I live in a co-housing community in Santa Rosa. The community is made up of adults, some young some old, children, some young, some teens, single folks and married folks. We each have our own condominium complete with kitchen, bath, etc etc—but we’re committed building a community of friends and to doing some things together—we have a garden we share, a workshop, a workout room, and we have two or three meals together every week. The condos are unusual looking in Santa Rosa—they seem to have been deposited there from Arizona or New Mexico or some such place—they are colorful and have swooping shapes—they are grouped around a central courtyard. The architect of the project was Michael Black—a man who also designed quite a number of other co-housing projects—some in our area. He lived in our community. He died suddenly last week of a heart attack—in his car in the parking lot of the post office. His death was a shock and we spent a lot of time last week talking about him and doing our best to help his family as they gathered. And we got ready for his memorial service on Sunday where some 300 people showed up to pay their respects.
All of this echoed in my heart this week as I read and re-read Jesus’ farewell conversation with his friends. You see I’ve been scheduled for some months now to lead a workshop at our community on the 5 Wishes* document—which is a way to make your end-of-life wishes legal in California. From the beginning, it was clear to me that some people had very ambivalent feelings about this workshop and I wasn’t sure how many would show up. I’m still not sure—but Michael’s death brought home how important it is to let your loved ones know what you’d like at the end of your life. Life is fragile and precious.The workshop I lead will focus mostly on some medical and some personal wishes—how you’d like to be cared for, if you’d like music played when you are dying, if you want to die at home, what you want your family to know—that kind of thing. Jesus in John’s gospel is definitely focused on what he wants his friends to know. Mostly what he wants them to know is that he loves them and will be with them even after his death. They are afraid. They can’t imagine how they’ll go on without him. They feel abandoned. They want assurances that they can survive. He comforts them. This whole passage is about comforting them. We often read a portion of his words at burials—and then we tend interpret them as referring to the next life—preachers say there will be a room in heaven for the one who has died. Really this is NOT about the next life—but this life. In John’s gospel the kingdom is already among us. The “abiding place”—and that’s a better translation than “place or mansion”—the abiding place prepared for you is already here. Now. Jesus comforts his friends. Thomas and Philip ask the questions that many of us might ask. They blurt out their need for a blueprint. Thomas wants a GPS. He’s afraid he doesn’t know the way at all. He hasn’t a clue and can’t imagine life without Jesus. Jesus reminds him that in fact he does know. He knows Jesus. Jesus, the way, the truth and the life. It’s all about relationship. Loving intimate, messy relationship. It’s not about a GPS. It’s about knowing Jesus—being in relationship with Jesus. Thomas wants to look at a map—Jesus wants him to look up into his eyes. Urges him to realize that the man who washed his feet just a bit ago, is the one whose life of love and truth is the way. The way of intimate relationship with God—the way of letting go, the way of service, the truth of God’s love and forgiveness, the fullness of life lived in freedom. All of this they have lived into with Jesus. They know more than they think they do.Philip wants to see the Father. None of this “way” stuff. Cut to the chase. “I’ve never seen God. Show me.” Once again Jesus says, “Look at me.” You’ve seen me. You’ve seen who God is. You’ve come to know what concerns God. What God is about and how God acts. Those words “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except by me” have been used in terribly abusive ways. And still are. They are not words directing us to judge others of different faiths. These are words of comfort and embrace. They are words spoken in a time of great stress to dear friends who are close to panic at the thought of the death of the man they’d pledged their life to. He speaks to them in words of love. Anyone who has ever been in love knows these kinds of words, “You are the only one,” “You are the sweetest girl in the world,” “I’ll never love anyone else but you.” In the context of their intimate relationship and of that incredible oneness between Jesus and God the Father these words urge the disciples to look to Jesus—to their relationship with him—and to keep on trusting their lives to that. Some years ago I went to Deer Park Monastery outside Escondido, California to hear Thich Nhat Hahn, the Buddhist monk speak to his monks and lay followers. He spoke with grace and truth for a while and then took questions from the people gathered there. It was such an American experience. But, upon reflection I have come to see that Philip and Thomas were also in attendance. Almost of the questions were searching for the steps—the sure-fire methods for achieving peace and wholeness. “Tell me, exactly what should I do to make peace with my sister?” “I’ve meditated for years now, what’s next?” “How do I make it happen, spiritually?” Our fix-it, can-do culture was embedded in all the questions. Just tell me the way. I’ll get there. Thich Nhat Hanh deflected every one of those questions. He kept urging them to follow the practice and to let it change our hearts. He talked about letting go, about patience, about trusting the practice. And, then he talked a bit to his monks and lay leaders about the fact that he was over 80 and would not always be around. They would need to grow up in a sense—to deepen their own practice so they could thrive and grow without him.In some ways this was similar to Jesus’ conversation with his friends. Thich Nhat Hanh spoke in love with compassion for his followers. He reminded them that they already knew the way—they would need to follow it. To trust it.Jesus says, “Believe in God.” “Believe in me that I am in the Father and that the Father is in me.” We so often think of belief as some kind of intellectual assent. But Jesus is not talking about our thinking. He is urging his friends to trust God—in spite of all the evidence. Give your hearts to this relationship. Put your trust in God and trust me, he says, trust who I am, who we’ve been together, who we are together. Trust that I and the Father are one—trust my love for you. Whereas Thich Nhat Hanh spoke more about the practices of Buddhism—Jesus speaks of relationship. His with his friends, and his with God, and theirs with God, and God’s with them.And he speaks of letting go. He tells them that trusting this relationship, abiding in it, you might say, they will do greater works. I’m sure they can’t fathom that this could be so. They can’t imagine that this wrenching letting go—his death—his very absence might bring new life—the Spirit. They can’t imagine abiding in his love when he is gone. The great mystery of our faith, and so much a part of Jesus’ own life—his way. His letting go unto death. And rising to new life. Our continual call to let go that new life might be born in us. How do we live as an Easter people? How do we let our lives speak the gospel to others? There isn’t a ten-step program, there isn’t a self-help manual or an instruction book. Jesus doesn’t have five wishes, he has one: It’s all about relationship. It’s about our getting to know Jesus more and more deeply and getting to know God in him. It’s about opening ourselves to God, entrusting yourself to the one who has come among us to love us into new life. Do not let your hearts be troubled. “Abide in me.” AMEN--------------------------You can learn more about the Five Wishes document at www.agingwithdignity.org, and about Deerpark Monastery at www.deerparkmonastery.org
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