John 14:15-31 · Jesus Promises the Holy Spirit
The Sixth Sunday of Easter
John 14:15-31
Sermon
by Kendall McCabe
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"Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile," the weary black slave would sing to the hot southern night, giving expression to the condition of having been taken from home and family and subjected to the power of death. Although none of us has known the bitterness of that dehumanizing experience, the sung lament has surely expressed our own agony of soul from time to time, as we confront isolation and alienation and the world becomes too much with us.

"The dark night of the soul" is a fact of the religious life; the sense of the absence of God is as real as the divine presence. Those who use the Psalms as a daily part of their spiritual diet cannot but be impressed by the alternating sense of the presence and absence of God occurring there. St. John of the Cross makes it clear that the sense of God's absence is even important for us if we are to mature in Christian life and faith. So if we assume that having made a Christian profession will protect us from times of doubt, loneliness, unhappiness, we have a naive view of the way God works in the lives of women and men.

Jesus is quite forthright in today's Gospel as he speaks to the disciples at the Last Supper. He tells them he is to die, he has to leave them. He does not deny the hard facts of the case. But even as he describes their condition without him, he is assuring them it is only temporary. "I will not leave you desolate; I will come to you." Another, and perhaps better, translation is, "I will not leave you orphans; I come to you."

Orphans. Not a popular word. We don't even hear it very much anymore in a society that is supposed to care as much for its people as ours is. As long as there is one press agent left to be employed by governments in their department of neologisms and circumlocutions, we will try to avoid the fact that orphans exist in our country or that we are involved in creating them in other nations around the world. It makes it difficult for the church. Trying to proclaim the Good News to orphans when the world is insisting orphans don't exist!

But we know they do, you and I.

And they show up in the darndest places. Often you can tell them by the look in their eyes.

There is the fifty-year-old steelworker in Pennsylvania who has been laid off and the plant is closing. Too old to get another job, they say. Not worth the expense of re-training, they say. There he is in the unemployment line, wondering what will happen when his time runs out. Is there anyone to say, "I will not leave you an orphan"?

Here is a young woman who expresses her sense of call to the ordained ministry of her denomination. But she is told the time is still not right, there will be no openings in local churches, the weight of male theological opinion questions seriously the validity of her call. There are, after all, lots of things to do in the church if she really wants to be of service; she doesn't have to be ordained. So she remains discontentedly content with being an ecclesiastical Cinderella. While few voices are raised with the assurance, "We will not leave you an orphan."

And on the hospital bed in the isolation ward is the young man with AIDS. It's hard even to find hospital staff who will agree to empty the wastebasket in the room unless they are dressed for a moonwalk. Now that his business associates and fellow church members learned he was "that way," he doesn't have to be worried by too many visitors. Who is there to tell him he will not be left an orphan?

The good news, of course, is it is our job, yours and mine. It comes with our baptism. Empowered by the Spirit, we are the way Christ makes his presence known and his comfort felt. Even in the moment of being orphans, Christ is coming to us. We know his absence that we may rejoice in his presence.

Christ comes to us in the power of the Holy Spirit. Jesus tells the disciples it is necessary that he leave them so the Spirit will be with them. His localized presence, available to only a few at a time, must be sacrificed so, in the Spirit, he can be available to all believers in every time and place. Our fellowship with Christ has taken a new form after the resurrection. We now "behold" Christ with the eye of faith which is given to us by the Holy Spirit.

Christ comes to us also through the reading of Scripture and the preaching of the Word. When we gather, even two or three of us, in his name to rehearse his story and make it our own, he is in the midst of us. Perhaps it doesn't seem appropriate for me as a preacher to tell you how important my job is, but I must witness to my own experience of the power of Christ to use preaching to change lives. It is not my own ability or that of any other preacher I am talking about; it is the power of the presence of Christ working through even the weakest of his servants. Paul expressed it for all time when he said we have this treasure in earthen vessels, clay pots. I can well recall those times when I have been so pleased with my sermon I could scarcely wait to get to the back door in order to be told how brilliant, witty, moving, insightful, or whatever the sermon was. People would pass by me with a shake of the hand and never once would the sermon be mentioned. I suppose the Lord figured if I were pleased with it I had had my reward. On the other Sundays I have felt miserable after preaching, realizing how wholly inadequate my treatment of a text had been and how I had failed to measure up to the grandeur of the Gospel. Often then, either at the door or in notes or calls during the week, people will comment about how something I said ministered to them in a particular way. Surely every preacher has had the experience of being told years later about a sermon that meant so much to someone at the time it was preached, and the preacher will have no recollection of it at all. All of this, of course, is not to excuse bad preaching or poorly prepared preaching, but it is to say the power of the presence of Christ is there in the reading of the Scripture and the preaching of the Word. We are not left orphans.

And, as the early church soon discovered in those days after the resurrection, our Lord is with us in the breaking of the bread, the holy communion, the Lord's Supper, the Eucharist, the Mass - whatever Christians have chosen to call it down through the centuries - he is faithfully there according to his promise. I can never understand why persons from some traditions say they do not want to partake of the Lord's Supper too often or it will lose its meaning. That's like saying if you drink orange juice every day the vitamin C won't work! We do not give meaning to the Lord's Supper; the Lord does. It is Jesus who says to "do this as often ..." His presence does not depend upon what we think about the celebration, but upon what Christ has promised to do within it, and to be present as we remember, re-call, re-present him again. That is why the Lord's Supper is essentially Eucharist, thanksgiving. It is because we are able to share the presence of our Lord once more. It became the weekly event in the church's life from the earliest days as the faithful met for prayer, to hear the teaching of the apostles, and to break bread. It is an occasion of joy to meet with the risen Christ; it is not merely a memorial service to lay a wreath at Jesus' tomb. How can we be tired of the Lord's Supper and say it loses its meaning without implying we are tired of the Lord and he loses his meaning for us?

The church is not left an orphan by Christ. He comes to us faithfully in the power of the Spirit, in the reading and preaching of the Word, and in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup. I also believe Christ comes to us and to one another through each other. That is part of what it means to be baptized into Christ. We share in his ministry. Christ seeks to come to all the world through us until no one feels orphaned or alone. Wherever one soul is softly moaning, "Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile," Christ desires to be, and he calls upon us to help him get there: to the unemployed and desperate, to the rejected and oppressed, to the feared and misunderstood, to your partner in the pew, and to your neighbor down the street. Christ, broken in the bread and present in our midst, challenges us to be broken and shared, as the sacrament of God's faithfulness and generosity to a world in need. We are not orphans before God. And no one need be.

CSS Publishing Company, Path of the Phoenix, by Kendall McCabe