The remaining gospels of eastertide play out Jesus’
farewell discourse in the latter chapters of John. In the
synoptics, conversation at the Last Supper is spare and concise,
while here—as if to a community clinging on every word and
hungry for more—it turns in slow concentric spirals,
parceling out love and encouragement. This "community of the
beloved disciple" is under persecution of one sort or
another. They have publicly declared themselves and now pull
together in a tightening circle.
Meanwhile, a parallel set of readings for this series is from
Acts, which originates in a community clearly of a more expansive
mode, breaking down barriers within and without. The
juxtaposition of the two sets up, as lectionaries always do, a
conversation between one another. And between the two the Spirit
may be heard, a holy Spirit who seems to be working freely both
sides of the aisle.
It is for us, firstly, to sit back and listen. And then to
enter the conversation.
May 1
Roots of Nonviolence
Acts 8:26-40;Psalm 22:25-31;1 John 4:7-12;John 15:7-12
On the one hand, it’s no surprise in Acts: A high
government official is intrigued and perplexed by a classic
biblical text of nonviolence. And yet his questions are lucid
ones (indeed the scholars still ask them of the servant songs in
Isaiah): Of whom does the passage speak? The prophet? Someone
else, perhaps a messianic figure? Or is this a more collective
image, of a remnant or even Israel as a whole?
Philip seizes the question as an opening. He begins where the
Ethiopian official is. He tells the story of Jesus as though its
form and outline were there to be seen on the page with the
suffering servant, or as though gospel nonviolence and the way of
the cross could trace it roots to this very text.
Nonviolence is of the moment in these chapters. Stephen’s
fiery and forgiving martyrdom is accomplished and a full tilt
persecution is abroad (chapter 7). Saul, still breathing threats,
will be stopped dead in his tracks in the next (chapter 9).
Between Stephen and Paul is Philip, crossing barriers first to
the hated Samaritans, now to a black African (a Gentile even?)
from beyond the imperial borders. The conversation concerning the
servant song is a still point around which much is swirling.
In Luke-Acts, love of enemies is the acid test of the gospel.
In the letters and gospel of John, the acid test is to love one
another in community. (I won’t presume to judge which is the
tougher.) The commandment to love is connected to the vine
(another image that goes back to Isaiah, 5:1-7). In fact, the
vine in John is essentially an equivalent for what St. Paul calls
"the body." You can’t bear the fruits if you
don’t have the roots. The branches stay connected. They
abide in love.
Philip, for his part, speaks as though the roots were
nourished in the servant songs. He acts as though the vine could
sprawl across the map. As though its branches needn’t stop
for barriers or border guards. As though love of strangers or
even enemies and love of community were not so different as we
like to imagine.
May 8
The Politics of Friendship
Acts 10:44-48;Psalm 98;1 John 5:1-6;John 15:9-17
Allow us to consider another well-known text, from a letter of
Thomas Merton to a young activist: "Concentrate not on the
results but on the value, the rightness, the truth of the work
itself. And there too a great deal has to be gone through, as
gradually you struggle less and less for an idea and more and
more for specific people. The range tends to narrow down, but it
gets more real. In the end, it is the reality of personal
relationships that saves everything."
Apart from the Society of Friends, who have made it an emblem
and a practice, friendship is too little honored in the church.
When Jesus names the disciples his friends he changes the shape
of things—the community is not to be a pyramid but a circle.
The notion of friendship supplants hierarchy with a certain
mutuality and equality. Above all friendship implies freedom. Not
to mention delight in one another’s presence, that love
which is "joy complete."
And yet. When discipleship becomes friendship, the way of the
cross is borne along in the bargain to lay down one’s life
for one’s friends. A deeper version of the same freedom. A
deeper version even of the same joy.
In a community, like John’s, under persecution of one
variety or another, friendship entailed a clear choice. Richard
Cassidy (John’s Gospel in New Perspective) points out
the contrast implied in being a "friend of Caesar" as
coveted brutally by Pilate (19:12), and being a friend of Jesus.
