Come, My Way
John 14:1-14
In this morning’s reading, Jesus really blows it as a
therapist. He commits the cardinal
sin of therapy: he tells the
disciples not to feel what they are, in fact, feeling.
The beginning of the 14th chapter of John is
relatively familiar. We often hear
it read at funerals… “in my
father’s house are many mansions.”
We are so accustomed to hear Jesus’ words as comforting in that context,
it is hard to imagine what this time would have actually been like for Jesus’
disciples.
Don’t be worried, Jesus says. Don’t let your hearts be troubled. But the disciples ARE
worried. This is the beginning of
what is called Jesus’ farewell discourse in John’s Gospel. This comes right after the last supper
and Jesus washing the disciples’ feet.
Jesus has said that be will be betrayed, he has foretold Peter’s denial,
and he has said that he will be going away—leaving them. The disciples are very worried and
anxious. What will happen to
Jesus? What will happen to them?
Jesus says, Believe in
God, believe also in me. So
the disciples must think: if I’m still worried I don’t have enough belief? This is not helping.
Jesus continues: I go to prepare a place for you… and you know the way to the place where
I am going.
At this point, I imagine that Thomas’ anxiety is at a
breaking point: How can we know
the way?? This is not a casual conversation about theology. Thomas and the disciples see their
lives and their hopes ending and they don’t know what to do.
Then in John 14:6 Jesus says: I am the way, and the
truth, and the life. No one comes
to the Father except through me.
There are several ways to react to that verse. Especially when we hear this passage at
funerals, we hear the reassuring promise in the first part of this verse. Jesus is our way to God.
But for the disciples these words might have only increased
their anxiety even more. There is
only one particular, specific way to the Father. What if I don’t get it right? What if I fail the test? Even after Jesus says these words Philip expresses the disciples’
ongoing confusion and anxiety. We don’t know who you are, Jesus. We don’t know what’s going on. Help us.
Jesus could have said thing better. He could have expressed himself more
pastorally, more therapeutically (!).
The poet George Herbert said what Jesus should have said to
the disciples in their state of worry and anxiety.
Herbert wrote a poem based in large part on John 14:6. It is called “The Call.” Over and over again, the stanzas of the
poem begin with the invitation, “Come.”
Jesus’ words are an invitation, not a test. An invitation.
Come, Jesus says.
Do you know George Herbert? As Episcopalians, we should at least be aware of him. I’m
not much of a poetry reader, but there are a few poems I know well because
they’ve been set to music. Herbert’s
poem “The Call” has been set to music as one of Vaughan Williams’ Five Mystical Songs. And in that form it made it into and
our current hymnal.
The Poetry Foundation’s biography of Herbert says this (Read the full biography HERE):
Nestled somewhere
within the Age of Shakespeare and the Age of Milton is George Herbert. There is
no Age of Herbert: he did not consciously fashion an expansive literary career
for himself, and his characteristic gestures, insofar as these can be gleaned
from his poems and other writings, tend to be careful self-scrutiny rather than
rhetorical pronouncement; local involvement rather than broad social
engagement; and complex, ever-qualified lyric contemplation rather than epic or
dramatic mythmaking. This is the stuff of humility and integrity, not
celebrity. But even if Herbert does not appear to be one of the
larger-than-life cultural monuments of seventeenth-century England—a position
that virtually requires the qualities of irrepressible ambition and boldness,
if not self-regarding arrogance, that he attempted to flee—he is in some ways a
pivotal figure: enormously popular, deeply and broadly influential, and
arguably the most skillful and important British devotional lyricist of this or
any other time.
Herbert lived from 1593-1633, and for much of that time
served as a priest in the Church of England. His poetry has been described as allusive or evocative.
Listen to The Call.
And hear Jesus saying these words to you. Come. Come
along my way with me. Come into my
truth, my life. Jesus says (Hymn
487).
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:
such a way as gives s breath;
such a truth as ends all strife;
such a life as killeth death.
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength:
such a light as shows a feast;
such a feast as mends in length;
such a strength as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
such a joy as none can move
such a love as none can part;
such a heart as joys in love.
I don’t completely understand it. I can’t analyze what every phrase means. But when I hear Jesus saying those
words to me, I want to follow.
I want to follow an a path that “gives us breath,” a journey
that inspires rather than tires. I
want to know a truth that does not divide or is not used as a weapon, but
rather a truth that “ends all strife.”
And I want to live a life, now in this life, that is stronger than
death. Come, Jesus says. Come to a feast that mends. Gather for the Lord’s feast mends all
those places within us that are broken or torn. Come share a love and joy that no one can move or part from
you.
Come, Jesus says.
Come, join me in my Way, my Truth, my Life.
