We want to see Jesus
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
March 28, 2021—Lent 5B
Jeremiah 31:31-34, John 12:20-33
Of all the reminders of the weighty responsibility that lies upon the preacher, I believe the most poignant lies in the inscription on a pulpit of those words we just heard: “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” There, for all to see, the yearning of those who walk through these doors. There, for the preacher to remember, the central task at hand: which is not to browbeat (or even inspire) you all to live a better life. It is to point toward the living, breathing presence of God in our midst. It is to break open the Word, which is to say the life and teaching of Jesus, inviting everyone who hears into a deep and transformative relationship with him. Because they want to see Jesus. WE want to see Jesus!
And Jesus says, Okay. But you have to really look at me. You have to look at this path that I take, and know that following me requires a willingness to give up EVERYTHING. To set yourself and your sense of self-preservation aside. Not that you necessarily have to die. You might not have to die like Jesus does. But … without that willingness, without that letting go, you are likely to lose sight of him on the path. He’ll be way off in the distance, and you’ll be distracted, looking at other things.
You have to be willing to lose your life. To set your sights on Jesus, rather than on your own life: your own protection, your own comfort and security, your own advancement. It’s a matter of focus. It’s a matter of choices. As the Pulpit Fiction guys pose the question: how many of the gazillion choices I make in a day are aimed at glorifying God, rather than my own self-preservation? What’s the ratio there?[1]
They’re right about how many choices we actually make every day. Even if we don’t even see them as choices, even if we made them so long away we have forgotten that there was ever any other choice. We construct our lives, bit by bit, every day. We shape ourselves and our world, often without even noticing. We choose.
A writer named Timothy King writes of how living with a community of monks during Lent completely changed his perspective on the purpose of self-denial. Rather than seeing it an exercise in curbing bad behavior, he came to understand that its deeper function was to bring our habits into the light. To make us notice the choices we make every day that we had ceased noticing.
“When we disrupt our habits,” he notes, “we shake up the typical ways that we live and interact with the world around us. These disruptions allow us to identify things that we have been reliant on or other habits that have shaped how we have related to others. The act of “giving up” can be a powerful way to prepare the soil of our hearts that they might be more receptive to the work of God’s grace in our lives.
“… Often our life is so familiar to us and filled with such routine that we forget all of the choices we make that keep it that way. Our Lenten commitments, in the form of new habits and practices, make us more aware of the life we choose to live every day.”[2]
We make choices. We have habits. About what we eat, what we buy, where we live: and so those habits shape all kinds of things, including what people and industries we are supporting, and the percentage of our wealth that we spend on our lifestyle. They play a huge role in focusing our lives! But our habits affect us in less material ways too. We have habits about the way we treat people. We make choices (or, at some point we made the choice, and now it just seems a foregone conclusion) to respond with suspicion or with trust. We make choices whether or not to examine our reactions or just trust our gut. We make choices about compassion and generosity. We make choices about anxiety and fear. We make choices. And in the end, they can become so habitual that they seem like wisdom.
We make choices. And they become that life that Jesus urges us to let go. Seriously, let them go. Stop clutching them so tightly, stop worrying that it will all disappear if you even take your eyes off it for just a second. The fact is that it might; some of it might disappear. But that’s okay. You wanted to see Jesus, remember? Wanted it like a bone-deep yearning. And you can, if you’re willing and brave enough to change some of those habits, and make some choices that pay no attention whatsoever to your own self-preservation.
Think about it. Think about the choices you make in a day, the ingrained habits we all have. How might you pay better attention to them … notice them a little bit more? King is right: giving something up is a great way to keep this in mind. It doesn’t need to happen during Lent … just choose to deny yourself something you normally give yourself. Not because it’s bad for you, or that it’s inherently bad to do something nice for yourself. But try giving one up anyway, just to sharpen your focus for a while.
And then, because I think a constructive approach does at least as much as deconstructive one: try taking something up as well. Something that does nothing for you, but instead, somehow glorifies God. Something generous, some small act of love, some gesture of praise or humility or anything that feels right to you. Make it a discipline. Make it a choice. Make it, eventually, a habit.
Make it a habit to focus your life beyond yourself. Look up. Look into the eyes of another person. Look further down the road … and catch sight of Jesus.
Lose your life, in order to gain him. Lose your life, in order to take hold of something even greater.
Because (despite what it sounds like) the final goal isn’t death. Losing your life isn’t about dying, isn’t about loss at all; it’s about resurrection and new life! That’s the “kind of death” Jesus is going to have: the kind of death that leads to being reborn. And that’s the kind of death he invites us into as well: the kind of death that leads to more abundant, grace-filled life!
Sir, we wish to see Jesus. Listen to that longing within you. Listen, and look up. He’s right there, and he’s looking for you. May it be so. Amen.
[1] Robb McCoy and Eric Fistler, Pulpit Fiction podcast 107, for March 22, 2015.
[2] Timothy King, “How a Week With Monks Changed My Views on Lent,” 03-12-2015 http://sojo.net/blogs/2015/03/12/how-week-monks-changed-my-views-lent