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Therefore you now have sorrow; but I will see you again and your heart will rejoice, and your joy no one will take from you.

On Wednesday we considered an Old Testament prophecy that could provide some nice background to this week’s Gospel. Here it is again: “He has blinded their eyes and hardened their hearts, Lest they should see with their eyes, Lest they should understand with their hearts and turn, So that I should heal them.”

In the classic tradition of “Hebrew parallelism” – where an image is laid down, and then in the next line, it is laid down in different words – blinded eyes and hardened hearts parallel seeing with the eyes and understanding with the hearts. It is the latter that lays the foundation for turning to the Lord and being healed.

This week’s Gospel works with the “see” image, but we have a hunch the sort of “sight” talked about is the “sight of faith,” which in practical terms relates more to “understanding of the heart.” Jesus, I would argue, uses the “see” image because of that palpability we’ve meditated on. Bread, water, wine, and persons, after all, are real things and really seen, and through these things yes, Christ’s body is most certainly something “seen.”

But clearly there’s another sort of sight, the kind possessed by those who “don’t see but yet believe.” Or the sort that John was granted in the great “unveiling” that we call the book of Revelation – “Revelation” means “making unhidden” or “unveiling.” This is also the sight that was granted to Mary, Peter, and the disciples on the road to Emmaus, clearly a sight that only comes into being along with a faith created by Jesus’ work, either of calling their names or breaking bread.

We’ve impressed that faith should be palpably real, so palpable that we can’t help but be joyful at all times and in all places. Alas, the “-ate” still lingers, and Jesus has to mandate us against our own recalcitrant selves: He has to command us to be joyful because He is telling us what we possess, victory and goodness despite what our unbelieving eyes are telling us.

Well, with this final verse in this week’s Gospel, it’s like Jesus resolves one issue and then introduces another profound thought. He says, “I will see you again and your heart will rejoice.”

Ahhhh (on one hand), OK, so it is the heart all along Jesus was talking about, just as the Old Testament prophecy said in the parallelism. The “unseeing eye” is the hardened heart; the “seeing eye” is the heart of understanding. This is exactly what we have been proposing.

But then (on the other hand) we get a new thought. Jesus sees us again! All along the flow of Jesus’ four-times repeated teaching was “a little while and you won’t see me, and then a little while and you will see me again.” It was all about the disciples, and by implication us, seeing Jesus. But here, Jesus switches focus from the eyes to the heart. “Your heart will rejoice.” And then talks about how He will see them. In fact, it’s His seeing of them that results in their joy being complete.

And indeed, that does seem to align things rightly with what we’ve been contemplating. Mary did not “see” Jesus (understand in her heart) until Jesus first saw her. Same with the disciples in the upper room, the ones on the road to Emmaus, and the ones in the boat.

And likewise today, the burden is not on us to “see” Jesus, and it would be a misinterpretation of the results of our meditation if we turned this text into an injunction to “expand your vision of Jesus, you small-sighted slug of a believer!” Rather, the Actor in all this is Jesus. He sees us so that we might see Him.

As John says in his epistle: “Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.”

He hasn’t been revealed. We don’t see Him yet. But when He “is revealed,” we shall be like Him, mirroring who he is. But to import St. Paul into this discussion, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.”

There it is: one day we will “know” (St. Paul) / “see” (St. Paul), just as we also are “known” (St. Paul), or “seen” (St. John).

So, this side of the final revelation of the sons of God, we most certainly “see” and “know” Jesus, by the faith of the heart, as He comes to us mystically (sacramentally) in a hidden way. It’s palpably real, but not as He will be revealed one day.

And this dimly-seen sight parallels our own persons.

We’re all sort of “winging” it down here, aren’t we. Like the disciples in the boat, the sea is churning all around us, evils seem everywhere. And there lies Jesus, blissfully sleeping in the hull, saying, “When you see me you’ll rejoice even in the midst of the storm, because that storm means death, and death means victory. I’ve made it that way.”

But despite that, we’re more like Peter, taking our eyes off Jesus and falling into the waves in dread terror. Every human instinct tells us to be sorrowful, to fear the world, to see all the evils of the world and be overwhelmed. Being joyful in the midst of this is not the natural thing to do.

And that is precisely why Jesus has to command it: jubilate! It’s a command of ultimate trust. Rejoice in the midst of sorrow, trust me, you can!

[Y]ou will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will be turned into joy. A woman, when she is in labor, has sorrow because her hour has come; but as soon as she has given birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.

This selection of text nicely lines up with themes we’ve been grappling with all week. We’ve contemplated the ambiguity regarding the demarcation between sorrow and joy. Is it when Jesus dies and rises? Is it when He ascends and comes to us by the Holy Spirit, sacramentally or mystically? Is it when He ascends and returns at His second coming?

We’ve pondered whether the “little while” during which we sorrow is not so much a chronological thing as it is a faith qualifier. Small-visioned faith sorrows; Jesus-seeing faith rejoices.

This selection of text retains the ambiguity. It does so by the analogy Jesus brings up, an analogy He introduced already in John 3, and that is the analogy of being born again. When exactly are Christians born again? Well of course, as Jesus teaches, that happens at baptism, for unless one is born of “water and the spirit” he cannot enter the kingdom of God.

