John 14:15-31 · Jesus Promises the Holy Spirit
Advocate and Redeemer
John 14:23-29
Sermon
by Frank Ramirez
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Imagine the wind rushing through an open door while the roar of the propeller in an aging old Ford Trimotor airplane rattles in your ears. You can smell the smoke from a raging fire hundreds of feet below. You are dressed in thick, padded clothing, wearing an old-fashioned football helmet with a jury-rigged grille in front of your face making it hard to breathe — that is, if it weren't already impossible for you to take a breath because of what is waiting be­yond that open hatch.

In a matter of minutes you will be fighting a greedy forest fire on the ground, but first there's the matter of a little jump you're about to take — in a cast-off parachute! All the good ones are be­ing used by the armed forces overseas in World War II.

Suddenly, your squad leader gives a signal, and no matter what your thoughts or fears, you take a long step forward — into thin air.

Brethren, Mennonites, and Quakers served in Civilian Public Service Camp #103 in Missoula, Montana. By the time the war was over they had helped perfect the craft of smoke jumping: fight­ing remote fires by parachuting into danger. Before the war, the whole idea had been considered a pipe dream. Only crazy people jumped out of airplanes with parachutes. By the time some inside the forest service convinced others the idea was worth trying war had broken out, and the best planes, pilots, jumpers, and parachutes were rightfully going overseas.

Still there were these conscientious objectors who wanted to serve their country, but whose religious principles forbade them from killing. Many of them had not even left the rural towns they'd grown up in, much less ever taken in a ride in a plane. But the volunteers who reported for duty took the work seriously. They considered it a matter of honor to never turn down an assignment. When interviewed they described harrowing adventures, dropping between tall trees in the midst of raging forest fires, ready to com­bat them with shovel, axe, and grit. No one ever refused to make a jump. Their service to their country proved to be essential.

Yet for many years after the war these peacemakers were left out of the official histories of smoke jumping, in part because of prejudice against their conscientious choice. They were literally written out and ignored, as if they had never existed.

It was only years later that the wrong was corrected, when advocates among the smoke jumpers stood up for them and re­stored them to their place in history. Indeed, documentaries and books now pointed with pride at their courage, determination, and contribution to the cause.

In this scripture, Jesus is speaking following the Last Supper about someone he calls the advocate, one who will be there for them. Jesus said that "... the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and re­mind you of all that I have said to you" (v. 26).

Jesus will speak of this advocate, or comforter, several times during this discourse, reminding them that though his departure may seem fearsome, this advocate will not come unless he goes, and will fill them with the spirit of truth.

We all need someone to stand up for us, especially when we are in unfamiliar territory. I'll never forget the time when I was attending seminary in the Chicago area and one of our fellow stu­dents, of Greek extraction, took us into the heart of the Greek part of town. There were no English language newspapers available, and the Greek language was spoken freely in the restaurant we visited, but thanks to Nick we had a wonderful time and felt at home. Over the years I was able to return the favor, receiving guests from around the world in my native Los Angeles and showing them around parts of the city they might never have otherwise seen. We all need an advocate sooner or later.

The concept of the advocate came from the Hebrew goel, the advocate or redeemer. Every family is supposed to have such an advocate or goel, to make things right when it all goes wrong. Boaz was the goel for Naomi and Ruth. Job speaks of the need for a redeemer, or goel, who will restore his reputation. That's why it is a tremendous act of faith when he proclaims, just as it seems that everyone abandons him, "For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God ..." (Job 19:25-26).

The goel redeemer, which in ancient times was the nearest male relative who was responsible for protecting a person's interests when that person was unable to do so, is our spiritual power of attorney.

But we also need a goel in our life here on earth as well. It may be the one in charge of our medical decisions when we can no longer do so. Or it may be that we are the one trusted with that duty. This is what family solidarity is all about, and God is part of that family. God is the ultimate goel.

For the smoke jumpers that redeemer came in the form of later historians who came to recognize the tremendous contributions these contentious objectors made to the science of fighting fire and made sure that in the official histories their exploits are celebrated today.

For Jesus, who is himself a redeemer, his redemption comes when things seem hopeless — in the form of his resurrection. This is the vindication he cried aloud for when he quoted from Psalm 22:1 from the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?" Resurrection rewards those who are faithful even when things seem hopeless.

We who claim Jesus as our goel, our redeemer, must learn to put our trust in that risen Lord and count on him to be our Advo­cate. We must learn to trust the Spirit, too.

