Sermons - Pastor Katie Ladd
In Dwelling of God II
5 /01 /05
John 15:14-21
Over the past couple of weeks, my mother and her friend have blessed me with stories about the places in my past I have called home and the people found there. In the telling of these stories, experiences of long ago reach out to touch me with their shadowy fingers. I remember the feeling of power as I raced down the sidewalk on my Big Wheel; running from Skipper Green when he threw snakes at me; feeling the wind in my hair as my mom rode her bicycle with me on the back; concentrating hard to hit a tennis ball that my father lobbed softly over the net; making mud pies with Dana; sitting sullenly in our upstairs hallways as my sister played school with me and, for some odd reason, I was the student in trouble. Through story we find identity. Through the passing on of story we resurrect moments long gone. In the community of sharing these times again with those who lived them, we keep the story going and we move between worlds separated by time and space. The story comes alive. Today we can keep alive the story of redemption and the work of our Christ. Today we can dwell in the presence of God the Creator, the Redeemer, and the Sustainer. Today we hear the stories of long ago that call us into life today and tomorrow, and we eat the meal of remembrance, bringing Christ alive among us just as he was among the disciples 2000 years ago.

Today Jesus and Paul instruct us never to forget that we belong to God and that God dwells in us. “If you love me, then you will keep my words.” Another interpretation reads, “If you have faith in me then you will keep my words.” Jesus is telling his closest allies that he will remain alive and at work even after his impending death if they remain faithful to his mission and open to his presence. “Keep my story going,” he instructs them. “Keep the work going. And, in the midst of your pain, remember this time and, perhaps, it will come alive again, filled with the actual experiences of this day. Remember this last meal, this last Passover meal, and maybe when I’m gone, you will recall how your mouths watered with the sumptuous food, and the air was warm with heated conversation.” Perhaps in the telling and remembering, memory can become real again. Perhaps through our faith in mystery, our continuation of Jesus’ ministry keeps Christ alive in our world. Perhaps the great Comforter can sustain us when we don’t think we can continue. Perhaps… Today we remember that home is not only a place but an attitude. God dwells in me and I dwell in God. God lives in this community and we in God, but never more so than when we tell and live the story.

This passage in John is known as the Farewell Discourse. Jesus knew that he would soon be arrested, tried, and executed. Here at the Passover table, Jesus gives words of instruction and comfort to those closest to him. He offers them all he can to sustain them in his absence, to bolster their faith, and to urge them onward to continue his unfinished ministry.

John gives us Jesus’ last words to his disciples before he is turned over to the authorities. Written after the face, they are also words for a community in despair and worry, unsure of where their leader has gone. Most in John’s community never met Jesus. Most, if not all, of the disciples were dead or gone. The Temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed. Where was Jesus? When was the end-time coming? Time just kept going. Life continued…confusingly and chaotically. Jesus hadn’t returned even when all the signs seemed right. He hadn’t returned and the three days of which he spoke had long ago come and gone. Despair threatened this community – this community that had been built on hope. Here at the Passover table, Jesus and John know of this despair, so Jesus comforts them over and over using different words. He instructs them over and over with different images. And he tells them to love. The same love that emanates from the Creator is revealed in Jesus. The same love that Jesus gave to the world, the disciples were charged to give away wastefully. The same love that brought Jesus to the very instrument of his death invited the Spirit to dwell with us. Love dwells where love is practices. Love is practiced by those who have hope.

Today we are told, just as the disciples were, “If you love me, you will keep my words…They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.” Love.

Last week in worship we explored how God dwells in the created world – in all of nature. This week we are reminded that God dwells in God’s people – in the communities and persons who seek to keep Jesus’ words alive. That God dwells where love is practiced and valued. That God dwells in the stories of love that we tell over and over with the hope that we will live them over and over. That God dwells in love and in communities of love, in people who practice love.

But how could God dwell in the community of the disciples? They continually competed for his affection and praise. They hardly ever understood what he was talking about. And, from time to time, they were known to complain. How could God dwell in John’s community where few, if any, ever met Jesus, as the old ones died, as the expectations of the future remained unmet? How can God dwell with us when we are 2000 years distanced from Jesus, when we let the pettiness of our hearts take over the greatness of our charge, when loving one another can seem an unimaginable task? How can God dwell here?

John tells us Jesus’ answer to that question. “I will not leave you orphaned…I will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever.” This Advocate is the Paraclete – the one coming alongside. Jesus offers words of comfort to those who would not, did not, and cannot today see him. The Spirit comes among us to help us live and love the impossible. Jesus knew that the disciples could not go on alone. John knew that his community could not sustain without the presence of God dwelling with them. Memory alone could not move the community. The church knows today that the Spirit is undeniably necessary for us to be alive. With the Spirit, “we’re not much of nuthin’.” The Spirit is our Advocate, our Helper, the Spirit of Truth (John says), our Comforter, and our Counselor. The Spirit is God’s Sustainer. On our good days, the same Spirit that blew across creation and became the first breath of Adam breathes in us today. That Spirit was found in the flesh – in the person of Jesus at the Passover table, and Jesus tells his disciples that the Spirit, not seen by any, will be known to them because it abides in them and they in it. Because Jesus lives, the disciples live. Because Christ lives, we live. We dwell within one another and find life, love and joy there. The Spirit dwells in me. The Spirit dwells in you. But the Spirit is all the more present between us and among us.

We are called to continue the story of God. Sometimes we do this in the telling of ancient tales. Sometimes we continue the story by walking the path to love and mercy. Sometimes we continue to story through the acceptance of our mission and ministry. Sometimes we continue the story alone, but we continue it better together. Sometimes, like John’s community, we are filled with despair and worry. These things can overwhelm us. Sometime we act out of pettiness and are self-serving. Sometimes we forget the story of redemption and can only see what we want to see or what is put before us. That is why today’s scripture is so perfect as we sit on the cusp between Easter and Pentecost. Jesus tells the disciples that he will not leave them orphaned. We, too, can be assured that the Spirit is here and that it calls us into newness. Through the Spirit, we pass the story on in life and in words, in mission and in ministry, in ritual and in prayer. God dwells in this continuing story, of which we now are a part. Amen.