But we know baptism is something lived out daily. In baptism we die to Christ – we take up our cross – but we take up our cross daily, as Jesus informs us in St. Luke’s Gospel. Also, we know that the fulfillment of baptism is at our resurrection. We die daily in this world, rising to new life each day, and rising to ultimate new life in the end. What’s beautiful about Jesus’ words in this week’s Gospel is, however we understand baptism, He anchors it solidly in His own death and resurrection. He’s the woman in sorrow, giving birth, a point amplified by His “womb” bursting forth with water and blood, as He gave birth to the Church. And the moment of joy is when Jesus brings forth the Church, His Body, as He did in the 50 days following His resurrection.

So now let’s place the “sorrow/joy” theme into this matrix. Jesus sets it up as before being born again = sorrow; after being born again = joy.

If this is talking about Jesus before being “born again” on behalf of mankind in the tomb, then the sorrow is when Jesus is dying, and the joy is after He resurrects.

If this is talking about us before we are born again in Holy Baptism, then the sorrow is the general sadness that we don’t see Jesus, that is, we belong to world that sees no hope, no Savior, but only dying, and return to the dust. But upon baptism, a new mind sets in. We see joy everywhere for which we give thanks, for “He is risen!”

If this is talking about us before our daily “dying to our Old Adam and sins,” then the sorrow is the general sorrow we have living in this world, bearing our Old Adam, mourning over our sins and sicknesses. The joy is over our faith and hope in a world to come, the “vision” of Christ granted sacramentally and mystically in Holy Communion, and the great joy we confess.

If this is talking about us before our final death, then the sorrow is similar to that above. We struggle and burden in a world bearing the curse. Along with all the creation, we groan. The world is full of many evils. The joy would be when we see with our eyes our Lord Jesus at His return, a vision granted after our death to this world.

I actually am learning to love the ambiguity. In this little Gospel, Jesus brings up powerful points about the sacramental life, how we “see” Him sacramentally at the right hand of the Father, eating His flesh and drinking His blood, how we are granted to live in joy insofar as we embrace the baptismal life.

Life is sorrow and joy. But in Christ, joy always overcomes the sorrow.

Most assuredly, I say to you that you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice.

When will the world rejoice? Why will the world rejoice? Not because Jesus is gone. Jesus is never really absent. He fills all things, especially in His post-resurrection, post-ascended mode. But in their perception, He’s gone, because they cannot see Him.

Yet, this is never explicitly stated. What is stated as that the disciples will not see Jesus, and they will weep and lament, and the world will rejoice. It’s almost as if the world rejoices at the disciples’ sorrow, a sort of schadenfreude.

But as we’ve been meditating all this week, there’s ambiguity as to when exactly the disciples do not “see” Jesus any longer. Jesus promised to be with His apostles and the apostolic ministry, and therefore the Church, to the end of the ages. We also learned that we “see” Jesus by faith, a faith palpably filled with His sacramental presence. (In a few weeks we’ll discuss Jesus’ presence in our neighbor.)

So, we proposed that perhaps the “little while” during which the disciples lament is not really a chronological duration, but a faith qualifier. Small faith diminishes the vision of Jesus. And what does this mean? In the context of the last two week’s Gospel, it means that the Christian can rejoice, even in the midst of tribulation, and give the thanks we give at the Eucharist, because he so firmly and confidently knows that his Lord reigns over heaven and earth, and has all authority, and is working all things for the good of the Church.

The world rejoices when Christ’s church loses “sight” of this, when the Church frets and worries about its place in the world, when it weeps and laments about the loss of membership, or political power, or the loss of Christian “rights.” Evidently there is a term out there, “Christian privilege,” meant to sweep Christians into the greater “privilege” ideology. This is the perfect set up for the unbeliever to “rejoice” in our demise. After all, so their thinking goes, we’ve had all sorts of perks and privileges for so many years. It’s about time we had our comeuppance.

Let the Church not weep and lament as if (a) Christ is not here (He is), or (b) He is not ultimately in control of everything (He is). This gives up our central mission here on earth. What is that?

It’s communion. Eucharist. Think about it. Holy Communion is our sacrifice of thanksgiving. Holy Communion is a testament that earthly elements have been redeemed, and that we take part in that. Holy Communion bring earth and heaven together as one, testifying to the truth that God’s will is being done on earth as it is in heaven. Holy Communion testifies to Christ’s death, which erases the curse. Most significantly for our point here, Holy Communion is our sacrifice of thanksgiving, our living out St. Paul’s invitation to “give thanks at all times for everything.”

“Oh give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good, and His mercy endures forever.” That prayer appropriately fits with Holy Communion. We give the sacrifice of thanksgiving because God is good.

Well, our public testimony of “giving thanks” is our statement to the world that, no matter what may be happening, we confidently, joyfully, and persistently confess that our Lord is a good God, and He has all things under His feet through His Son, Jesus Christ. The world may think Christ is gone, that they can’t see Him. But here, look at these Christians, confessing Christ’s presence, and rejoicing in His victory.

And more than that, but look how this Eucharistic sacrifice endures! It’s been going on weekly for two thousand years. It’s seen empires come and go. The meeting of Christians for this purpose – along with hearing and learning God’s Word (but that’s still something you can do on your own time; the main reason why a church needs to gather is for the Eucharist) – has been a threat to empire after empire, and somehow, the Eucharist endures, while the empires lay in ashes.

What sort of power is that? It’s the power of the Lord who reigns over all things, whose throne is in the praises of His people gathered together.

The world rejoices when God’s people lose sight of their Lord. The Eucharist, and all that it means for us theologically, is the antidote to that. Where the Eucharist is faithfully going on, when Christ’s disciples see Him, rejoice, and give thanks (as they do in receiving the Eucharist), there is no rejoicing in the world, but only fear.

