his name and learned that he had been arrested six times for drunk driving. And so, she reported him. The police assured her that there was nothing that could be done. No harm had been done to her children or her car. And so, no matter what bitterness might be in her voice, there’s nothing she can do. With a sigh, she must embrace the certain love in these words: I know who you are and which place you came from. Of course, she doesn’t use Judas’ words. She says it in her own: “He’s my neighbor and we share the same road.”
In her own words, Julie Zickfoose echoes Peter’s words: Yes Lord, you know that I love you. With these words, she not only offers her own acclamation. She shows that she is listening for the secrets of the Kingdom. In her own words, this NPR commentator shows that she gets it. Feed my sheep, Jesus said. Tend my sheep. She gets it. This isn’t her enemy that lives near the blind curve. It is one of the sheep.
And if you know anything about sheep, or even about people, you know that “sheep are not fed: they are let out to pasture and led to grazing lands where they may feed themselves.” You have to love them enough to let them go to find their own way. You have to share the road and not judge them. This is how we show our love. Whether we use words from the Gospel of Judas or this NPR commentator, this is how we love. The love on our own lips is as if: “you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.”
To love like this is to go on a ride where you are not the driver. Instead, you find yourself securely fastened in the backseat by loving hands. To love like this is to be surprised that we all share the same road – and no matter what traffic violations we make, we can smile in the rearview mirror to say: I know who you are and which place you came from. This is how we “continue the work and presence of Jesus after his death and resurrection.”