Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent -- April 12, 2011
John 8:21 – 30
Once more Jesus said to them, “I am going away, and you will look for me, and you will die in your sin. Where I go, you cannot come.”
This made the Jews ask, “Will he kill himself? Is that why he says, ‘Where I go, you cannot come’?”
But he continued, “You are from below; I am from above. You are of this world; I am not of this world. I told you that you would die in your sins; if you do not believe that I am he, you will indeed die in your sins.”
“Who are you?” they asked.
“Just what I have been telling you from the beginning,” Jesus replied. “I have much to say in judgment of you. But he who sent me is trustworthy, and what I have heard from him I tell the world.”
They did not understand that he was telling them about his Father. So Jesus said, “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know that I am he and that I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me. The one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what pleases him.” Even as he spoke, many put their faith in him.
Jesus, in John’s Gospel, was known in several ways, each of which gave some hint at his identity. The ongoing question was, “Who are you?” and Jesus self-described in a number of ways.
For instance, at various times in the Gospel of John, Jesus described himself as “the lifted up one.” From his life experience, Jesus found a parallel to the serpent Moses lifted up in the Hebrew Scriptures, which became for Moses and the Israelites a sign of healing and God’s provision.
When I think of someone or something being lifted up in contemporary thought, the phrase calls to mind being elevated and exalted. To be recognized or applauded is to be lifted up. Christians are enjoined to lift up praise to God. When we are successful or when we achieve something that seems significant, we are lifted up.
So it isn’t a stretch to understand Jesus’ lifted up language as a reference to his resurrection, the life into which he enters out of the tomb. He also may have had in mind his ascension, his rising to take his place with the Father after the resurrection (as noted early in The Acts of the Apostles).
Those images of Jesus as the lifted up one make sense to us. It is just as likely, though, that Jesus intended his lifting up to refer to being lifted up onto the cross, the physical and spiritual elevation of his life that would take place in the act of crucifixion. He literally would be lifted up on that hill. That image may not be quite as comfortable.
Christians do a lot of theologizing to take the bite out of the crucifixion, to make it all about happy endings, to drain the dreaded cross of its pain, anguish and abandonment for him. I notice that Christians are reticent to embrace the cross. The thinking seems to be that since Jesus suffered, I don’t have to.
I contend, though, that if we want to join Jesus in the life he lived and the life he has for each of us, we must find our own lifting up not only in our successes and “glories,” but also in our crosses and weaknesses.
I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense. I cannot wrap it up in a tidy package and tie a bow around it. Somehow, though, we are invited to the same lifting up that Jesus lived into, a lifting up that includes both our deepest anguish and most bitter frustration, and our triumph and victory. Both are included in the lifting up to which we are called as God-followers.
Once more Jesus said to them, “I am going away, and you will look for me, and you will die in your sin. Where I go, you cannot come.”
This made the Jews ask, “Will he kill himself? Is that why he says, ‘Where I go, you cannot come’?”
But he continued, “You are from below; I am from above. You are of this world; I am not of this world. I told you that you would die in your sins; if you do not believe that I am he, you will indeed die in your sins.”
“Who are you?” they asked.
“Just what I have been telling you from the beginning,” Jesus replied. “I have much to say in judgment of you. But he who sent me is trustworthy, and what I have heard from him I tell the world.”
They did not understand that he was telling them about his Father. So Jesus said, “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know that I am he and that I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me. The one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what pleases him.” Even as he spoke, many put their faith in him.
Jesus, in John’s Gospel, was known in several ways, each of which gave some hint at his identity. The ongoing question was, “Who are you?” and Jesus self-described in a number of ways.
For instance, at various times in the Gospel of John, Jesus described himself as “the lifted up one.” From his life experience, Jesus found a parallel to the serpent Moses lifted up in the Hebrew Scriptures, which became for Moses and the Israelites a sign of healing and God’s provision.
When I think of someone or something being lifted up in contemporary thought, the phrase calls to mind being elevated and exalted. To be recognized or applauded is to be lifted up. Christians are enjoined to lift up praise to God. When we are successful or when we achieve something that seems significant, we are lifted up.
So it isn’t a stretch to understand Jesus’ lifted up language as a reference to his resurrection, the life into which he enters out of the tomb. He also may have had in mind his ascension, his rising to take his place with the Father after the resurrection (as noted early in The Acts of the Apostles).
Those images of Jesus as the lifted up one make sense to us. It is just as likely, though, that Jesus intended his lifting up to refer to being lifted up onto the cross, the physical and spiritual elevation of his life that would take place in the act of crucifixion. He literally would be lifted up on that hill. That image may not be quite as comfortable.
Christians do a lot of theologizing to take the bite out of the crucifixion, to make it all about happy endings, to drain the dreaded cross of its pain, anguish and abandonment for him. I notice that Christians are reticent to embrace the cross. The thinking seems to be that since Jesus suffered, I don’t have to.
I contend, though, that if we want to join Jesus in the life he lived and the life he has for each of us, we must find our own lifting up not only in our successes and “glories,” but also in our crosses and weaknesses.
I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense. I cannot wrap it up in a tidy package and tie a bow around it. Somehow, though, we are invited to the same lifting up that Jesus lived into, a lifting up that includes both our deepest anguish and most bitter frustration, and our triumph and victory. Both are included in the lifting up to which we are called as God-followers.
Comments
Post a Comment