◉ Good morning! Now, to be clear, I’m not Thomas Alexander, your curate coming later this summer. I am Jason Alexander, who was your curate about 17 years ago. And it’s good to be back. Thanks, Dean Meaux, for inviting me to preach here at Trinity today.
To catch you up, since I left the cathedral I’ve been down the hall in the bishop’s office serving as the Canon to the Ordinary, working with our 54 congregations from the Ozarks to the Delta–facilitating clergy transitions, troubleshooting, and helping our bishop be the bishop. As you can imagine, this involves quite a bit of driving.
Just about every Sunday morning I grab my coffee, climb into my car, and begin my journey out into diocese. It’s usually a pleasant drive; if it’s a clear morning, I get to see the sunrise. And it gives me a chance to wake up a little and mentally make the transition from the city to the more gentle pace of rural life. On my drive I like to listen to the radio. Most of the time I tune in to NPR for awhile to catch up on the news. Some mornings I’m in a classical mood, sometimes I’ll play podcasts or listen to an audio book. But some mornings I want to hear something a little more substantive, something that will inspire me for the upcoming visit and remind me why I got into the church business in the first place. And that’s when I queue up the Dixie Chicks, or simply “The Chicks,” as they are now known.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with this very talented country/bluegrass group of three women from Nashville, you should be. They can play, they can sing, and they can preach. There’s one particular Chicks song that I cannot get enough of, and I’ll play it over and over again. It’s one of those songs that if you get to your destination before it’s finished you’ve just got to sit in the car and wait it out. It’s that good. I’ll share the chorus with you:
More love, I can hear our hearts cryin’
More love, I know that’s all we need
More love, to flow in between us
To take us and hold us and lift us above
If there’s ever an answer It’s more love.
If I had a banjo, guitar, fiddle, and bass and some folks to play them, I’d sing it for you. But you’ll just have to take my word for it that the combination of the music and the words is powerful. Powerful enough to remind me that when I get out of my car and walk into church that this place has something extraordinary to offer: it’s simple, yet it’s profound, and it’s fundamental to the Christian faith. It’s more love.
Today is the sixth Sunday in the Easter season and yet our Gospel passage is straight out of Holy Week. This bit of Gospel, or “the final discourse” is a continuation of Jesus’ conversation with his disciples during the Last Supper, that final meal with friends before Jesus’ journey to the cross: the agapé meal, the meal of love. And, today, just a few days before Ascension Day, the departure of Jesus once again, but this time as the risen Christ, we are reminded of Jesus’ final words with his disciples.
I imagine tensions were high in that upper room that night, to say the least. The disciples had been with their beloved teacher on the journey of a lifetime. They had seen Jesus turn water into wine. They had seen him give sight to a blind man. They had even seen him walk on water and raise a man from the dead. Surely those gathered around the table that night thought that Jesus was destined for great things. And now, after they had come to Jerusalem, the Holy City, the spiritual center of the world and also the place most in need of rehabilitation and reconnection with God, Jesus would act and bring about God’s kingdom, in all it’s glory, once and for all.
But then things began to unravel. Jesus, their master, the one they were to follow into battle, began to wash their feet–something a servant would do, certainly not the Son of Man, which was who Jesus claimed to be. And then the prediction of Jesus’ betrayal by Judas and the denial by Peter? Why would any of them do that, after they had been through so much together? Then, as if the disciples weren’t confused and anxious enough, Jesus tells them he will be with them only a little longer. And he leaves them with a new commandment. He tells them to love one another. “Just as I have loved you,” he says, “you also should love one another.” And then he calls them friends.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the disciples were a little deflated. Jesus had worked all these miracles, said so many wonderful things, promised so much, and then he says he’s leaving, and by the way, “be friends, love one another?” But what about charging into Jerusalem and overthrowing the Romans and the hypocrites in the temple? What about restoring peace and justice to the world? What about all the things you’re supposed to do? What do you mean, “love one another?”
Well, Jesus fills that out a little bit, linking a love-filled life to a fruitful life: “I appointed you to go and bear fruit,” he said,” fruit that will last.” The love Jesus is talking about here is generative, it’s active, it’s transformative, a lot like the vibrant vines and flowers in our gardens these days–color emerging from the black and white of winter. It’s not mere sentiment. By loving one another we are ambassadors for Christ. We demonstrate the reality of resurrection with every act of compassion, and we pray that it’s catching. Love isn’t easy, but it has the power to change the world.
Now of course, in the upper room that night, the disciples are still confused by Jesus’ lofty words, maybe even dubious. The “final discourse” takes awhile to sink in. I think we, too, can sink into this attitude. When we listen to the news during our morning drive and hear about the persistent conflict out there–Jerusalem is still the same as it was 2000 years ago–or we hear about continued unjust treatment of the marginalized, or corruption in the government, it all seems so overwhelming, and we want someone to fix it now. We want an answer.
According to Jesus, the answer begins right over there, at that table. Sharing an agapé meal with those we call friends, taking the time to personally wash the dirt from one another’s feet, the dirt common to us all, the pain, confusion, and frustrations of life. The answer begins with us all making an effort to pay attention to one another in our own community, to listen for the needs of others, to respond, and then to expand this community of love–to bear fruit that lasts. The answer begins in this room this morning. Jesus has something to offer and he asks that we, in turn, offer it to others. It’s simple, yet it’s profound, and it’s fundamental to the Christian faith. It’s more love.
Easter 6, Year B