Revelation 19:1-10 · Hallelujah!
Go Meditate!
Revelation 19:1-10
Sermon
by Leonard Sweet
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I love commercials. I watch the Super Bowl for the commercials. I watch TV for the commercials. I read magazines for the ads. I love commercials.

And the more I love a product, the more invested I get in the product's commercials. Take Prego pasta sauce. I love pasta. And I love Prego pasta sauce.

Prego's latest popular tug-at-your-heartstrings TV commercial has already gone through three different incarnations. Prego pasta sauce started out a new commercial series with a sentimental, sepia-colored, sweet invitation for its customers to "bring something nice to the table . . . your family." Freeze-frame photos of beautiful children followed.

The second phase of this ad got a bit more real, but still highly cute. The photos now changed to a home video of a toddler perched in his high chair happily slurping pasta, then dumping the whole bowl on his head. Real and adorable.

The third commercial variation continues to invite customers to bring your family to the table but now the family scene is a free-for-all. Brothers, sisters, mom, dad, grandparents, aunts and uncles, are all gathered around a long table, shouting for bread, salad, pastas, pass this, pass that, food flies through the air and some of it onto plates. It's chaotic and crazy and completely believable. It's the way big family meals really look!

Throughout all these different family images, whether saccharine-sweet or disorderly real, the theme remains the same: the family together at table, sharing what families always try to share, love for each other.

Family love doesn't always look pretty and perfect. Sometimes it's sloppy and messy. Sometimes it's loud and obnoxious. Sometimes family love sounds more like scolding than sentiment. Sometimes family love feels tough instead of tender.

The thing that keeps all families together isn't the right pasta sauce, or lavish Sunday dinners or even complete acceptance and understanding of all that family members say or do. What keeps families together what keeps everyone coming back to the table week after week, year after year is love. The love that stands: stands up, stands by, stands firm, stands out no matter what. Love is what makes and keeps a family, a family.

In today's gospel text Jesus offered his rag-tag band of disciples a key to living life together. As Jesus knew only too well, they were a group that was unruly, unregulated, and largely un-related. Jesus wanted them to transform themselves into a family, into a community of faith, even into the church. His directive is deceptively simple and straightforward: "love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another" (verse 34).

Just love each other.

That's all it takes. Love, like Jesus. Love like Jesus loved.

That is, love each person as a person not as a man or a woman, not as rich or poor, not as pure or sinful, not as cute or curmudgeonly, not as brilliant or slow, not as beautiful or plain, not as whole or damaged, not as obedient or disrespectful, not as loveable or unlovable. All Jesus asks is this: Love one another. Just as I have loved you.

Jesus gave this commandment to his disciples immediately after revealing to them that their time together was almost over. Despite his tremendous love and concern for his disciples, for those he calls his little children, the reality Jesus declared to his followers was that "Where I am going you cannot come" (verse 33). His approaching crucifixion, death, and ascension would mysteriously reveal the divine glory he had incarnated. But Jesus himself would no longer be preaching and teaching and healing in the midst of his disciples.

Jesus' command to "love one another, just as I have loved you" is the way all his disciples continue to experience the Master and his love once he's physically gone from us. Love is the way the Holy Spirit keeps Jesus alive and vital. Love is the way the world learns about Jesus' love.

This new love commandment transformed a hodgepodge of unrelated men and women into a family. But this family isn't called into existence just for its own sake. Jesus' new love commandment is the first directive in the ongoing mission of all disciples. Loving each other as Jesus has loved is the way that all who are disciples become mediators of Christ's love for the world: "By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (verse 35).

Mediation is a hot new career opportunity. More and more often people who are caught up in conflicted relationships husbands and wives, employers and employees, cities and counties are calling on professionally trained mediators instead of high-priced attorneys to help them settle their differences and move beyond them. Mediators are third parties trained in identifying specific problems, negotiation techniques, listening skills, and defusing emotional outbursts. Their goal is to create an atmosphere in which the real issues can be identified and clearly examined. The skills of the mediator make it possible for the free flow of ideas and the expression of genuine needs. A good mediator unclogs the communication between parties and so enables them to hear and respond to the issues of the other.