 

A little while, and you will not see Me; and again a little while, and you will see Me.

Four times in this Gospel, Jesus brings up the phrase “a little while.” As we’ve been contemplating this week, there is some ambiguity as to exactly when this is and what this means. Is it referring to the three days while Christ was in the tomb? It is referring to the period between Christ’s ascension and Pentecost? Is it referring to the period between Christ’s ascension and His second coming?

I feel like Jesus never really answered the question.

And yet that question lingers on in the text layer upon layer, weirdly repeated four times, “A little while, and you will not see Me; and again a little while, and you will see Me.” You hear it four times, or you stare at the text baffled by the redundancy (as I have been this week!). Look at the second two times the phrase is mentioned:

Then some of His disciples said among themselves, “What is this that He says to us, ‘A little while, and you will not see Me; and again a little while, and you will see Me’; and, ‘because I go to the Father’?” They said therefore, “What is this that He says, ‘A little while’? We do not know what He is saying.”

It’s the same verse repeated twice! Why?

The oddness of the four-times repeated phrase is coupled by the ambiguity of what the phrase itself means. A little while…a little while…a little while…sorrow…then we see Him, because He goes to the Father. And we rejoice after He goes to the Father. Huh?

So, the disciples see Him. Then there’s a “little while” when He’s dead. Then they see Him again and they rejoice. Then He ascends, and they no longer see Him. Is this a time of sorrow? Then, because He went to the Father – and all that this meant, as we’ve meditated on these past two days – they see Him again, at Pentecost, mystically, or sacramentally. They see their own restored persons in Him, sacramentally. But during this period when we don’t see Jesus, we also sorrow, and the world rejoices. And then, at His second coming, we’ll see Him again and rejoice.  Where does the “little while” fit in all that?

Here’s something we can say for certain in the text. The text never says Jesus is going to be absent, only that we won’t see Him. The focus isn’t on where Jesus is, but on our perception of Him.  I think that might be one of the keys to interpretation. Also, that time of not seeing Him is the time of sorrow.

So maybe the attempt to get chronological with the “little while” is the wrong approach. Maybe Jesus isn’t speaking chronologically but in a more theological or even mystical way: when we don’t see Jesus we sorrow. Or maybe even, the reverse is true: Sorrowing is a symptom of not seeing Jesus. But again, Jesus is never absent. The problem isn’t He’s not there; the problem is we just don’t see Him. So, sorrowing is what happens when we lose sight of Jesus. And the world rejoicing is our perception when we lose sight of Jesus.

Look at the following verses in John where Jesus talks about “seeing me.”

Jesus to Nathanel: You will see greater things than these.” And He said to him, “Most assuredly, I say to you, hereafter you shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

Jesus to Nicodemus: “Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

Jesus to the crowd in John 6: “And this is the will of Him who sent Me, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in Him may have everlasting life; and I will raise him up at the last day.”

Jesus to the crowd in John 6: “What then if you should see the Son of Man ascend where He was before?”

Jesus to the Jews: “Your father Abraham rejoiced to see My day, and he saw it and was glad.”

Jesus to Martha: “Did I not say to you that if you would believe you would see the glory of God?”

Jesus to the disciples: “And he who sees Me sees Him who sent Me.”

Jesus to the disciples: “A little while longer and the world will see Me no more, but you will see Me. Because I live, you will live also.”

Based on these passages, we should conclude that to “see” is to believe. However, it’s not just an imaginary friend faith, but a faith rooted in something palpably real, the sacramental life of the Lord’s Body, His Church. Another verse in John, one quoting the Old Testament, is helpful understanding what it means to see: “He has blinded their eyes and hardened their hearts, Lest they should see with their eyes, Lest they should understand with their hearts and turn, So that I should heal them.”

Here, “to see” parallels “understanding with one’s heart, turning, and being healed by Jesus.” One’s heart – the seat of faith – is filled with a vision of Christ that is palpable real. We see Christ at the right hand of the Father; we see angels descending on Him bringing us messages; we see the glory of God; we see the Father; we see the Kingdom of God. (This is all liturgy again.)

Another text helps cap things off, at least bringing us to some possible conclusion. After our Gospel for this week, Jesus says to the disciples that He indeed does speak figuratively (really?) but the time is coming when He’d speak plainly, and whatever they ask in His name, He’ll give them. And then He says, “I came forth from the Father and have come into the world. Again, I leave the world and go to the Father.”

Hearing this, the disciples declare that now they understand, and believe. But then Jesus basically says, “No, not really.” He explains that the time is coming (in about an hour) when they’d all scatter. They would not embrace the tribulation. They would flee it. They would not see. Their “little while” would begin.

And then He concludes with these words: “In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”

I think this substantiates our “mystical” interpretation of “a little while.” What is a “little while”? It’s the time when we don’t see Jesus, when our hearts become veiled, when we scatter, when we flee the tribulation, when because we don’t see Jesus we think the world has triumphed.

When is the “little while” resolved? When we “see Jesus.” When is this? When we’re born again; when we understand and have faith; when we see Jesus where He was before, with all authority in heaven and on earth; when we see the glory of the Lord; when we have good cheer in the midst of tribulation even as we see the one who overcame the world.

I like this interpretation because it fits the book of Revelation, which is all a “vision” (seeing Jesus) demonstrating how Jesus is ultimately in control of all things and all events, even though His disciples seem to be in the midst of suffering. Look at what is written about the suffering souls under the altar: “Then a white robe was given to each of them; and it was said to them that they should rest a little while longer, until both the number of their fellow servants and their brethren, who would be killed as they were, was completed.”