It means taking things on faith. The words of Jesus to Believ­ing Thomas are especially pertinent here: "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe" (John 20:29).

It all comes down to trust. You know where the story is head­ing. You get there. Do you believe?

Faith calls for a leap in the dark. It is different than knowledge. I know what part of the sky I can find the moon tonight. I know that my redeemer lives. The same word, "know," is stated with the same certainty, but one is based on scientific knowledge. The other is based on something else instead.

In both Matthew and Mark the word "afraid" is used in the stories surrounding the resurrection. Jesus tells the apostles they must not be afraid in Matthew. The women say nothing to anyone because they're afraid in Mark.

But in John's account fear is not mentioned. Why would any­one be afraid in the face of this wonderful event? What were they afraid of?

Perhaps the new life.

Most of us, even when our hearts are breaking, can handle disaster. We hunker down and absorb our losses. But there is some­thing even more unsettling than catastrophe.

It's what writer J. R. R. Tolkien called "eucatastrophe" — the good cataclysm. In his essay, On Fairy Stories, he wrote, "The Birth of Christ is the eucatastrophe of Man's history. The Resur­rection is the eucatastophe of the story of the Incarnation. This story begins and ends in joy."1

If something good might happen, it requires every ounce of our strength and courage to work to see that it does.

Living with hope can be more difficult than living without it. With the possibility of resurrection we must be ready to make changes in our lives and lifestyle. Faced with the eucatastrophe of resurrection we can no longer be satisfied with mediocrity.

This hope for the kingdom, this hope grounded in the resurrec­tion, can easily lead to personal disaster. The Greek word for "wit­ness" is "matryr." We who witness to Jesus stand a good chance of being ground flat.

The end of the gospel is not the end of the story. He is risen! Will we have a faith in a Christ we have not seen? Will we trust the Messiah's promise that death has been overcome, even at the moment we feel most without hope? Will we live in the kingdom now, playing by kingdom rules?

Sometimes we say we want to live the resurrection. Some­times we want to stand tall in a world that has given itself over to doom and death. That's where it is important that we allow our redeemer, our goel, our advocate and comforter, to stand alongside us and give us the courage we need.

Remember, even though it looks like nothing is happening, things are moving at a very swift speed toward something dark, then something very, very good.

Bulbs planted last autumn are hidden all winter, but even when things are at their darkest and coldest already the stem is pushing through the cold, hard earth toward the light of the sun. Flowers are on the way. The hills are barren, but bare trees are just about to burst into blossom. The landscape looks calm, unmoving, but the planet is spinning while careening around the sun that is fly­ing across space around a ravenous black hole at the center of the galaxy, which is circling other galaxies in a mad dash away from everything.

When Jesus turns his face toward Jerusalem we take a deep breath. Everyone wonders why Jesus appears to be doing nothing but the die is already cast. There will be a sudden mad plunge past the foot washing in the upper room toward the cross, the grave, and beyond to an empty tomb and a risen Lord.

Our redeemer lives. It was just as true when Job said it while mired in the depths of mystery and despair. It's just as true now. Our redeemer lives. Politics change and so do policies. Empires come and go. But these three things are sure — Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.

Our redeemer lives not only as a risen Lord, but in a risen people, living the life of a resurrected people, speaking the truth to power, living the life of the upside-down kingdom of Jesus Christ. Our redeemer lives in the faithfulness of God's people, in our shared past.

Now let us take a deep breath as well — the church needs to fill her heart with courage, because we know that our redeemer lives. The world can't see our risen Lord. It may seem like the kingdom isn't happening just yet. It may not happen just yet, or anytime soon, which doesn't mean it's not going to happen. It only has to happen once. Statistics are no help here. Do we have the faith of Job, the faith of the Believing Thomas, the faith of the disciples — the faith of Jesus as he prepared, saying farewell to his disciples, to willingly go toward the cross? Can we share the faith that we shall be vindicated in the flesh or beyond the flesh? That's what Jesus is asking us to do.

There is a place where our innocence, our expectations, our hope, is vindicated. Heaven and earth will pass away, but God's word will not pass away. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our Lord endures forever! Amen.

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1. J. R. R. Tolkien, On Fairy Stories in The Monster and the Critics and Other Essays (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1983), p. 156.

CSS Publishing Company, Sermons for Sundays in Lent and Easter: You Are Here! , by Frank Ramirez