Dear saints, when I was growing up, the part of the summer I looked forward to the most was often the yearly church camp. These camps were fun. I had a great time. I made and strengthened friendships there. And while I look back on these camps with mostly fond memories, there is a part of them that I now would rather not have taken part in. It was normal for the final night of the camp to reach an emotional climax. A “mountaintop experience.” The singing, skits, speakers, or whatever entertainment was brought in was to make you feel spiritually uplifted. Make you never want this moment to go away.
But it always did. You left the venue that night, went back to your cabins full of emotional happiness, perhaps even joy. But the reality quickly sets in that you now need to pack. You still must try to sleep that night. You still must go home tomorrow. You tried to keep this fleeting and emotional high going, but you couldn’t. You would get home and, despite your desire to be more dedicated and more studious of your Bible, things just went back to normal.
Now, normal isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Our Gospel lesson this morning finds the disciples near the climax of their week. Indeed, near the climax of their time of following Jesus before his crucifixion. We’ve briefly discussed it in the past few weeks: the disciples have witnessed the Triumphal Entry. They’ve seen Jesus clear the Temple. Heard Him boldly preach. And now they find themselves in the Upper Room. In fact, chapters 13 through 17 of the Gospel according to St. John takes place during the time Jesus institutes his Holy Supper. This is where we are in this morning’s text. We will stay here for the rest of the Easter season.
Jesus has or is about to take the Passover meal and show the disciples exactly what it was pointing to. They are on the pinnacle of the mountain top experience. But Jesus knows what is about to happen. He knows that this joy will soon be replaced not with normal life, but with great fear and trepidation. And so, he continues to prepare them: “A little while, and you will see me no longer; and again a little while, and you will see me.”
Understandably, the disciples want this and other things said in the Upper Room explained. But they don’t ask Jesus to do it. They talk amongst themselves. And so, Jesus interjects. “Is this what you are asking yourselves, what I meant by saying, ‘A little while and you will not see me, and again a little while and you will see me’? Truly, truly, I say to you, you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice. You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy.”
Jesus continues to speak and explain, but in my mind’s eye I can see and faces of the disciples drop and be covered with confusion and fear. Despite having been told multiple times that Jesus would die on the cross, this still surprises them. Despite hearing about the glory of the Son of Man coming, it never connects with them what exactly that means. Our Lord knows that he is about to be “lifted up from the earth” and “will draw all people” to himself.
And in doing so, he will also die. In a little while, Jesus will be put into a tomb. The disciples will not see him. They will weep and lament. While they do, the world will rejoice. Yet after a little while, they will see Jesus again. Then their sorrow will turn to joy. Of course, this is exactly what happens.
We have seen this through the first half of our Easter season. So far, with the disciples, we have rejoiced in Christ’s resurrection. Have heard the peace that He brings. Heard what it means for Jesus to be our Good Shepherd. The disciples have revived their mountaintop experience. Jesus is risen. He comes to be among them. But the words of Jesus in this morning’s text are still applicable. For in a little while, they will see Jesus no more. At least, not in the way they are accustomed to seeing Him.
The church is in the midst of its own mountaintop experience. Congregations that have the resources really go all out this time of year. Big choirs. Brass, percussion, wind, and stringed instruments alongside the organ. More complex hymns with beautiful descants from large and loud pipe organs. It is beautiful and glorious. Ear candy, if you will. But I’ll admit that as much as I love all of it, it starts to wear on me before it is over. Where the Easter acclimation is said many times a service, this is about the time the enthusiastic response begins to get a little softer and a little less enthusiastic.
Yes, we are still full of joy. We are still in awe of what our Lord did for us. But like that new toy you get as a child, even your favorite new toy, it doesn’t stay new for long. Subconsciously and perhaps even unwillingly, you find yourself returning to the way it was. And I suppose this shouldn’t surprise us. There are the forty days of Lent with six or seven extra services. We’re about twenty days into Easter, and in some places that comes even more extra services. And for some, the three weeks of pre-Lent preparation makes for a long season. Let’s face it: we’re kinda tired. And we’re gearing up for the second half of the church year. Waiting for the Holy Spirit to descend at Pentecost.
