RCL - Easter 6 C - May 9, 2010

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Scott Wesley Borden, OHC

RCL - Easter 6 C - May 9, 2010

Acts 16:9-15

Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5

John 5:1-9

Easter Lilies, St. Augustine Chapel, Holy Cross Monastery

The Sixth Sunday of Easter

There is deep conflict in the Gospel reading we just heard, though you might not have noticed it. In our circus-frenzy media world, conflict is almost always front and center... loud and unsubtle... The conflict we encounter this morning’s Gospel reading is more a hint than a battle. Yet it is very profound. It is conflict that is right at the heart of following Jesus.

But first I want to reflect on the reading from Revelation. Revelation can be a troublesome book. I don’t suppose any book of the Bible has been used for more mischief over the years. The book made it into scripture by the skin of its metaphorical teeth. The early church taught that Revelation was never to be read as a book of prophesy, so naturally, over time, it has been used for little else.

For many non-Christians, it may be the most familiar book of the Bible. Its fantastically frightening imagery is the stuff which Hollywood movies are made. Folks who know nothing of the Gospel may know a great deal about the Apocalypse... Armageddon, the 7 seals and various plagues and pale riders and beasts and so on.

But this morning we encounter part of Revelation that doesn’t make it into the movies. Here we see heaven, illuminated by nothing less than the glory of God. Its gates are never shut by day... and there is no night. Elsewhere we learn that there are twelve gates, three in every direction.

I find the descriptions of heaven in the Book of Revelation are among the most beautiful passages in all of scripture. Those open gates... that river of the water of life flowing through the center... I have the sense that God is standing at every gate welcoming everyone by name with a loving and warm embrace.

Here we have this vision of God’s wondrous love, the new Jerusalem, in the Book of Revelation as a backdrop for this passage from the Gospel of John.

John is definitely still in the Old Jerusalem... We have a sheep gate and a pool rather than 12 gates and the river of the water of life... Oh well...

This pool is a place where the sick gather in hope of being healed. And Jesus just happens to be passing by. He meets this anonymous man who has been sick for 38 years. That is, more or less, forever.

Jesus has a strange conversation with the sick man. “Do you want to be made well?” We generally assume that the sick always want to be made well... A simple yes or no would be appropriate, but the answer is not simple. Instead of yes or no, the man offers an explanation of why its not possible for him to be made well.

There is no discussion of faith. There is no request for help. The sick man has no idea who he is talking to. And there really is no indication that he wants to be made well. The man knows why his life is going to stay the way it is.

So when Jesus says stand up and walk, it’s a bit out of the blue. Yet the man stands up, takes his mat, and walks away. Generally in the stories of miraculous healing, there is at least a mention of faith. But in this case faith has nothing to do with it.

The reading ends with the innocuous sounding note that it was a Sabbath, which, out of context, sounds like a brief denouement. “It all happened on a Sunday....” No big deal.

Except in context it is a very big deal. It is a huge deal... For by taking up his mat the man has broken the law. He has done work on the Sabbath.

If we continued reading, we would find that the authorities question the man about his law breaking. He immediately implicates Jesus - which, after all, is nothing but the truth. And the stage is set. Jesus has earned the wrath of the authorities. He has started on the road to crucifixion.

All that in one little sentence. “Stand up, take your mat and walk.”

I mentioned conflict earlier and we’re starting to have conflict: The conflict between those who faithfully follow Jesus and those who faithfully follow the law. Keep note of the fact that both groups are faithful.

Until the time of Jesus, the faithful followed the law. There was no other way to be faithful. And they had to trust the authorities who interpreted the law. These authorities come off looking pretty bad in the Gospels, to say the least. Some of them no doubt were hypocritical and cynical. Some of them, no doubt, engaged in a conspiracy to execute Jesus.

But surely many, probably most, took their responsibilities seriously and interpreted the law to the very best of their abilities. They were people of deep faith and, therefore, faithful to the law. They loved the law because they loved God.

Its no little thing that Jesus has done. He has said, in effect, you can break the law and still be faithful to God.

This is heresy. Its like Jesus saying to a devout Baptist you can be immersed or sprinkled. Or to a devout Roman Catholic, go ahead and get remarried. Or to a devout Episcopalian, sure you can eat meat with your salad fork...

Whatever our most cherished piece of Christianity may be, imagine if someone came along and said “who cares.” Who cares about the Eucharist... Who cares about the creeds... Who cares about the Bible... This is what the faithful authorities of the time the time must have heard Jesus saying. Take up your mat... Who cares what the law says.

But this conflict only points to a more fundamental conflict: the conflict between polarity and paradox. In a polarized world, good and bad have to be in opposition. Just like up and down, hot and cold. Conservative and Liberal. The ends of the polarity can’t meet.

As humans, we’re drawn to polarities. They make sense. They are orderly. They let us cope with myriad tasks each day. They simplify things. The law, whatever it may be, helps us sort things into polarities. But polarities create dichotomies which are false.

The world of Jesus is a world of paradox, not polarity. It’s a world where sinners and saints can be all jumbled in together, they can even be the same people. It’s a world where God can be trinity and unity. It’s a rich and complex world. It’s a world where the faithful can be unfaithful to the law.

Life and death are not exclusive. Good and evil are not miles apart. Jesus dying on the cross and Jesus rising from the tomb is paradoxical.

The Jewish authorities were there to sort things into polarities - things are either lawful, or they are not. And still today, there are times when we very much want the church, or some authority, to sort the world into good and bad. Its part of the appeal of people like Rush Limbaugh. Polarities let us know where we are, or at least where we think we should be.

The sick man at the pool had a nicely polarized world view. I’m sick and I can not be made well. I can not move from the polarity of sick to the polarity of well. But sick and well are not polarities. We are all sick and we are all well.

Jesus continues to offer us paradox. In just a few moments we will celebrate the Eucharist - the meal that is food and drink, flesh and blood, sacrifice and memorial... in which a tiny fragment of bread and little sip of wine will offer sustenance for eternal life.

Jesus doesn’t call us to be lawful or lawless. Jesus calls us to live life abundantly. That means embracing paradox rather than clinging to polarity. That, for me, is the heart of the Gospel - that perfect freedom lies in total servitude to Jesus. That eternal life includes being willing to die for a friend. That I am strongest when I am weakest. That I am a miserable offender and that God loves me.

Like the sick man at the pool I cling to my world view. And Jesus comes along and says take up your mat.

Amen.