To "abide" in Jesus, to "remain" with him,
meant a durable friendship. One that could endure the heat.
We stand by Jesus (he stood by us first). We stand by our
friends. Love one another as I have loved you. The range narrows,
but it gets more real.
May 15
A Prayer Upon Us All
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26;Psalm 1;1 John 5:9-13;John 17:6-19
The replacement of Judas with Mathias in the first chapter of
Acts is not administrative busywork for the idle days between
ascension and Pentecost. Something more poignant feels at work.
In the absence of the Lord, Judas’ empty place at the table
must be an ache too much to bear, like a branch lopped from the
vine, or an open wound in the body. Judas was
"numbered" among them. Now their number is incomplete.
Lots are cast to replace him. With credentials only that he
was with them from the beginning, Mathias fills an ache and a
place and a ministry—an opposite number of austere
anonymity—never to be mentioned again in scripture. But the
prayer of election falls upon him.
Let us venture to suggest that the prayer of Jesus in John 17
falls upon him as well. It is certain that, even at a distance of
time, those in the community of the beloved disciple (see verse
20) experienced this as an intercession for themselves in a dark
hour. In the same way, in the mystery of time, we know ourselves
prayed for in this passage. The words of Jesus wash over us in
love and also in sober warning: The world will hate them as it
has hated me.
Scholars agree that kosmos here is not so much the
universe or the planet, but the "world" of human social
existence and especially that world as fallen, a realm of
alienation estranged from God. Walter Wink has suggested
"system" as a translation for this special meaning, as
in, "My kingdom is not of this system," or, as in the
present case, "The world system has hated them because they
are not of the system, even as I am not."
Judas is alluded to in the prayer as one lost. His place is
already empty. The infiltrator at the table, the agent of the
authorities, representative of this world system, has already
fled to his work. But the prayer avails nonetheless. Even now we
pray it washes over us, pray to know its power.
May 22, Pentecost
A Spirit Exceeding Promise
Acts 2:1-21;Psalm 104:24-34, 35b;Romans
8:22-27;John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15
In the synoptic gospels, the promise of the Holy Spirit is
regularly associated with the ability to speak boldly and
coherently in court or before the authorities (Mark 13:9-10, Luke
12:11-12, Matthew 10:17-20). Likewise, the promise in John is
connected with the trials of persecution (15:18-25, 16:1-4) and
the Spirit is named with a courtroom term. The paraclete
is one "called alongside" to stand with disciples in
court, a counselor in the manner, say, of a defense attorney.
(Susan Thistlethwaite has sometimes translated it as
"resistance counselor.") The Advocate is one who will
prove the world system wrong about judgment, because the ruler of
this old world order is the one who is truly condemned (16:8,
11).
In these readings, however, the life of the Spirit far exceeds
such a promise. For Paul in Romans, the Spirit knows our hearts.
It stands with us, faithful at our very depths. Its advocacy is
intercession before God, articulating the groans of our hearts
(which resonate as one with the groans of creation itself). We
know, it seems, neither how to speak nor pray. The Spirit’s
utterance names that hope which is both our own transformation
and the transformation of all creation, freeing it from bondage
to death (Romans 8:18-22). The groans are as a woman in
childbirth—a new world being born.
Come the day of Pentecost, it is certainly that new world
which is glimpsed in the dreams and visions identified in ancient
texts (Acts 2:17). And talk about the Spirit giving utterance!
Talk about boldness and freedom! Not only in court or at prayer,
but in the streets. The old order is thoroughly transcended. The
binding constraints of nation and culture and tongue, of age and
race and sex (of even more by dint and hint) are broken in
overpowering exuberance. The new world is here anticipated, here
born.
The disciples themselves are made new. Who they are in the
renewal of the Spirit stands them in pretty good stead when, soon
enough, they appear in the dock.
Read other articles by:
Wylie-Kellermann, Bill
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