eyes. They spooned and listened, and waited, for that last trip to the room, coming (you could tell) after dinner, and that last hug and that last gift and that last goodbye. There are no atheists in foxholes, and all parents pray when they leave the freshman dorm.
She roamed the world by cell phone while her parents spooned soup. A friend in Milwaukee, was it? Can you hear me now? High school sweetheart in Boston. Can you hear me now? Sister in San Diego. Can you hear me now? I could not hear her then, but I can hear her now. She was not about to let her geographical dislocation become a matter of relational disorientation. By Glory, she was carving out her own virtual dorm, her own telephonic suite, her own cyber city. What they faced in despair, she addressed in anxiety. The dislocation would come soon enough.
The great and surprising good news of Jesus Christ, in this Gospel, is that grace may be found, may especially be found, in the upheaval of dislocation. Students or parents, hear it well; future students or grandparents, hear it well: “All things were made through him and without him was not anything made that was made.”
You can do it. You will get through it.
Oh, prayer will help, and reading of the scripture and a church family and the habits of generosity and service. All will help. But it is largely and lastly Grace that will see you through.
Out they walked, the dislocated trio, arm in arm, into a dark and unforeseeable future. Is that not grace, the faith to walk into the dark?
Today’s text is from the first chapter of John, and there is bitter hurt in this sublime chapter, caused by a break with the first identity, a cutting of the umbilical cord, a leaving home, a separation from the family, a dismissal from the synagogue.
The religion of origin said, “In the beginning, God. . .” Replies John, “In the beginning was the Word.”
Inherited religion said, “In the beginning God created. . .” Rejoins John, “All things came into being through Him.”
Old time religion said, “God created the heavens and the earth.” Retorts John, “In Him was life.”
Inheritance said, “God said, ‘Let their be light.’” Rebuts John, “In Him was life, and that life was the light of all peoples, which shines in the dark.”
Old time religion said, “We are his people, the sheep of his pasture.” John retorts, “He came to his own people and his own people did not accept him.”
This Gospel is born in dislocation. The Gospel of John is written in the pain of dislocation. In John we overhear the bitter pain of the church being thrown out of the synagogue.
The community that formed this Gospel has been given the heave-ho, shown the door, given the bum’s rush, given the wet mitten by their former community. You are listening to a family feud, nineteen centuries old.
I return from summer vacation to find a thriving church community, and growth, and dislocation. A growing service to the hungry—and some dislocation. A new ministry to the homeless—with a little dislocation. A new baroque organ—did some of you sense dislocation? A completely re-colored Sunday School—laborious dislocation.
Dislocation visits every age and place. The past decade of dislocation in Rochester has yet to find full expression. Corporate dislocation: I thought this job was for life! Medical dislocation: Were we not the pride of the country in health care? Economic dislocation: Someone threw a recovery party and forgot our upstate invitation! Geographical dislocation: I left two generations to the west or east to come here; now what? No wonder we think of Ma Joad now and then.
The Gospel of John is not focused on ethics. There is only minimal ethical teaching here. One looks in vain for a sermon on the mount or plain. One searches without result for a parable with a point. One hungers without satisfaction for a wisdom saying, an epigram, a teaching on virtue. In John we have the teleological suspension of the ethical. Only the command to love remains.
Instead, the Fourth Gospel focuses on your need to become who you are.
The Battle for Imagination
I believe it is very difficult for us to appreciate the courage in John, the theological courage of this writing. One of the most precious beliefs of the earliest Christians resided in the confidence that very soon the world would come to an end and the Lord would return for his people. This expectation of the end governs the letters of Paul and the first three Gospels. It was, if you will, the bedrock belief of the primitive church. Had not Jesus preached, “There are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven”? Yes he had. And he was wrong. Had not Peter left nets, family, homeland, and life itself on the expectation of the apocalypse? Yes he had. And he was wrong. Had not Paul predicted, “We the living, the remaining, will be caught up together with him in the clouds”? Yes he had. And he was wrong.
Only John faces this grave disappointment with utter honesty. The others hold onto the old religion, the expected return. John admits delay. John has the guts to say to his people: “What we once believed is clearly not true. Let us look about us and see what this means.” And behold! In place of parousia, we find paraclete. In place of cataclysm, we find church. In place of speculation, we find spirit. In place of Armageddon we find artistry and imagination! When finally we stop chasing what is not to be, and wake up to what is, we may be utterly amazed.
Seasoned Religion said that the end was near. John says the beginning is here.
Old Time Religion saw the end of the world. John preached the light of the world.
Inherited spirituality waited for the coming of the Lord. John celebrated the Word among us, full of grace and truth.
Old Time Religion feared death, judgment, heaven, and hell. John faced them all every day.
Traditional Religion clung fiercely to an ancient untruth. John let go, and accepted a modern new truth, and hugged grace and freedom.
Our inheritance, and Matthew and Mark and Luke and Paul all looked toward the End, soon to come. John looked up at the beginning, already here. They said with Shakespeare, “All’s well that ends well.” John replied, “Gut begonnen, halb gewonnen!” (Well begun is half done.)
John alone had the full courage to face spiritual disappointment and move ahead. So we memorize John 8:32: “You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free!” Copernicus knew that truth. Galileo knew that truth. Darwin knew that truth. And Robert Lee caught that truth on the lips of Clarence Darrow: “The Bible is a book. It is a good book. It is not the only book.” All faced the need to change from inherited untruth to new insight and imagination.
Perhaps our greatest present disappointment is 9/11. We face new truth: The world is smaller and starker than we wanted to believe. We have not yet found our way out of the psychic rubble of that dreadful day. We are trying, and we are moving, but the almost unspeakable disappointment of that moment remains. Here is why: We have to change our understanding, our philosophy, our theology even. We have to face the hard fact, that the future is open, freely open, both to terror and to tenderness. And here is John. He who wrote in the ancient rubble of dislocation and disappointment, telling us something wonderful and good: The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. It is in the spirit of the Fourth Gospel that we affirmed three years ago on this Sunday: “Terror may topple the World Trade Center, but no terror can topple the World Truth Center, Jesus the Christ.”
The World Trade Center, hub of global economies may fall, the economy of grace still stands in the World Truth
