A Word of Defiant Hope [John 14:1-14 - Easter 5A]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
John 14:1-14
A Word of Defiant Hope
Jesus always had the right words. He always knew exactly what to say. His words caused fishermen to drop their nets
and follow the kingdom of God. He calmed
the raging seas with his words. He casts
out evil spirits and healed the inflicted with his words. He touched hearts and changed minds; he
silenced his critics and amazed the crowds: all with his perfectly chosen
words. He always, always, knew exactly
what to say.
But not here; not in this Gospel passage. “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” It is a lovely line, poetic even. But it feels like the wrong thing to say in
this instance. Because given the
circumstances, troubled hearts were entirely justified. It feels like Jesus is shutting down his
disciples’ genuine feelings, not giving them the space to express their
emotions.
Dinner had just ended.
And the mood was heavy – so were the hearts. The evening started out pleasant enough. The meal was satisfactory; the setting
comfortable. The foot washing ceremony
that took place between the courses was unusual, but they had come to expect
surprises with Jesus. But then things took
a disturbing turn when Jesus predicted his betrayal. And then Jesus told the remaining eleven that
he was going away and they could not follow him. It was jarring. They sacrificed everything to follow him and
now he was planning to abandon them? Of
course their hearts were troubled. The
evening had been dizzying. The impending
change and loss sucked the air out of the room.
And then Jesus said to them, “Do not let your hearts be
troubled.” Jesus said that to his
disciples hours before they watched their leader’s crucifixion. There has perhaps been no other situation in
history in which troubled hearts were more appropriate.
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.” Either it was the first time Jesus said the
wrong words at the wrong time. Or he
could imagine a future in which the Good Friday reality would dissipate in the
light of Easter, in which troubled hearts would be again filled with joy. Perhaps through the eyes of his hope, Jesus
could see what laid beyond the immediate landscape of violence, could see that
there was more to this story than sadness.
“Do not let your hearts be troubled” is not an attempt to
dismiss complex human emotion. “Do not
let your hearts be troubled” is a statement of defiant hope, one that believes that
salvation history is not some dusty old story but a story that it is still
being written, one that obstinately holds on until love has the last word
because it is convinced that love will always have the final say.
As the meal we ominously call the Last Supper came to a close,
Jesus spoke a word of defiant hope into the hearts of his disciples, his
confused, anxious, sorrowful disciples, even as the cross closed in. Because he believed that love would have the
final word, because he had the audacity to believe beyond the present pain.
It is the same defiant hope that inspired the prophet Isaiah
to dream of a peaceful future in the midst of the siege. To imagine the morning light even as the
night grew long. To dream of new life in
a time of violence and desolation. To
speak forth a future in which the wolf and lamb would live together in peace, even
while the wolf was waiting at the door to devour them. Isaiah held onto his defiant hope because he believed
that love would, one day, have the final word.
It was defiant hope that gave Stephen the courage to fix his
eyes on the open arms of Jesus even as the stones battered his body. It was defiant hope that poured forth from
the pen of blessed Julian of Norwich as she watched an endless procession of carts
carry the victims of the Black Death past the small window of her cell – and yet
still had the holy audacity to write “All will be well.” It was defiant hope that inspired blessed Martin
to dream impossible dreams of peace, of justice, and of racial equality – even while
a white supremacist was plotting his murder.
People of faith are people of defiant hope because they believe, despite
all evidence to the contrary, that love will, one day, have the final word.
I read recently the story of a forensic technician called Tanisha. She works in the morgue at Hackensack University
Medical Center in New Jersey. She
performs autopsies and arranges for the funeral homes to secure the bodies for
burial. But in these pandemic days, her
morgue cannot hold all of the bodies. The
hospital parking lot is now home to three long tractor trailers; they too are
filled with death.
This is Tanisha’s reality.
She works in the fields of death and yet even she tells of how she was
just “emotionally exhausted and depleted.”
She says, “Easter Sunday, I just became overwhelmed with sadness. I needed to do something.” And so she started buying daffodils from a
local florist. She places a flower on
every body in every body bag. Each a
symbol of defiant hope. Each a beautiful
reminder of the Easter promise that despite all evidence to the contrary, love
will, one day, have the final word.[1]
Jesus said to his disciples “Do not let your hearts be
troubled” hours before the cross.
Through the eyes of his defiant hope he could see the Easter sun already
breaking through the clouds of Good Friday.
Jesus speaks to us, today, the very same words he spoke to
his first followers so long ago: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” He says these words even though there is trouble
in the world, even though there is trouble in our lives. He offers us these words, not as some naïve denial,
but as a kind of defiant hope.
There is life beyond these days; there is Easter breaking
through the clouds; there is love at the end of the story.
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