White robes while being killed; being of good cheer while in tribulation; rejoicing while the world is a place of sorrow. That seems to be the theme.

The “little while” isn’t a chronological statement. It’s a description of faith. Now here’s the punch line. John’s Gospel doesn’t use the phrase “a little while”! It just uses the word “little.” The translators add “while” in most of the uses of this phrase.

We might put it this way: “When you become little in your faith, your vision, you will see Me no longer. You will see the world rejoicing. You will have no joy. But when you see Me, understanding in your heart, turning to Me, and being healed by Me, you will rejoice in all things, even in the midst of tribulation, because I have overcome the world.”

A little while, and you will not see Me; and again a little while, and you will see Me, because I go to the Father.

We’re going to spend a few more moments on this. After all, the phrase is repeated three times in the Gospel. Clearly St. John wanted to highlight these words.  So, there’s some review here, but hopefully our picture is clarifying and will do so even more in the next few days.

Christ “going to the Father” is the foundation for our “seeing” Him and “clinging” to Him. As He said to Mary, “Don’t cling to me, for I have not yet gone to my Father and your Father.” And as He said in this week’s Gospel, “You will see me, because I go to the Father.”

Interesting.

What happens by Jesus going to the Father that lays the foundation for our clinging to Him and seeing Him? What happens involves the whole Trinity.

The Father is the “greater one,” not in terms of being “better than” the Holy Spirit or Jesus, but in terms of being primary. Meaning, like the sun’s relation to the rays, He is the source.  In our case, He’s the source of life. He’s the foundation of it all. Where the Son comes from the Father, the Father comes from no one. Yes, the Son is eternally begotten of the Father, and the Holy Spirit eternally proceeds, but the Father is foundational.

To understand not seeing and clinging to Christ until He goes back to the Father, we almost have to look at Jesus in His “Second Adam” status, as “Man Restored.” (There’s also this phrase, “Cosmic Christ” that comes naturally in my particular context, but sounds too New Agey.) On these terms, Jesus is “Me Restored. To cling to Him or see Him is a stand in for faith. And to see/cling to Jesus by faith outside of His having been restored to the Father is an insufficient Savior. It keeps us separate from the “greater one,” our source.  This is why Jesus said to Mary, “Don’t touch me.”  In other words, “I’m not any good to you quite yet.”

This is why the ministry of the apostles is greater than that of Jesus, and where the Holy Spirit comes in. Jesus sitting at God’s right hand restores everything. In that moment is the foundation for “Me Restored.”  That’s where Jesus becomes the true Second Adam, fulfilling the prophecy that He would be an “Everlasting Father” of a new line which will live forever.  Jesus wandering around Galilee raising the dead and healing lepers is a temporary foretaste of the feast to come, when His apostles do greater things than He did, which is communicate to sinners their restoration.

How? In Jesus’ name and by the Holy Spirit. Again, as Jesus said, it’s to our advantage that He returns to the Father, because once He sits down there, restoring our fellowship and position, He can send out the Holy Spirit who will take what is His and declare it to us.

As the apostles “do what Jesus commands” (teach what He taught) in His name, and forgive sins, they act out this ministry. They literally “speak into existence” the “Me Restored.” For instance, as they teach me the Our Father, they speak into existence my status as one who calls upon God as “Father.”

The liturgy is nothing less than the manifestation of this ministry. It’s entire premise is our restoration into the presence of God.

The invocation lays the foundation for Jesus’ promise, that whatever we ask in His name He will do. As Jesus says, “Most assuredly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do he will do also; and greater works than these he will do, because I go to My Father. And whatever you ask in My name, that I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask anything in My name, I will do it.”

I haven’t got that Cadillac I’ve been begging for in Jesus’ name yet, but if you look at this passage in the same context as Matthew 18, it makes sense: “Again I say to you that if two of you agree on earth concerning anything that they ask, it will be done for them by My Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered together in My name, I am there in the midst of them.”

Jesus is talking about the Church, its foundation in the Lord’s name, it’s authority to establish on earth in Christ’s name what is a reality in heaven.

Then there’s the introit, where the congregation enters into the Lord’s presence singing Psalms of thanksgiving and praise, and where gentiles glorify the name of the Lord – in the great gathering of nations – in fulfillment of the prophecy.

There are the readings, creed, and Gospel, which in the Gospel of John, are each related to what gives us eternal life. It’s the Holy Spirit, by declaration, speaking into existence the existential reality accomplished by Jesus’ “going to the Father.”

There is communion, in which we are, well, in communion with that existential reality, in communion with the Father through the Son by the Holy Spirit. The “Holy, Holy, Holy” of the Sanctus is like the soundtrack to this reality, for we are truly with the angels and saints, yes, we who sing the “hosanna” songs of earthly children, for heaven and earth are brought together.

All of this is communicated by declaration of the Holy Spirit. This doesn’t just create a fantasy, or generate phantasms in our minds in the way of Gnosticism and idolatry. It declares the Word of our restoration in a way no different than the Word which brought the first creation into existence. These things are hidden from us now, and blessed are those who believe without seeing.

But that doesn’t mean they are any less palpably real. Yes, palpably real, in such a way that they are things we can cling to, and see.  For Jesus to use these highly sensory words, “see” and “cling,” only underscores His intent that we know how real our restoration is.  It’s the same reason why we’re in the “-ate” phase of the church year.  It’s like a father telling a daughter who has just gone through an incredibly traumatic experience, who can’t open her eyes, but who is now held by her father, “It’s OK.  You’re safe now.  Rejoice!  See me here.  Hold on to me.  I’m here to protect you.  I’ll never let any harm befall you.”

