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John 14:22-31
A Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Easter
The universal sign of Christian faith and Christian people is the cross, and rightly so because it is only through the cross that we know what sin is, and it is only through the cross that we know about salvation. “It is finished” (John 19:30) through the cross.
It comes to us in Baptism. And we wonder: Does it work? How does it work?
We have the idea that Baptism is like a kick start. It’s like how you would kick start a motorcycle, but then you have to drive it and make it happen. Surely, we have to do something today to make it real, to make it work.
The common way of talking about this is to say there is the gift and the task. There is justification and there is sanctification. The idea is that it has to transform you and change you. The common word for describing that is “discipleship.”
Discipleship programs are often built on the premise that there is something we must do to make it work, and the discipleship program is designed to show us the way.
There are many discipleship programs today. There’s the Alpha program, The Purpose-Driven Life. There’s Emotionally Healthy Discipleship: Moving from Shallow Christianity to Deep Transformation. There’s The Intentional Father and The Well-Watered Woman, Family Discipleship Blueprint. The list goes on and on.
The goal of discipleship programs is that we should be transformed, and it should show. There are steps and stages for what this is about. A certain amount of praying, a certain amount of Bible reading, a certain amount of social concern, a certain amount of church attendance, and a certain amount of giving.
After all, it says in Romans 12:2: “Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed.” What do we say to all this? How does this work out in New Testament terms?
Let’s look at several of the major passages that deal with this:
First, 1 Corinthians 13, the “Love Chapter.” Many couples ask for this text to be read at their wedding:
“Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in the wrong but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”
The problem is that this kind of love never happens, except with our Lord himself. Never happens.
Second, there’s the Sermon on the Mount, the Beatitudes, etc. in Matthew 5-7. Those chapters present quite a discipleship program. You know how it goes: If you have two coats and somebody asks for one, give him your other coat. And if somebody asks you to go a mile, you go two miles. If somebody asks you to borrow money, you open your checkbook.
It’s important to remember how the famous Russian author Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910), took the Sermon on the Mount as his motto and goal. He had made a fortune, and he decided to set up a community where people could live together in Christian love, according to the Sermon on the Mount. And so, he did. But the love didn’t last long. What happened is what always happens. That way of living together punished those who were productive and rewarded those who were lazy. It didn’t work.
And what about the Biblical command: “Love your enemies”? What about that? Luther has something to say about that:
“If anyone attempted to rule the world by the gospel and to abolish all temporal law and sword on the plea that all are baptized and Christian, and that, according to the gospel, there shall be among them no law or sword—or need for either—pray tell me, friend, what would he be doing? He would be loosening the ropes and chains of the savage wild beasts and letting them bit and mangle everyone, meanwhile insisting that they were harmless, tame, and gentle creatures, but I would have the proof in my wounds” (LW 45:91).
Again, it doesn’t work. Being kind to the cruel is being cruel to the kind.
Third, in Matthew, Mark, and Luke there is the Great Commandment, summing up the law, which says: “You are to love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength—and your neighbor as yourself.”
In our gospel text for today from John, it says something very much like that: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
Remember that’s all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind. This is like the Sermon on the Mount: “Be ye perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48).
Well, good luck with that. It can’t be done. It isn’t done. No way. No how.
Note as well that it doesn’t say: “Do the best you can.” It also doesn’t say: “It doesn’t matter what you do.”
How then do we sort this out?
We go back to our base. To the cross. Only in the cross do we know what sin is, a problem so serious that only God could handle it, defeat it. And only through the cross are we freed from sin, death, the evil one. And it is all done.
The Lutheran way of talking about this is to say that we are simultaneously totally sinful and totally saved. It is not that I am a little bit saved, and I have to pump it up, make it happen, make it real. Rather, I am covered, clothed in his perfect righteousness, totally saved.
At the same time, I’m totally a sinner because I’m this side of the grave, and in this life, even our best works are riddled with sin. As it says in Isaiah 64:6: “All our righteous deeds are filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6). Sin is not a little problem here, a problem there; it’s a massive corruption, even more than we think, and the only way we know this true is that it took the cross to solve the problem.
Romans 10:4 it says: “Christ is the end of the law.” Before Christ the law was our tutor, our guardian. But now the time of the law is over. Christ is the end of it. In him we are free, free to use the law for its proper purpose—to restrain evil and care for this world using the best wisdom we can muster.
And that’s not a pious game in which we say: Christ is the end of the law so let us throw the law out the front door, but then sneak it in the back door, as if to say: God loves you, but you jolly well better believe, toe the line, and be grateful, or you’re not going to make it.
The promise of Baptism is different; its message is how he does it all: “If we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his” (Romans 6:5).
As Luther wrote: “The law says ‘do this,’ and it is never done. Grace says, ‘believe in this,’ and everything is already done.” (LW 31:56).
We might misunderstand this and think “Believe in this” is “a work” we have to do to make it work. But that’s not the case. Faith itself is given in Baptism and also the forgiveness of sins, redemption from death and the devil, and eternal life, as Luther writes in the Small Catechism. No steps and stages. Not a kick start, and now it’s up to you to make it real, make it work.
We are reminded of what Luther (and for that matter Paul) did for us, how he was honest about the Christian life. He was honest and he knew the message was: “Do the best you can.” And it also doesn’t say: “It doesn’t matter what you do.”
Rather, Luther: “The Christian is a perfectly free Lord of all, subject to none; a Christian is a dutiful servant of all, subject to all” (LW 31:344).
Luther cautioned us about the temptations of falling into the ditch of spiritual pride (we are building the kingdom of God) and the ditch of spiritual despair (everything we do is useless).
We get right by returning every day to our Baptism because that’s where the cross is done to us, and that’s what we’re based on.
What, then, do we do with all these Bible passages like John 13:35: “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” And John 14:15: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments”?
Again, it doesn’t happen. Not in our lives and not in the whole history of the church.
What we do is we keep going back to our base, to the cross and to our status as those who have been baptized into him. There to keep what it is about.
And that doesn’t mean what Luther called “humility piety.” Assuming a humble posture. The idea that if we can’t be saved by works, we can at least make it by humbling ourselves enough. If that were the case, then being humble would itself become a good work.
Rather, the Lord humbles us. The cross humbles us. It is our condemnation, as well as our salvation. It is judgment against us and mercy for us.
That means we are free to be ourselves and we can be honest because we know where we stand—empty-handed at the foot of the cross. There our burdens are lifted. “If the Son makes you free, you are free indeed” (John 8:36).
Jesus means freedom. Amen