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John 14:15-31 · Jesus Promises the Holy Spirit
Good Old What’s-His-Name
John 14:15-31
Sermon
by Donald B. Strobe
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In the fifth century, St.  Jerome called the apostle we are considering in this sermon “Trinomius,” which means “the man with three names.” In Mark he is called Thaddeus (3:18), in Matthew he is called Thaddeus or Lebbaeus (10:3), and in Luke he is called Judas, the son of James (Luke 6:16; Acts 1:13).  If the Gospels cannot agree on this man’s name, how can we ever hope to get it straight?  Well, I have recently read an advertisement from one of those sheets which fall out of the Sunday newspaper, an advertisement for a “14K gold microned” Religious Keepsake Watch, with “Genuine Leather-Backed Strap.” It is only $8.88 and, instead of having the twelve hours on its face, it has a picture of Jesus—sort of like on a “Mickey Mouse” watch—and it has the twelve apostles instead of the twelve hours.  Nine o’clock is listed as “Jude,” a form of Judas.  That settles the question.  Or does it?  Perhaps the manufacturers chose “Jude” because it fit in the space provided for nine o’clock.  I doubt whether they had the advantage of any advanced Biblical scholarship.  I have not ordered the watch.  I tend to agree with the nineteenth-century French social philosopher Alexis de Tocqueville who, after visiting our shores, once said, “Religious insanity is very common in the United States.” And I remember that H.  L.  Mencken once said, “Nobody ever went broke overestimating the bad taste of the American public.”

Whereas Bartholomew had no name, this apostle had too many!  So I have chosen to call him “Good old What’s-his-name.” Perhaps you have heard the whimsical saying, “I never will forget good old What’s-his-name.” Well, the apostle we are considering in this chapter is representative of all those who appear briefly on the pages of the Bible and human history, make their contribution, and then disappear into the mists of history. 

I.  WHAT LITTLE WE KNOW ABOUT THIS MAN!  In the first three Gospels no word or deed of Thaddeus (or whatever his name was) is recorded.  But in the fourth Gospel he appears under the name “Judas, not Iscariot.” As we have seen when we considered the other more infamous Judas, Judas was a good name—until Judas the Betrayer besmirched it.  So it is understandable that the Gospel writer should make emphatic note that this other Judas was not Judas Iscariot. 

At the Last Supper Jesus told His students that He was going away.  They were puzzled.  He mentioned His coming death, and Peter was quick to jump in with his pompous declaration that he would go to die with Him!  Jesus replied by predicting Peter’s denial.  Thomas told Jesus he did not know where He was going, and didn’t know the way.  Jesus replied, “I am the Way....” Philip, you remember said, “Lord, show us the Father and we will be satisfied.” Jesus told him, “Have I been so long with you, Philip, and have you not known me?  The one who has seen me has seen the Father.” He then gave them (and us) that immortal promise: “Because I live, you shall live also.” Jude (or Thaddeus, or Lebbaeus, good old what’s-his-name) was still puzzled.  “Judas (not Iscariot) said to him, ‘Lord, how is it that you will manifest yourself to us, and not to the world?’” (Matthew 14:22)

He may have meant, “Lord, how on earth will you do it?  How can you show yourself to us and yet be hidden to the world?” Or he may have meant, “What do you mean?  What purpose would be served by showing yourself to us and not to the world?” A strong tradition suggests that this man, too, was tinged with Zealot sympathies.  He was still looking for a visible kingdom of God on earth, led by Jesus, who would slay His foes and lift high His friends, and he hoped to be one of the Twelve who would sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.  (Cf.  Matthew 19:28) But Jesus’ answer caught this fellow off guard, and may well be taken as a rebuke to his violent Zealot sympathies.  Jesus said to him, “If a man loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.  He who does not love me does not keep my words; and the word which you hear is not mine, but the Father’s who sent me.” (John 14:22-24)

In order to resolve my confusion about this fellow’s name, I looked him up in my trusty Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible.  It said: “Thaddeus: See Judas.” Thanks a lot.  There are some ten Judases in the Bible.  But I also learned that the name Thaddeus may mean “Great Heart.” In Biblical times names were given to correspond to a person’s nature.  (That is why Moses was so concerned about getting God’s name right in Exodus, Chapter 3.) The name Jacob means “the supplanter,” Israel means “One who strives with God,” David, “the beloved,” Andrew means “brave,” Peter, the “rock,” etc.  And in the Book of Revelation, when John talks about those who have been redeemed, he adds that Christ said, “I will write upon them my new name.”

Jude is the same as Judas, named after great Judas Maccabee, Israel’s warrior-king.  Lebbaeus means “courageous, hearty.” Thaddeus means “lively, vivacious, great-hearted.” This may give us a clue to the personality of this shadowy figure in the background in the New Testament.  He was evidently one of those people referred to in the poem by Ralph Spaulding Cushman: “There are two kinds of people, you know them,/ As you journey along on life’s track,/ The ones who take all of your strength from you, and the others who put it all back.”

So this last of the original twelve we are considering was a man who had three names!  What shall we make of that? 