It’s palpably real.

A little while, and you will not see Me; and again a little while, and you will see Me, because I go to the Father.

This is an odd little passage. In general it’s simple: the disciples will not see Jesus, and then they’ll see Him again. But filling in the blanks of this passage is a bit more tricky.

Is this talking to the disciples in particular, that they will not see Jesus after He dies, but they will see Him shortly again after He rises? Or is it talking to His disciples in general – you and me – and saying that He will ascend to heaven where we will not see Him, and then return again when we’ll see Him again.

Key to interpretation is where we place the phrase “because I go to the Father.”

If we go with the interpretation that Jesus is saying He’ll be away from His disciples for three days – “because he goes to the Father” – and then they will see Him again, this would suggest Jesus died and went to the Father. He does say, after all, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” And he tells the thief, “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” So, the day Jesus died He somehow went to the Father. This would explain why Jesus says they will weep and mourn while He’s gone, because He has died.

Or is the phrase “because he goes to the Father” a misplaced modifier, which should go with the whole statement in general, as in “Because I’m going to the Father, you will no longer see me; but after a little while, you will see me again.” Here, Jesus is speaking of His ascension, and talking about all His disciples through time. This seems to make sense, as now we’re in a period where we don’t “see” Jesus, in this time when He’s “with the Father” at His right hand. Here, the sorrow would be because we’re in this veil of tears waiting for Jesus to return.

Or does that modifier go with the latter part of His statement and read just as it says, as in “I will die and be away from you, but then I will rise again and you will see me, because I go to the Father.” This is a bit more mystifying, because it in essence claims that after Jesus rises and goes to the Father (i.e. His ascension), we will see Him; indeed, His going to the Father is the cause of our seeing Him. That just seems strange.

Yet, that’s how the passage runs, and generally, as more friction produces more light, so does tackling a more difficult passage yield better fruits. We will see Jesus because He goes to the Father.

To get some understanding, we have to ask, what is it about Jesus “going to the Father” that is so critical to our salvation, so critical that when Mary tried to hug Jesus, He told her not to cling to Him, for He had not yet ascended to the Father?

Several passages in John answer this question. For instance, Jesus says His disciples will do “greater works” than He did, “because I go to the Father.” Jesus had previously declared that “the Father is greater than I,” and said this is why we should be glad He’s going back to the Father. In other words, it’s a good thing Jesus is going back to the Father, because, the Father being greater than Jesus, this will set up the foundation for the disciples doing greater things than Jesus did while He was on earth. What are these greater things? Let’s put that on the back burner.

In another place Jesus says it is to our advantage that He returns to the Father, because if He goes, He will send the Holy Spirit, who will “take what is mine and declare it to you.” What belongs to Jesus? Eternal life, restored fellowship of man with God, joy, the status of sonship, and so on. These things Jesus delivers to us – having sat down at God’s right hand – by the Holy Spirit.

This nicely fits with what Jesus says the Holy Spirit will “convict the world” of (or, “prove the world wrong” about). Sin is not believing in Jesus; righteousness is Jesus “going to the Father”; and judgment is when the devil is judged, our Accuser cast our of heaven.

So, by Jesus going to the Father, He restores man into fellowship with the “greater one,” the Father (the source of life). The devil, the one who accuses us of our sin, convicting us of our reason not to be in fellowship with the Father, is replaced by the One who goes to the Father and establishing a new basis for conviction: sin is not believing in Jesus; righteousness is Jesus at the right hand of the Father; and the devil is judged, not man.

Jesus breathed out the Holy Spirit, the eternal life, upon the disciples, and this was the forgiveness of sins. “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven.” Forgiveness, along with faith, confessing faith in the Triune God, eating Jesus’ flesh and blood, hearing the words of the Gospel and Scriptures, coming to the light that our deeds might be exposed, and doing good (good being defined as everything above) are in the Gospel of John all the things that lead to eternal life.

And these are the “greater things than what Jesus did” that the disciples will do. Jesus had not yet restored man into fellowship with the Father, ended the curse, and cast out the devil. But now that He went to the Father, the stage is set for these “greater” things to happen, by the ministry of the apostles whom Jesus sent out to forgive sins.

So, what does all this have to do with “seeing Jesus” once He goes to the Father. I think this parallels Jesus’ words to Mary, that she should not cling to Him because He had not yet returned to the Father. Similarly, our true “seeing” of Jesus is not in His earthly form, but in a new form, by faith. In the same we we’ve been observing how in Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances, no one recognizes Him – they don’t “see” Him as He was. But when He calls their name, or breaks bread, or speaks to them, then they “see” Him in a new way. It’s the “seeing” through faith, which is the “seeing without seeing” that Jesus promised would be blessed by those, unlike Thomas, who believed without seeing.

And all this is “because” Jesus goes to the Father. Something happens by Jesus going to the Father and sitting at His right hand. In fact, a lot happens! But at this point, because He goes to the Father, we see Him again.

We see Him where life is given out, where He speaks His voice, where the bread breaks and we eat His flesh and blood, where we hear the Scriptures, where forgiveness is proclaimed by the sent ones.

There was sorrow when Jesus lay in the tomb, but now that He has gone to the Father, there is joy. We may not see it, but oh, we do! “You will see Me, because I go to the Father.” That’s why we should have joy. That’s why we’re commanded to have joy. You who weep, let your eyes be filled with your Lord, sitting at God’s right hand. He has overcome the world.

