Easter 4 C: The Electing Word
Dear Partner in Preaching,
I don’t usually start this letter, or my sermons, by calling to mind theological controversies, but I will make an exception in this case. Why? Because there is something deeply dissatisfying with this exchange between Jesus and his questioners.
Just a quick contextual note to remind us where we are in John’s distinct narrative. After healing the man born blind in chapter 9, Jesus goes on to interpret that sign (John’s intentional naming of what we often call a miracle) across the first two-thirds of chapter 10 in what is often referred to as the “good shepherd discourse.” In these verses, Jesus describes himself as the good shepherd, the One sent to lay down his life for the sheep to protect them from the robbers and bandits and grant them abundant life. In the passage, Jesus again engages in a debate with those around him, this time with the portico of Solomon – the place from which the kings of Israel would render judgment – as a backdrop. We don’t know how much time has elapsed between conversations, but given the continuity of the shepherd imagery, I would guess that it’s not too much later and that the folks with whom he’s in conversation are his usual interlocutors.
The conversation initially seems straight forward enough, even promising, as those questioning Jesus ask plainly and simply, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” Jesus, however, doesn’t seem to see it that way. Indeed, he doesn’t seem to believe their sincerity at all: “I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep.”
And here, quite frankly, is where I grow frustrated, as it seems like this whole thing is something of a set up. What does Jesus mean that they don’t believe because they aren’t his sheep? That makes it sound like it’s not up to them. Like they couldn’t believe if they wanted to. Like those who do believe are just lucky – they’re Jesus’ sheep. And those who don’t aren’t.
Do you see what I mean? There’s something terribly uncomfortable about this whole matter of who believes and who doesn’t believe – and why – across the Fourth Gospel. And, of course, it’s not just John’s Gospel that is vexing, as this has been a persistent question across the ages in the Christian tradition. What is the nature of belief? How much of our belief is dependent on God’s agency, and how much is up to us? If we have no say in our belief – we’re either sheep or we’re not – then what responsibility can we bear for that belief? And if it’s all up to us, all a matter of the will, then given how many poor choices we make, how can we ever be assured we’ve made a satisfactory choice when it comes to faith?
Numerous theologians have grappled with these questions, and most of their answers have been placed in one of two camps. One the one side, often represented by John Calvin, are those who stress the supremacy of God’s action above all. This position is often described with the term predestination because it holds that God in God’s infinite wisdom and justice determines from before the foundations of time who will believe and who will not and therefore the eternal destiny of all. The other side, represented by figures like Pelagius and Jacob Arminius, tend to make more room for the human will, attributing grace to God but inviting human responsibility for belief and, ultimately, salvation. This, then, is the theological debate that came to mind when reading John’s Gospel this week.
Truth be told, however, I’ve never found these debates all that helpful. For no matter how thoroughly I follow them, I can’t ultimately resolve the tension in the questions named above. And maybe that’s revealing. Maybe, that is, the point of theology isn’t to resolve the tensions inherent in the life of faith, but rather to help us ask better questions.
Look, I know that’s not all that satisfying. But here’s the thing: the generation of Christians coming of age isn’t particularly interested in the pre-packaged answers theologians of the past offer them. They are seeking an actual relationship with God, they want a genuine encounter with the divine, they hope for an experience of grace. So perhaps this week, Dear Partner, we can invite folks to name their questions about faith, their curiosity about God, their wonderment over various dimensions of their life in this world, and instead of using the theology we learned in seminary to provide answers simply remind our people that when they ask these questions they are actually doing theology and are in very good company. Theology, in other words, is no more or less than the activity of seeking to know, experience, and understand God rather than passively receiving the wisdom of another era, and it’s our job to invite our people to be theologians.
All of which makes me think that perhaps after wrestling with my questions about the nature of faith, I can then set them aside for a moment and live with the tension they create in order to hear the words of promise Jesus offers, the promise that is at the heart of this passage and, indeed, the whole Gospel: “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand.”
This word, Dear Partner – that God will not abandon us, that Jesus will hold on to us through all things, that God will never, ever let us go – needs to be spoken and heard this Sunday. To the child afraid for her safety at home, to the spouse victimized by domestic violence, to the college student who wonders whether there will be any jobs after graduation, to the person fearful of being stopped by police because of his skin color, to the police officer who never knows what will happen when he arrives on the scene, to the mid career person afraid of losing her career, to the retiree with no idea of what to do absent a career, to the one mired in grief at the lost of a beloved spouse, to the person shattered by the disintegration of a relationship…. There are so many times, Dear Partner, when life conspires to make us feel unsafe and unworthy and it is our job to proclaim in the face of these harsh realities the even greater reality of God’s undying, unconditional, and unyielding love. “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. No one will snatch them out of my hand.”
One last appeal to theology, not to relieve the tension of our lives of faith but to name it and help us to name it and, indeed, live into that tension. Martin Luther is often counted among those who favor predestination. Given his debate over the relative bondage or freedom of the will, I can understand the predilection. But I nevertheless think that is a misreading of Luther. For Luther was, above all things, a realist, and he felt that the job of the theologian was to call a thing what it is, to deal with the reality in front of you, the reality of sin and the reality of grace. And so also, I suspect, frustrated by metaphysical questions and answers about “ultimate things” that could make us miss the actual activity of God right in front of us, Luther advocated neither predestination nor free will but rather talked about God’s election. The difference, for Luther, was that election was not concerned with things God may or may not have done eons ago, but rather named a present-tense reality: God’s immediate and ongoing decision to choose us, to love us, to save us. And whenever preachers proclaim God’s promises, Luther believed, God once again arrives on the scene to elect people to abundant life.
