2020 Vision: John 14:15-21
“If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you. “I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”
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My sermon title today is “2020 Vision”—I’m a little disappointed with myself for being five months into the year of our Lord 2020 before taking advantage of the obvious word play. A lot of jokes have been made around this theme of “2020 Vision”—I would tell you some of those jokes, but I don’t want to make a spectacle out of myself.
Today’s scripture lesson lends itself to this “2020 Vision” sermon title because Jesus talks about his followers’ ability to see. Gathered in the upper room at the last supper, Jesus tells his disciples that soon the world will cease to be able to see him, but that his disciples will be able to see him. What in the world does that mean?
First, let’s talk about what he means when he says, “the world will no longer see me.” I’d like to suggest that the world never saw him. Oh sure, they saw a first-century Jewish male, the son of a carpenter from Nazareth, who assembled a bit of a following as a preacher and teacher and miracle-worker. Brown hair, brown eyes, five-foot-nothing. In other words, the world looked upon Jesus of Nazareth and saw nothing special.
We know this story. It has been repeated time and again—great scientists, poets, artists, philosophers—brilliant minds who created amazing works or obtained profound insight, and society shunned them, or they remained hidden. Their genius discovered only after their death.
Take Vincent Van Gogh, for instance. You may remember that Van Gogh sold only one painting while he was alive for a little over $100 in today’s equivalence. It took over twenty years after his death before his works gained notoriety—his paintings are worth millions today. His “Starry Night” is now second only to the “Mona Lisa” in terms of recognizability in the Western World. But the world could not see him.
Or consider Emily Dickinson, a shy recluse who published only a tiny fraction of her poems while she was alive. After she died, her sister discovered dozens of hand-bound volumes with nearly 1,800 of Emily’s poems. She had them published, and Emily Dickenson became, perhaps, the most famous American poet to this day. But the world could not see her.
Or let’s talk about Galileo. Galileo was convicted of heresy by the Roman Catholic church for supporting the Copernican idea of heliocentrism—the idea that the earth revolves around the sun. He was sentenced to life in prison. That was 1633. It wasn’t until 1992 that the Vatican finally admitted that Galileo was right. 359 years! And here’s a fun fact about Galileo: his middle finger is on display in a museum in Florence, Italy. Isn’t that appropriate? The world could not see him.
There are countless other stories like these. Great women and men who were ignored, rejected, even martyred because the world could not see them.
No surprise, then, that the world could not see Jesus. It still can’t. Jesus continues to be rejected, ignored, and misunderstood. And I get it. It’s tricky.
Just this week my six-year-old asked me, “Mommy, when I die will I see God?” Now this kind of deep, theological inquiry doesn’t come around every day at my house, so this preacher mama perked up, and the wheels started turning—I was born for this moment! All of my years of training, my decades of ministry, brought me to this moment in time. “Yes, honey. You will see God when you die. But you can also see God right now. God is in you. God is in me. God is everywhere.” Outwardly I flashed him a little smile, while inwardly I was grading my presentation, landing somewhere between an A+ and an A++. Then he gave me the look, landing somewhere between, “Mom, I don’t get it” and “This nut-job of a mother needs to be committed.” Scratch through the A++, scribble in a D-.
My six-year-old didn’t get it because, well, he’s six. He has not yet reached the age where abstract reasoning skills have set in, usually between the ages of 11 and 16. Abstract reasoning is the ability to consider objects and ideas that aren’t present physically. This is the realm of metaphor and nuance—it’s complex reasoning beyond literalism and dogma.
Back to the upper room.
“The world will no longer see me, but you will see me,” Jesus tells his disciples. “I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.” Talk about abstract thinking! We’ve grown accustomed to this language, so we forget how radical that must have sounded to a group of first-century Jews who believed God lived somewhere up in the heavens and in the Holy of Holies at the Temple—accessible only by the High Priest and only once per year. God was distant—cut off. This talk of, “I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you” was radical, requiring abstract thinking, requiring the disciples to see anew.
Abstract thinking, or what I like to call “holy imagination,” is requisite for being able to see Jesus.
The hope Jesus offers in this text, just after talking about his impending death, is that his disciples would continue to see him. But how?
Back to the deep, theological conversation with my six-year-old this week. After he asked if he would see God when he dies, and my brilliant response (ha!), he looked at me and said nervously, “Mommy, I want to tell you something, but can God hear what I say?” I said, “Yes, but God already knows your thoughts, so saying what you’re thinking is OK.” He said, “But I don’t think God will like it very much.” To which I said, “God’s pretty tough . . . I think God can handle it.” He said, “Mommy, I love you more than God.” Now, here’s my second big opportunity of the day! I’ve trained my whole life for this. “Oh sweetheart, I love you too! And that love you have for me, that comes from God living inside you. And the love I have for you, that comes from God living inside me.” (I’ll give myself a solid B+ on that one.)
Whenever we see genuine love, there we see God. The Apostle John, the presumed author of this story from the Gospel of John, would write about this more fully in what we now call 1 John 4:7-12:
Love comes from God. Everyone who loves is born of God and experiences a relationship with God. The person who refuses to love doesn’t know the first thing about God, because God is love—so you can’t know him if you don’t love . . . No one has seen God, ever. But if we love one another, God dwells deeply within us, and his love becomes complete in us—perfect love! (The Message)
You see, Jesus opened the eyes of our hearts so that we might recognize God’s presence in every person, and that God’s presence in every person connects us to Jesus and to each other on a deep, spiritual level. But only those with eyes to see get it.
One of the things we’re learning in the year 2020 is how connected we really are. It’s a new way of seeing—"2020 Vision” if you will. The scales are falling off. We’re learning to see that what I do affects you, and what you do affects me. We’re learning that independence is an illusion, and that interdependence is a matter of life and death. This strange virus leaves some of us asymptomatic and others in the grave. The crazy thing is, I may have the coronavirus right now—and if I go shopping or out to eat or go to church and sing praises to Jesus at the top of my lungs without a mask, I might expose you with grave consequences. Wearing masks, washing hands, limiting how often we go out in public—these are radical acts of love for our neighbor—for each other. And what did John teach us about when we see acts of love displayed? “Love comes from God . . . God is love.”
When we learn to see God through the lens of love, it becomes so easy to see God in the little, sacrificial acts of friends and neighbors. When you think deeply about it, you’ve seen God this week. God’s presence has probably even been evident in you this week as well.
So let us pray for eyes to see God more clearly as we witness the love of neighbors and friends and family.
I close with a poem by Danna Faulds that speaks both to the challenge and the opportunity this moment holds. It is entitled, “Allow.”
There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. Dam a
stream, and it will create a new
channel. Resist, and the tide
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground. The only
safety lies in letting it all in—
the wild with the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.