Jubilate begins the first of three “-ate” Sundays. There’s Jubilate first, then Cantate, and finally Rogate. They translate as “rejoice,” “sing,” and “ask.” They are imperatives. In Latin, the imperative is made by taking the “-re” off the root infinitive verb (jubilare, cantare, rogare) and ating “-te” which is also the Latin word for “you,” which parallels English grammar, where in any imperative there is a “‘you’ unstood,” so that, for instance, if you say “jump!” what you’re really saying is “You jump!” It’s ultimately a second person verb.

The Gospel is a second person proclamation, from Jesus to you. Pastors sometimes struggle with this, because “you” can sound too finger-pointy, or appear to be assuming too much authority. But if indeed they stand “in the stead and by the command” of Jesus Christ (and key here, if they have no fear they’re not being faithful in this mission!) they should have no fear of standing in Christ’s place saying “you.” Because, after all, if they’re not standing in the place of Christ and by His authority, what are they doing there?

But let’s dive a bit deeper into these “-ate”s. They are imperatives, and imperatives mean “commands,” but the “commands” given here are not like legalistic “do this/do that” type commands, like a list of errands Jesus is giving. They have a different tone: sing, ask, rejoice. To flesh those out and amplify the point, they say: sing a new song, ask for anything in my name, have your sorrow turned to joy.

Those “commands” are of a different tone than “Don’t kill, don’t steal, and don’t commit adultery.” These commands are needed because our nature is to fall into these sins, and so God has to threaten us with punishments and warnings lest we break His law.

But if the Law came through Moses, grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. And now, you might say, there’s a new tone in town, new wine skins unfit for the old wine. Now, there is a new way of commandments. They are not signposts warning us on the way down to hell, but signposts giving direction on the way to heaven: “Rejoice, ask, and sing! You’re on the way to something wonderful!”

Now, a similar dynamic is going on with the other way of commands. Our human nature doesn’t want to rejoice, ask, and sing. Our nature falls into sorrow because of the world, the devil, our sins, and death. We don’t ask because we don’t feel ourselves worthy. And we don’t sing the new song because we’re still caught it he old ways. So Jesus needs to command us.

It’s a mandate to embrace what He has attained for us. Mandates are different than commands and nicely distinguish between the two “tones” we’ve been talking about commandments. Whereas commands say “do this or else,” mandates say “do this so that.” A commandment says, “Don’t go in the cookie jar or you will get a spanking.” A mandate says, “I have a treat for you. Go into the cupboard and look behind the Cheerios, and open the box of cookies and eat them.”

There has been a tendency among Gospel reductionists that you see frequently, and that is, the Gospel is all about no law whatsoever, no commandments, no obligations, no nothing. It’s just, “you’re saved from hell,” and end of story. Everything else is freedom.

This flirts with Gnostic antinomianism. Gnostic antinomianism claims we are free from all commandments and obligations of “this world.” No Ten Commandments, no rules, no political authority. Everyone is free to do as he pleases, and in that liberation is our salvation.

For some, this extends to mandates. So, when you say we need to have communion because Jesus said, “Do this,” or when you say a child must be baptized because Jesus said, “make disciples…by baptizing,” they’ll say, “We’re not saved by the Law.”

OK, but here’s a good place where that distinction between commandments (Law) and mandates (Gospel) comes in. “Do this” and “be baptized” are not of the Law; they are mandates. They are Jesus saying, “I have a treat for you! Go into the cupboard behind the Cheerios. Get the bread, wine, and water. Say these words as you apply these gifts, and you will get eternal salvation.”

To say we’re saved by baptism or that communion gives eternal life is not to claim we’re saved by the Law and not by Jesus. No, not anymore than it would have been “law” to tell a leper, “Go over that man over there. See Him over there? By the tree? Yeah, go over to Him and he’ll heal you.” Those are “commands,” but certainly not “the Law.” To say that salvation only exists where Jesus is located – and here’s how you get there – is not Law.

And to extend this to today is no different. Is Jesus still present in the Church? Yes. Is He still flesh and blood? Yes. Therefore does the dynamic with the leper also apply to us? Absolutely. Where is Jesus located today? In water, bread, wine, ministers, and in His body the Church. What does this mean? Well, this is where the mandates come in.

“Here is water! Now baptize in the name of the Triune God. Jesus took bread and the cup, and said ‘Take, eat’ and ‘Take, drink.’” Those are mandates, beautiful mandates.

So, when Jesus says “Rejoice!” or “Ask!” or “Sing!”, these are not “the Law.” They are Gospel mandates.

And how glorious they are! To rejoice, ask, or sing, or is not to take the tone – like so many evangelical prayers go with their “we just” prayers – of a humble suppliant lucky to be where he is: “Lord, we just have this small little favor to ask and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

No, it’s more a sense of, “Get in here and ask what is rightfully yours! Behave the way you should because this is your existential truth!

Faith is a confidence, as we see from the book of Hebrews. There’s the confidence of having the right to approach the throne of our Father. Sometimes we forget this and fall into our natural self-loathing, as far as our status with the Lord is concerned. The “-ate” Sundays remedy this.

And other sheep I have which are not of this fold; them also I must bring, and they will hear My voice; and there will be one flock and one shepherd.

This verse is clearly talking about the inclusion of gentiles in the divine plan. Several words in this passage invite highlighting.

