Loading...I know some of you feel you were off the hook after hearing today’s Gospel last week, but I’m glad you are here today to dig into this part of what is known as the Final Discourse. It might be some of the most important words in Jesus’ ministry because it defines not only the depth of our relationship with God, but also the depth of Jesus’ relationship with those who follow him.
Throughout their time with Jesus, the disciples and others observed, learned, listened, and were challenged by the things Jesus did and said. They ensured he had food to eat, clean clothes and beds to sleep in. They were students and servants. A mixed bunch of people who followed him when he invited them to join him.
They came from varied backgrounds, they did a variety of jobs, from fisher people to tax collectors. Some boldly followed, hoping for a break from the harsh circumstances in which they lived. Some tagged along because their sibling went. Others recognized the work they were doing caused more harm than good.
Women in the crowd were made up of widows who were able to financially support Jesus and his entourage and who would continue to do so after Jesus ascended. Others were considered unclean because they had many husbands or were barren or even unmarried.
They were all people who followed this man who they found to be kind, generous of heart, a teacher, a healer, wise, devoted, faithful, and always concerned for the well-being of those who had been forgotten, shunned, or left behind.
These people devoted their life and livelihood to following this man who they believed would change not only the circumstances of those he healed and taught, but who would turn the political world upside down. Someone who would overturn the powers that left so many people in fear for their lives, who were unfairly treated, who were harmed if they did not comply to Roman rule.
They wanted to be people of God, living in their homes, working their land or their nets, and caring for their loved ones. But the government that came with the conquest of the Romans, that screamed memories of the exodus, that killed the people they cared about, was destroying their sense of security. These people believed that a messiah, a savior, would come and rescue them from all this. And this little band of followers, that continually grew, believed that Jesus was that person. That Jesus would turn their worlds upside down and give them the security they had longed for … for generations.
They followed him, served him, learned from him, became more devoted, and probably looked at him adoringly with the hope that who he was would be what they longed for so desperately.
Jesus knew this. He also knew that the way he would turn the world on end was not with violence. Not with war horses or spears. Not swords and knives. No. Jesus knew that the only way to overcome fear and hate is with love.
On this night, Jesus knew what was to come in the next couple of days. He knew Judas had betrayed him and would bring soldiers to arrest him and that he would be judged and condemned to death.
But instead of dwelling on the brutality to come, Jesus spoke to his followers with deep compassion and love, reminding them that each of them was beloved by God. And not only that, over the course of his time with them, he now identified them in a most loving way. He called them his friends.
On Friday I sent a text to our group of friends in Minnesota, letting them know that we had one evening available during our time there later this month. Asking if we could get together. Within 15 minutes I got an emoji reply with smiles and hearts. By the end of the evening, a home and meal were offered, and while not everyone can make it, some can.
This group of friends are the people we have spent nearly every New Year’s Eve with for at least 36 years. We’ve raised our kids together. Many of us are Godparents to the other’s children.
We are an interesting group. Jeff and Tom have known each other from birth—they are less than a month apart and their mom’s are cousins. Jeff and Tom met some of the men in the group during their elementary, middle, and high school years. When the guys went off to college, a few went to the University of Minnesota in Duluth in northeastern Minnesota. Jeff went to Winona State, in southeastern Minnesota. The guys in Duluth met a group of gals who went to high school together and they all became friends. Jeff met me. It didn’t take long for us all to start to hang out after college.
It took me a few years to feel like I was really a part of this friend group. I am older than the rest. I did not have the deep connections some of them had with one another—they had mutual experiences that I was not a part of, so I missed the joke or didn’t know the context. It was sometimes lonely.
Jeff and I were the first couple to get married, 37 years ago.
Two of the men went into the Peace Corps. One also did Doctors without Borders. While Dave was in Poland, he met a nice Polish girl and they got married. Four of us from the group traveled for the wedding. I became Kasia’s first American girlfriend. They lived with us when they came back to the U.S.
Some pairs have tighter relationships than they have with others. We don’t always agree with one another. And when Tim comes to town from Seattle, with or without his wife and three adopted children, he brings the pickles to the potluck and forces us to play silly games.
There are people in our group who are teachers, doctors, a nurse practitioner, a farmer-slash-car dealer, accountants, retired and active engineers, a public relations dude and a former Tupperware lady-turned-priest.
Each family has anywhere from one child to four. We’re Lutherans, Catholics, and Episcopalians. Some have buried parents, most have helped with ailing parents, and a couple of us have healthy aging parents. Some of our kids have gotten or are getting ready to be married. Our son, Ray, was Jarek’s best man. The grandchildren are arriving.
Throughout our lives together as a group, we all have other friends. But it seems that this group is most often where we first go for security and for comfort.
These are our friends. We don’t know everything that is going on in one another’s lives, but we know that if we need anything from any of us, we are there to help. We trust and depend on each other. We serve one another and try to teach one another. We have fun together. I love them.
I’m sure you have friends who mean the world to you, too.
Jesus called his ramshackle group of followers, who brought their messy lives, their joys, their worries, into relationship with one another and with him, he called them his friends. He told them this with the caveat that they are to love one another, as he loved them. They needed to hear this right at this moment, because what was rapidly coming could very possibly make them doubt what they meant to him.
Jesus knew these men, women, and children. He lived among them and with them and he knew of their concerns and their joys. He was there when they talked about raising children and caring for parents. He comforted them in their pain and sorrow. He prayed for them.
They may have known this about him, or they may have believed he gave all his energy to the people he would meet every day. They may have thought that his public presence, speaking to the crowds, meant that their job was to take care of him, to make sure that he got food, water, and rest. They may have felt like they were his handlers, ensuring that he would be strong enough for the next day and the next day and the day after that.
But what they may have missed was his deep connection and immense love that was theirs alone.
And so, on this night, he tells them that they are his friends. That these years have become for him a gift. Maybe even a surprise gift. Maybe something he did not think was possible, because of his purpose on this earth. But he told them, “You are my friends. … I have called you friends because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me, but I chose you.”
When we become vulnerable with one another, when we give of ourselves without expecting anything in return, when we share in joys and concerns and pray for one another, it is then when true friendship appears. It is there where we can feel the love for one another.
Jesus called them his friends. And soon after he calls them his friends, Jesus will openly pray for them.
There is no greater gift the disciples could have received that night.
Let us pray. Jesus: not only did the disciples need to hear you call them “friends” on that last night, they needed to hear you pray for them. We ask that you know us so well that we, too, can be called your friends, and that we can believe that the prayers you prayed for them were also being prayed for us. Help us to be committed to our relationship with you, through prayer, worship, and praise, of course, but also by expressing to our friends the love you have shown us. For we strive to follow your commandment to love one another as you love us. Amen.
