Moments of Resistance

Text: John 12:20-31

They asked Jesus a question. Jesus answered them. But the answer seemed to have nothing to do with the question.

The question was: Can these Greek folks come and see you? The Greeks came to Philip. And Philip came to Andrew. And Andrew and Philip came to Jesus.

The answer was: The hour has come. But that was no answer at all. Jesus did not mean the hour had come to meet the Greeks. He did not mean: Sure, I’ll see them in an hour. Or: Bring them by, I can spare an hour. Jesus answered them—it says answered—Jesus answered them with a discussion about grain, and fruit, and hating and losing lives, and dying and glory and a question to himself.

These folks came to Jesus, it says. But Jesus answered them in a strange and unhelpful way. That’s because there are two stories here in the Gospel of John, and they smash into each other in today’s reading. There is the story in the beginning of John of the gathering of the disciples and Jesus’ traveling ministry. And there is the story at the end of John of the Passion, of Jesus’ travels to his execution on the cross. The two stories butt up one against the other right in this passage, in this verse, joined only by a conjunction. They came to see Jesus the miracle worker. But—that’s the conjunction—but Jesus’ mind was on what was to be, not what just had been.

The first part of the Gospel of John has been called by scholars the “book of signs.” The signs are the miracles that Jesus performs—like turning water into wine. There are seven of them altogether, and at the moment of today’s story, Jesus has just performed the last one: the raising of his friend Lazarus from the dead.

The second part of the Gospel of John has been called the “book of glory.” Jesus is to be glorified, meaning his nature and importance are to be revealed and honored. This part of John contains the story of Jesus’ trial, execution, and resurrection. It begins pretty much with this speech of Jesus.

We are looking at Jesus standing on a threshold of his life. A moment of transition. This is the hour, he says. Now, he says. Jesus stands as if in front of a portal, a gate to something new and maybe scary, like one of those shimmering things in sci-fi movies. He stands as we do in situations like this—times of certain change but uncertain futures. Hesitating, wondering. “Now, my soul is troubled,” he says. What should I say? “Father, save me from this hour?” He wonders, should he turn away, should he turn aside?

He tells a little story to us, but I hear him telling this story as much to himself as to his listeners. Unless a grain falls to the ground, he thinks, it is just a single seed, alone and unrealized. But if it falls, then from it becomes fruit. Abundance. Life. And other seeds that yield fruit of their own. “It is for this reason,” Jesus tells us, tells himself, “It is for this reason that I have come.”

It is not for himself that he lives. A single grain, a grain living by itself, the text says. This is the beginning of the church. This focus of this story is not on the death of the seed but on its productivity. About what can happen to the seed. Jesus must do what he is called to do. Which is to live in such a way that many others will follow his life and teachings so that the world may be changed. Even if as in his case it means his death. And we, who know how the story turns out, know that even though he hesitates here, in the end he does not turn away, but steps forward.

Our lives are full of these points of resistance. Invisible resisting barriers that we can feel as we confront the next step our lives will take. As we think about love, about work, about things we own, about where we will live. Shall I marry, shall I quit, shall I move? Shall I accept? Will things work out OK? Am I making a mistake? Am I doing what’s right, or am I being foolish, setting myself up for a fall? What shall I do?

It does not take much to make us cautious. To block us. Some years ago, before the chapel here was built, some folks from Faith conducted an experiment. They walked into the sanctuary—this space—as if they had never been here before. What they noticed were visual barriers: three sets of doors, a dark space under the balcony, a big beam across their field of view. Little things, but enough to become barriers. If you were wondering: shall I go inside to check out this church, you might hesitate. You might turn away. Just a little decision made just slightly more difficult. The experimenters could feel it. Feel the resistance.

Most of our decisions fall somewhere between whether we should enter a church and whether we should follow our destiny to change the world. But the points of resistance are there. You can feel them. Sometimes subtle, often not so subtle. Points of doubt and worry. They can make us depressed or anxious, wake us up at 5:00 in the morning, keep us from speaking to people, make us think too much.

We stand, unable to move for a moment, or for years. Perhaps it would be better, we think, to turn back, to find some earlier, familiar certainty. Or perhaps it would be better to turn aside, to pursue some other option that makes us feel a little less uneasy. Or: we could just go ahead and see what happens. We just don’t know. We don’t know what’s on the other side of that portal. It is scary.

“Whoever serves me must follow me,” Jesus said. There are no limits to this command. It is not conditional. It does not depend on favorable prospects or certain information. Followers of Jesus follow Jesus. That is true by definition, not by constraint.

But to follow Jesus does not mean to do exactly what Jesus did. But to do as Jesus did. To act in the face of fear and uncertainty. To step forward trusting in God’s good wishes for us. To reach out to others even if it does not benefit us. Even if it harms us. Jesus steps through that portal to the cross. When we follow Jesus, it does not mean we must be tried for blasphemy and executed by an oppressive regime. It does mean that even if that were the outcome, we would follow God’s call to us. This passage is not a call to suffer as Jesus suffered, but to be willing to.

Most of us will not suffer as Jesus did. Thank God for that. Not even close. But we will all stand before choices that fill us with doubt and fear before we make them. We will all feel God’s call, even though we might not name it that way. We will all feel our souls troubled. We will all feel that temptation to pray to be saved from that hour.

We do not have to pick the hardest thing. Somethings the easy thing is the best thing. We do not have to rush ahead. Sometimes the best thing is to stay where we are. There is no certainty that things will work out well. Sometimes they don’t.

But we don’t have to be so blocked by fear. Jesus by his teachings and example calls us to go places and do things we might never have dreamed of otherwise. To step forward not without fear, but in the face of fear. We can go with Jesus into the uncertain future.