II.  IT OCCURS TO ME THAT GOD, TOO, HAS THREE NAMES!  We have heard the distinctively Christian way of speaking of God for so long that perhaps we have come to take it for granted, but it is really a remarkable statement of faith.  We talk of God as “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” This is not merely theological mumbo-jumbo designed by theologians to confuse and befuddle the unwary layperson.  It refers to the Christian’s concrete experiences of God at work in human history.  And it does not need to be as confusing as it sounds.  Recall that the symbol for the Holy Spirit is a descending dove.  British mystery writer Dorothy Sayers, in one of her books, told of the Oriental gentleman who saw this symbol and said: “Honorable Father very good; Honorable Son very good; Honorable bird I don’t understand at all!” He’s not alone.  The Trinity, however, does not refer to three different gods, but three different aspects of the one God, three different ways of experiencing God: God is Creator, Redeemer, and Spirit within. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” That is the language used by all Christians, everywhere in the world, to baptize their children, marry their spouses, bury their dead, and celebrate their faith.  The late Episcopal Bishop James Pike liked to say shocking things to get people’s attention.  Once he said, “Muslims have one God and three wives; Christians have three gods and one wife.” In this case, Pike was off the mark.  According to the Koran, Muslims may have four wives...and no responsible Christian has ever understood the Trinity to be three gods.  The Trinity refers to our experience of God in three different ways.  My point is that just like one of the apostles may have had three names, so also our Christian God has three names.  The name I like best for this apostle is “Thaddeus:” Thaddeus, the “great-hearted” one. 

III.  THERE IS A FASCINATING LEGEND ABOUT THADDEUS.  Thaddeus is connected with one of the loveliest legends in the early Church.  It is preserved by both Eusebius and Jerome.  This legend tells of a correspondence between Jesus and a man named Abgarus, King of Edessa, which was a city in Northern Mesopotamia near the Euphrates, perhaps now a part of southern Russia.  Eusebius claims to have seen this correspondence in the archives and public registers of Edessa and to have translated it himself from the Syriac language.  It begins with a letter from Abgarus to Jesus.  The letter says: “Abgarus, ruler of Edessa, to Jesus the excellent Saviour who has appeared in the country of Jerusalem, greeting.  I have heard the reports of thee and of thy cures as performed by thee without medicine and without herbs.  For it is said that thou makest the blind to see and the lame to walk, that thou cleansest lepers and casteth out impure spirits and demons, and that thou healest those afflicted with lingering disease, and raisest the dead.  And having heard all these things concerning thee, I have concluded that one of two things must be true: either, thou art God, and having come down from heaven thou doest these things, or else thou who doest these things art the Son of God.  I have therefore written to thee to ask thee that thou wouldst take the trouble to come to me and heal the disease which I have.  For I have heard that (enemies) are murmuring against thee and are plotting to injure thee.  But I have a very small yet noble city which is big enough for us both.”

According to the ancient legend, Jesus’ reply to Abgarus goes this way: “Blessed art thou who hast believed in me without having seen me.  For it is written concerning me that they who have seen me will not believe in me, and that they who have not seen me will believe and be saved.  But in regard to what thou hast written to me, that I should come to thee, it is necessary for me to fulfill all things here for which I have been sent, and after I have fulfilled them thus to be taken up again to him that sent me.  But after I have been taken up I will send to thee one of my disciples, that he may heal thy disease, and give life to thee and thine.” (William Barclay, THE MASTER’S MEN, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1959, p.  121-122)

And guess who was sent: Good old “what’s-his-name.” Thaddeus, the Great Hearted.  That’s the way Christ gets His work done.  “After I am taken up I will send to thee one of my disciples.” Disciple means “student.” “Apostle” means “one sent with a message to deliver.” That’s the way God usually gets things done in this world—through persons.  Someone once said that the best way to communicate an idea is to wrap it up and send it in a person.  That’s what God did when he sent Christ into the world.  But Christ sent others, called “apostles,” “ones with a message to deliver.”

And you and I have a message to deliver.  Each of us, like the travelers in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, has a story to tell, and it is our business to know and to tell that story.  Our world is only one generation from paganism.  If we, and others like us, do not care enough about the Gospel to tell it to those who come after us, there will soon be no gospel to teach.  That’s the way God usually works: through persons whose lives touch other persons.  When God wanted the Gentile world to hear the good news, he sent the apostle Paul.  When God wanted a Reformation in the Church, He sent Martin Luther.  When He wanted a revival in the Church of England, He sent John Wesley.  Perhaps God is just waiting to send you to go someplace where only you can go with the good news.  The legend of Abgarus and Thaddeus is a lovely legend, and a fitting place for us to end our consideration of the Twelve Apostles—for it was their calling (and ours) to know Jesus, and then to carry that knowledge out to the furthest ends of the earth. 

I read of an interesting Parent-Teacher meeting in Fort Worth, Texas, awhile back.  It seems that James Bailey is the Superintendent of the Fort Worth schools, and during this meeting he tried to emphasize his openness and accessibility.  He told the audience that he would be pleased to speak with them any hour of the day or night.  “In fact,” said he, “here’s my telephone number...” and proceeded to recite it.  There was a sudden outcry from Assistant Superintendent Joe Ross.  “Hey,” he said, “That’s my telephone number!” Bailey was just having some fun with his assistant superintendent, but isn’t it true that when God wants something done, most of us really hope that He will call somebody else’s number?  Mother Teresa, or the Pope, or Billy Graham, or at least the pastor.  But God has got our number and, upon occasion, He does call each of us.  We, too, are “apostles,” sent with a message to deliver. 

There is a familiar poem by Annie Johnston Flint (1862-1932) which says it well:

Christ has no hands but our hands to do His work today;

He has no feet but our feet to lead men in His way;

He has no tongue but our tongues to tell men how He died;

He has no help but our help to bring them to His side. 

We are the only Bible the careless world will read;

We are the sinner’s gospel, we are the scoffer’s creed;

We are the Lord’s last message given in deed and word

What if the line is crooked?  What if the type is blurred? 

What if our hands are busy with other work than His? 

What if our feet are walking where sin’s allurement is? 

What if our tongues are speaking of things His lips would spurn? 

How can we hope to help Him unless from him we learn? 

How, indeed?  Amen. 

Dynamic Preaching, Collected Words, by Donald B. Strobe