First, there’s the phrase “them I also must bring.” Notice not only the divine compulsion – namely, that the gentiles “ must” be brought in – but notice also the divine monergism, that the Lord is doing the “bringing.” Jesus doesn’t say, “And other sheep will hear my voice and follow me.” He says, “them also I must bring, and they will hear My voice.” His “bringing” precipitates the other sheep “hearing.”

Simply put, if gentiles (most of us today) are in the faith, it is the Lord’s work. It is because they “must” be brought in, and because the Lord “brings” them in. He does the work. Our “hearing” of His voice is a consequence of His bringing of us in. It’s the work of the Holy Spirit.

Second, notice the promise of “one flock and one shepherd.” We will come across this topic again soon, but let’s introduce it here.

Jesus doesn’t say, “There might be one flock and one shepherd.” He says, “There will be one flock and one shepherd.” Will, not might. That’s a promise. That’s a prophecy. One flock. One shepherd.

“But whoa,” says the skeptic, “Look at the Church! There are tons of churches, tons of flocks, and tons of shepherds. The Church is hardly one flock under one shepherd.”

OK, is the skeptic saying Jesus is a liar? Let’s look at His words again. “There will be one flock and one shepherd.” These words could be overlooked if (a) Jesus wasn’t God, or (b) He hadn’t risen from the dead confirming His claims to divinity. But He did rise from the dead. Therefore His claims to divinity are truth, therefore we must take His words at face value: there is one flock and one shepherd.

“But I don’t see it!”

Do you see Christ’s kingdom come? Do you see yourself as a saint? Do not see the body and blood of Jesus in communion? Do you see the Holy Spirit descending in baptisms? Do you see Jesus in the pastor preaching a sermon? Do you see God present in the praises of the people?

Do you see the point?

The unity of the Church is not something we see. It is an article of faith we confess. Also, the unity of the Church is not something we cause or create. It is something Jesus has promised. For us to act as if we need to make the church unified is the ultimate presumption of what Jesus Himself has promised.

Why do we confess that the Church is one, and then speak and act as if the church is divided? Every time we speak of the church as divided we make Jesus a liar. Again, He said, “There will be one flock and one shepherd.”

What then do we do with the clear example of divided confessions and churches? Not really our problem, is it. Our task is to “hear the shepherd’s voice and follow.” For that is where the one flock is, where the shepherd’s voice is heard. Not where people “hear into” the shepherd’s voice what they want to hear, or their political agenda. Not where people add to the shepherd’s voice additional words that make them culturally friendly. Not where people drown out the shepherd’s voice with voices from other parts of the Bible, or from their favorite philosopher or thinker. But where the shepherd’s voice is heard.

There are a lot of principles of unity in the church today, as people attempt to construct by human means an edifice for declaring that the Church can be one. “The Church will be one if we all just put our dogmas aside and work together under a common Christian ethics.” “The Church will be one if we just find what unites us at a least common denominator level.” “The Church will be one if we just all submit to a symbol of Christian unity, like the pope, or Christian ethics.”

Nope. The Church is one. We confess it. Faith holds onto things it cannot see. We cannot see the unity of the Church. But yet it is there. How? Wherever Christ’s flock hears the voice of the Shepherd. Are there Baptists, Methodists, Roman Catholics, Pentecostalists, and Lutherans who hear the voice of the Shepherd? Probably, but ultimately it is not ours to decide that, for Christ has already declared His Church, from those who hear His voice, as one. Certainly there are confessions of faith that try to block Christ’s voice, but somehow the sheep will hear the voice despite that. (Like the Presbyterian couple who, when I asked them if they believed Jesus’ body and blood were present in communion, said, “Of course it is. That’s what Jesus says of the bread and wine.” I failed to share with them what their church body really taught.)

The Church is one. And it’s not ours to make it one, for Christ has declared it one from the beginning. Ours is to be faithful in the hearing of His voice. As we are faithful in hearing His voice, the Lord will work the unity.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd gives His life for the sheep. But a hireling, he who is not the shepherd, one who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees; and the wolf catches the sheep and scatters them.”

The wolf is the one in the Gospel for this week that takes the life of the sheep. He is the reason why the Good Shepherd has to die, because he offers his life in place of the sheep, because he cares for them, and because he owns them. If the wolf is eating the shepherd, he cannot eat the sheep.

That’s the imagery going on at the most literal level, which is always the best place to start. But we probed how with John’s Gospel, there’s always more as you get deeper into the text. The Good Shepherd, for instance, feeds the sheep as Moses fed Israel with manna, but His manna is His flesh, which He died to give. So, whereas in the literal reading, the shepherd offers himself up to the wolf to allow the sheep to escape, the deeper reading recognizes the shepherd is offering himself to the wolf to eat…so that the lambs might partake in him as well.

So, there are two ways the shepherd “gives his life” for the sheep. First, in the negative sense, by offering himself up to the wolf. Second, in the positive sense, by offering himself to the sheep.

That being said, we return to the literal reading. The shepherd offers himself to the wolf, who then feasts on him. We could broadly say this is talking about “sin, death, and the devil.” Jesus bore all sins, gave himself over to death, and yielded to the devil’s jaws of hell, all so that He could conquer them for His flock. But I think if we were to single one concept out it would have to be death. What do wolves do to sheep after all? They kill them. The wolf brings death.

So let’s run with that. Death comes to devour the sheep, but Jesus offers Himself in the sheep’s place. So far, so good. But we have some other images feeding the text. How does the hireling – whom we’re saying is the faithless leader of God’s people – see death and run away? How does death “scatter” God’s people?