Yet there are still things to occur before we get there. “A little while, and you will see me no longer; and again a little while, and you will see me.” Jesus was speaking about his crucifixion. Yet he is also speaking of what comes after. He does not stay with the disciples in his exalted form. He still will return to his Father in heaven. Indeed, he must. If he does not, the promised Helper will not come!
So, we turn our attention the next few weeks to the coming Ascension of our Lord and the approaching Day of Pentecost. And as we do, we journey further from the mountain top. We see things going ‘back to normal.’ At least as normal can be these days. We also see what it means to weep and lament. For trial and tribulation will soon descend upon Christ’s church. We read about it in the book of Acts. We hear the testimony of the early Church. It continues through the Middle Ages and Reformation. Even today the church weeps, laments, and is sorrowful. And through it, the world rejoices.
Churches all over the world are attacked. They are deemed ‘unessential’ and have their services shut down by police even while they are taking place. Bills travel through government to classify our Biblical believes, given to us by the Word made flesh Himself, as bigoted and discriminatory. We continually weep at the disregard for human life and how many people, born and unborn, are cruelly killed or maimed in the name of love or equality. And we mourn for those claiming to be Christian who rejoice and celebrate these activities.
As we look around and see darkness becoming more and more powerful, we weep and have sorrow. We hurt when we see people we know and love being swept up into false doctrine and even unbelief. We lament at the actions the world takes to harm and destroy one another in the name of love and choice. The world cheers and calls Christians all sorts of vile names and attempts to dehumanize us just as they dehumanize others whom they don’t deem worthy of life or protection.
Yet every day we are closer to the day that our sorrow will turn to joy. Every day we get closer to the day when we will see Jesus face to face. So, we can look around and take heart. Yes, churches are firebombed. Yes, Christians are targeted for death. Targeted to have their livelihoods destroyed. Yet even when steeples crumble and fall around us, we can look at the smoke and ruins and declare with the prophet Jeremiah, who looks around at the destroyed city of Jerusalem and says, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
Our Psalm this morning declares, “Shout for joy to God, all the earth. Sing the glory of his name; give to him glorious praise!” and, “Bless our God, O peoples; let the sound of his praise be heard, who has kept our soul among the living and has not let our feet slip.”
Even with all the horrible things going on around us, we proclaim that the Lord’s steadfast love does not cease. His mercy never comes to an end. It is because, though he is not visibly present with us in body, he is present with us even now. He has sent the Holy Ghost to dwell within us. We have sung, and will again sing, of the gifts he gives us in our baptism. About how he is present with us physically in his Holy Supper. The Supper where he gives us the Food that we need. And how He is with us even now in His Word.
With these gifts, He sustains us while we wait for Him to keep His promise that we will see Him in a little while. When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world. So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.”
As a result of the Fall, a woman goes through a tremendous amount of pain and sorrow to give birth. But when she receives her newborn baby in her arms, seeing the face of her healthy, beautiful, and probably screaming baby, all the pain and struggle is forgotten. She no longer cares about all that. She doesn’t worry about the pain and the physical danger she was in. For her child is born and is with her. She rejoices despite the pain and trouble.
Likewise, no matter what trials and tribulations we go through, no matter how much we suffer, it will all be forgotten. Even what we willingly bring upon ourselves. This is a season of pure joy. And even though our Gospel is dripping with sorrow and impending separation, this will all be turned to joy. Remember that the disciples witness Jesus’ Ascension and return in joy. Joy that is also yours. Joy because, though we do not see our Lord during our pilgrimage, we know when we will see Him: At the end of our pilgrimage. At our blessed death. When all sorrow will be forgotten, and eternal joy will reign for before us will stand our Savior. In a little while, He shall be seen. Praise be to Christ. Amen.
Rev. Brent Keller
Peace Lutheran Church
Alcester, SD
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