With his new commandment Jesus is directing all his disciples to become mediators of divine love. To be such a remarkable conduit requires that this divine love already exists within each disciple, within each member of the disciple-community.

But the mediation that Jesus calls us to offer the world differs in one very important aspect. In typical mediation, the third-party brings people together in the middle where both feel safe and secure. In Jesus mediation, we're driven to the edges, to the very margins of sacrificial love, where we lay down our preferences, lay down our rights, so that others may know the meaning of God's love.

The kind of mediation to which God calls his disciples is reflected in this story by homiletics professor Ron Allen. "When I was about eight," he writes, "I was with some neighborhood kids. We were building a dam across a drainage ditch down the block. A new kid came up, looked me full in the face, and cried out, 'That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen!'

"I was crushed. I climbed out of the ditch and ran home into the kitchen, where my mother wrapped my sobbing body in her apron. She mediated God's presence." (As told by Barbara Lundblad, Transforming the Stone: Preaching through Resistance to Change [2001], 32.)

Today is Mother's Day. Is there any better example of what it means to mediate God's love than that of a mother's love a love that sacrifices, that continually lays down, a love that is steadfast and forgiving? It's even been suggested that the first real experience we have of the unique nature of God's love is a mother's love.

Someone has written A Mother's Version of 1 Corinthians 13. (You may want to print this out and have your people read it responsively with you.)

A Mother's Version of 1 Corinthians 13

I can read bedtime stories till the cow jumps over the moon and sing "Ten Little Monkeys" until I want to call the doctor but if I don't have love, I'm as annoying as a ringing phone.

I can chase a naked toddler through the house while cooking dinner and listening to voice mail. I can fix the best cookies and Kool-Aid in the neighborhood, and I can tell a sick child's temperature with one touch of my finger, but if I don't have love, I am nothing.

Love is patient while watching and praying by the front window when it's 30 minutes past curfew.

Love is kind when my teen says, "I hate you!"

It doesn't envy the neighbors' swimming pool or their brand-new mini van, but trusts the Lord to provide every need.

Love doesn't brag when other parents share their disappointments and insecurities, and love rejoices when other families succeed.

It doesn't boast, even when I've multitasked all day long and my husband can't do more than one thing at a time.

Love is not rude when my spouse innocently asks, "What have you done today?"

It doesn't immediately seek after glory when we see talent in our children, but encourages them to get training and make wise choices.

It's not easily angered, even when my 15-year-old acts like the world revolves around him. It doesn't delight in evil (is not self-righteous) when I remind my 17-year-old that he's going 83 in a 55-mph zone, but rejoices in the truth.

Love doesn't give up hope.

It always protects our children's self-esteem and spirit, even while doling out discipline.

It always trusts God to protect our children when we cannot. It always perseveres, through blue nail polish, burps and other bodily functions, rolled eyes and crossed arms, messy rooms and sleep-overs.

Love never fails.

But where there are memories of thousands of diaper changes and painful labor(s), they will fade away.

Where there is talking back, it will (eventually) cease. (Please, Lord?)

Where there's a teenager who thinks he knows everything, there will one day be an adult who knows you did your best.

For we know we fail our children, and we pray they don't end up in therapy, but when we get to heaven, our imperfect parenting will disappear. (Thank you, God!)

When we were children, we needed a parent to love and protect us.

Now that we're parents ourselves, we have a heavenly Father who adores, shelters us, and holds us when we need to cry.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.


Reproduced in Joyful Noiseletter, May 2004. 1 Corinthians 13 for Moms was first printed as The Story of Encouragement, an e-newsletter

ChristianGlobe Networks, Collected Sermons, by Leonard Sweet