Now, we might have to get a little metaphorical, but not too much. All we have to do is contemplate how “deathly” are the principles of this world, how faithless pastors cower in the face of them, and how when not properly dealt with by faithful pastors, they indeed do scatter the flock, causing them to run in all directions.

The sexual revolution was a death movement. From the anti-life advent of the pill to abortion, from venereal disease to broken homes, from depression over broken relationships to poverty induced by single-parent homes, all it brings is death in its wake. Yet, how this movement causes the hireling to tremble, to fear speaking out against it lest he appear “judgmental.” And how this movement has caused the sheep to scatter into all sorts of directions.

What could we also say of the other “isms”? Feminism, materialism and consumerism, totalitarianism (communism, fascism, socialism, and progressivism), on and on we could go. Death awaits at the end of each path, sometimes, an awful lot of death! Yet, how the hirelings cower when addressing the issues proposed by each of these movements. And how the sheep scatter in confusion, looking for anyone or anything that will provide protection.

There is only one “ism” in all history that is not deathly, and that is Jesusism. Jesus is the only one to defy the powers of death. Yes, He offered Himself to death, but as St. Peter said Pentecost morning, “it was not possible that He should be held by [death].” Why? Because Jesus is God, and God is eternal life, and eternal life cannot die.

So now, the one who offered Himself to death – defeating it and establishing Himself as eternally life-giving – can offer Himself to the sheep as life.

The Didache, the first extant Christian writing outside of the New Testament, talks about the way of life and the way of death. Jesus and all He teaches is the way of life. All other ways are the way of death.

When Jesus returns, the lamb and the wolf will lie down together. The wolf will be defanged. Or put in the words of Revelation, “Then Death and Hades were cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death. And anyone not found written in the Book of Life was cast into the lake of fire.

But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Yes, there is victory for all those who, knowing and confessing themselves to be helpless sheep, simply stick with Jesus, the source of their life.  And now, when the wolf (death) comes, only joy awaits, for the Christian shall neither see nor taste death.

But a hireling, he who is not the shepherd, one who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees; and the wolf catches the sheep and scatters them. The hireling flees because he is a hireling and does not care about the sheep.

Who is the hireling? This background from Jeremiah is helpful: “‘Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture!’ declares the LORD. Therefore thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, concerning the shepherds who care for my people: ‘You have scattered my flock and have driven them away, and you have not attended to them. Behold, I will attend to you for your evil deeds, declares the LORD. Then I will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the countries where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. I will set shepherds over them who will care for them, and they shall fear no more, nor be dismayed, neither shall any be missing, declares the LORD.’”

And also this, to convey the “shepherd for hire” idea: “But they are shepherds who have no understanding; they have all turned to their own way, each to his own gain, one and all.” Clearly, the hireling only cares about himself.

In the Old Testament, the shepherds were the leaders of Israel, including both the king and the priests. Their abandonment of God’s Word led to Israel being scattered among the nations. They were more concerned about their own financial well-being, or power. They were hirelings, looking every bit like a shepherd, but not loving the flock as the one who “owns” them does.

This is why the Lord says, “I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I myself will make them lie down, declares the Lord GOD. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, and the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them in justice.”

Unlike the hireling, he “owns” the sheep, just as the Gospel of John says, “He came to His own,” and while these did not receive Him (the Jews), there was a remnant, a new twelve, who did. As is reported before the last supper, “having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”

This comports with the prophecy above, that the Lord would draw a remnant to Himself, and they would be one flock, with one shepherd. When did this happen? When did the Lord draw the remnant back from their exile among the nations? Pentecost. Pentecost is when the nations flocked to Israel, and when Peter preached the one faith in their own language, and when the Church was born, the new and restored flock of Israel.

So the hirelings are clearly the leaders of God’s people who by abandoning the Word cause His people to be scattered among the nations.

Goodness, is this not happening today?

I recently wrote an article on Jordan Peterson arguing Christians should be a bit cautious when flocking to this faithless man who accepts the conclusions of Darwinism, Carl Jung, and Frederick Nietzsche, but who teaches biblical principles (at least the legalistic ones) in a fresh, psychological way. I was shocked by the multitude of comments from people who insist Jordan Peterson has helped them understand their own faith, that he has gotten them to go back to church, and that, how dare I take a negative tone toward him.

This is what happens when the leaders of God’s people don’t preach the Word, when they reduce it to therapy and entertainment, or to a self help program, or especially, when they water it down to appeal to the culture. The flock runs and looks for anyone who looks like they’ll protect them.

This is exactly what happened in Old Testament Israel. To secure their standing, the leaders compromised God’s Word with neighboring cultures. When that happens, the people scatter. Their own leaders don’t stand up for them when the wolf comes, so they look for others to help and protect them, like Jordan Peterson, who himself might just be a wolf!

But hirelings don’t care for the sheep the way Jesus and the shepherds he sets up do. Jesus and the undershepherds he sets up (the apostles and faithful ministers) do not fear the bloody, ravenous fangs of culture. They confront them. Jesus and all His apostles, and many faithful missionaries and pastors, have since died for the truth, because they cared about the flock, or perhaps died for the flock because they cared about the truth. Either way, they do the opposite of what the hireling does.

The hireling is not so much the head of a personality cult off which he makes all sorts of money – that is more likely the wolf – as he is the leader who “goes along to get along,” who is worried about what taking a stand for the truth will do to his position, who sees the bloody fangs of politically correct culture and wilts away, lest those fangs come for him.

The Good Shepherd offers Himself to the fangs. Why? Because He “owns” the flock, and “cares” for them.