So preach God’s electing word this week, Dear Partner. Tell your people that no matter how crazy or difficulty or stressful or scary their lives are, nevertheless God chooses them, loves them, accompanies them, and will hold onto them through all of life and even through death into the new life God offers them and all of us. It’s an awesome task to proclaim such a word, Dear Partner, and I am so grateful you are willing to do it. Blessings on your proclamation.
Yours in Christ,
David
Thank you for providing inspiration week after week.
I echo the thanks for your weekly insights. This week, I particularly like your boldly naming the “difficult(y), stressful or scary,” parts of life – something a population with immediate health concerns (a population I serve) is familiar with. So important to be reminder of God’s presence in every situation.
Thank you once again!!
something that occurs to me from time to time is that when the Jewish authorities were “blind” or not allowed to understand, it may have had less to do with salvation and more to do with the trajectory of the faith. If the religious leaders of the time had embraced the message, may it have only been an evolution within the one faith, based on genetic connection (following through the mother’s line) – by blocking their understanding, it seems, it allowed this way of following and understanding God to burst out into the world, instead of remaining in one nation / faith.
” ‘There are so many times, Dear Partner, when life conspires to make us feel unsafe and unworthy and it is our job to proclaim in the face of these harsh realities the even greater reality of God’s undying, unconditional, and unyielding love. “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. No one will snatch them out of my hand.”'”
My distress is how to proclaim that word to the people you name (the victim of domestic violence, etc.) and make it meaningful to them. A person who has lost her job and hears that Jesus still cares for her might wonder how Jesus can help her find another job. Or what Jesus’ love really means for her. I find myself feeling quite inadequate by just telling her “You are God’s beloved.”
That’s a fair concern, Ed. And it’s important that we do not make light of the very real struggles people have or imagine a simple pronouncement is a panacea for life’s challenges. At the same time, I wouldn’t want to underestimate how meaningful and powerful the gospel promise is and can be for people as they hear that they are not alone. There are many times when we sit with a friend through difficult circumstances and while we cannot change those circumstances, our very presence and solidarity with that person can make all the difference in the world. Feeling alone and unloved is a devastating thing; just so, feeling loved and accepted and accompanied can be a powerful thing. It may not do everything, but often it does just enough to make a difference. Thanks for your compassion for your folks and this incisive and caring question.
That is a helpful reminder. Part of the ministry of “presence” I think. Thank you.
I wonder if instead of just saying Jesus is with us in our difficult times, it is actually our job, and our congregations’ job, as disciples of Christ, to also be the presence of Christ’s love. The divine Christ is with us in spirit and as disciples of Christ we are called to be there as well, to be that quiet presence, even if it is just a hug, or smile-those little things that can be very comforting and reflect the spirit of Christ’s love. If we are the elected who know Christ’s love than are we not just loved but also elected to then reflect that love out in the world?
Very well said. Thank you.
Regarding outside/inside dynamics of faith (predestination vs. free will), ISTM that those who’ve experienced an electing event describe it as acting upon their will, while those who see others acted upon see a decision being made. Jonathan Edwards ‘Will’ talked about the necessity of an external event to cause an interior response – which actually happens a lot in life.
The context here for Jesus’s “sheep” who “hear my voice” is for these particular “sheep” (as with the man born blind), a very uncomfortable one: which might help address the important pastoral concern above. Either the earthly Jesus is speaking about the minority of folks who even considered following Him as Messiah (those who “believe”, who were in the minority, even in the resurrection), or those who are members of the “community of the beloved disciple” and are interpreting or recasting Jesus’s earthly words in light of their own experience of rejection and persecution. In either case, Jesus (or John’s Jesus) is not simply being proto-Calvinist with respect to who is “saved” or “predestined”, and who is not. Instead, He seems to be responding, with great affirmation, toward His own “sheep,” while also to those who are accusing Him of blasphemy or “having a demon”. Note here Jesus does not condemn His opponents, he simply says “they don’t hear my voice”, and thus are missing out, or have no share, in the Father’s promise of eternal life. Instead of being seen as a troublesome dismissive judge of His opponents (which admittedly seems to come up elsewhere in John), this particular passage can actually be read as a basic affirmation of faith in those who believe and “hear the voice” of Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd. As far as those who do not “hear my voice”, who is to say that, like St. Paul, some may even come later to do so? Hopefully this might help address DJL’s probing question, although this may be a minor point for a preacher. The basic preaching theme here seems to be trust in Christ, the Good Shepherd, and trusting/ following Him come what may: from Green Pastures to the Valley of the Shadow, to a table spread in the midst of enemies, to being anointed with holy oil, to dwelling in the House of the Lord, forever. This leaves the “sheepgate” open for any “with ears to hear” the Good Shepherd’s voice, both then and now.