St. John, Apostle & Evangelist Sermon

Many Christians, myself included, have a special place in their heart for John.

Now (just to be clear from the outset) the John we’re talking about here – John our parish’s patron saint – is not John the Baptist, but John, the Apostle and Evangelist, one of the original twelve disciples who is traditionally credited with writing five of the New Testament books: the Gospel of John, the three letters of John, and the Revelation of John.

Tradition tells us he was just a youth when he began following Jesus – as in our painting of John where he appears so young (and, admittedly, a bit androgynous). And, tradition tells us, he was the only one to survive to old age. The rest died martyrs’ deaths. And so, even though John was young when he knew Jesus, he was the only disciple who had the benefit a long life in which his faith could mature.

And, perhaps it’s because of this mature, complex faith that so many are drawn to his writing.

And, whereas the other three gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), are all variations of the same basic narrative, John’s gospel stands completely alone. He gives us stories that no one else does – stories that have become for many people the quintessential stories that reveal the heart of Jesus. He alone tells us about changing the water into wine, the woman at the well, the woman caught in adultery (“Let anyone without sin cast the first stone”), and so many others.

And in addition to these unique stories, there are a handful of themes that show up again and again in his writings. And so this morning, I’d like to look at a few of his most noteworthy themes with a particular eye towards how they might help define the nature and mission of our parish – that we would be St. John’s, not merely in name, but in Spirit.

Darkness and Light

The first theme is Darkness and Light.

When I was young, I remember lamenting the way bullies were the most influential – that one mean, loud-mouth could take over a playground, while we good kids melted into the shadows, hoping to be overlooked. As the years went by I saw how this seemed to be universally true: a single terrorist can blow up an airplane and all its occupants, and simultaneously render an entire nation scared and hostile. An abusive parent can destroy an entire family. Cancer metastasizes. Darkness, it seemed, was more powerful than light.

Except, of course, that it isn’t. Darkness does not eclipse light. The darkest nights reveal the most stars. When you entered the church today, you probably didn’t notice the Christ Candle burning because there is too much light in the room. But if you’ve ever been here at night when all the lights are turned off, that same candle illuminates the whole church.

So claims John in the opening words of his gospel:

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it (John 1:5).

Christ is our light and there is no amount of darkness that can overcome him. John was certain of this. In fact, the verb tenses he used were even more emphatic:

The light continually shines in the darkness and the darkness has never overcome it.

Never. It may seem in this life that darkness eclipses the light. And so therapists have a lot of legitimate work to do because our vulnerable psyches are so easily given over to darkness and fear. But (from a spiritual perspective) the purpose of their work is to reveal the darkness for the lie it is, and to uncover God’s light within us that has never stopped shining.

And the center of this light is Christ, whose light has always shone and shall never be extinguished. Darkness will rear its head with ferocity, but it hasn’t the strength to sustain itself. Sin has never been stronger than truth. Love has always been stronger than hate. Forgiveness will always have the final say over evil.

Darkness may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5), and Christ is the bright morning star (Revelation 22:16) who gives himself to us (Revelation 2:28).

And as his disciples, our calling is to seek his light – in our lives, in our church, in our world – and to do whatever we can to disbelieve the dark lies that whisper to our souls.

After all, the sun is always shining. But in the winter our hemisphere is tilted away from it. Just like in the winters of discontent. There’s not less sunlight, just less ability to perceive it. But Christ keeps shining in the darkness, and the darkness will never be overcome by it.

Community of Being

A second theme in John’s writings is his mystical insight into the true nature of relationships. We see it principally in the way Jesus describes his relationship with his heavenly Father. It starts out rather simply: In chapter 2 he makes a passing reference to “his father’s house” (John 2:16). Then in chapter 3 he tells Nicodemus that he was “sent from God, into the world” (John 3:17). By chapter 5 he’s making the audacious claim,

The Son can do nothing on his own, but only what he sees the Father doing; for whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise (John 5:19).

But it doesn’t stop there. The relationship between Father and Son continues to be revealed as more and more total and elemental – without any division at all. By the end of his ministry he’s describing their relationship with such depth we can hardly envision what’s he’s saying. But we can feel the intimacy of it:

Believe me, he says, that I am in the Father and the Father is in me (John 14:11).

They inhabit each other as one: each still distinct, yet fully given to the other. John’s writing here is the basis of all Trinitarian thought – the most sublime insight the church has developed into the nature of God’s very self: a community of being, of total oneness that remains distinctly the “many.”

And into this oneness of God, Jesus also invites us, with the same beguiling language:

As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one (John 17:21-23).

Can you feel the intimacy of this? Isn’t this the heart of what we’re seeking in marriage and all our relationships?

But just as this world believes that darkness is stronger than light, so are we raised believing that a fractured humanity is our true humanity – each an island of private dreams and fears. But John reveals a truer reality, that through Christ we are truly one. It may sound like so much philosophical blather, but if we allow it to be true in us, it has power to transform everything we know and believe about ourselves.

If you and I are one, well of course I want to bless you. Of course I want to forgive you. Of course I want your good. I lose nothing at all in caring for you. It is purely gain – for everyone, for we are one. If with my right hand I scratch an itch on my left arm, what did that cost my hand? Nothing! What the hand gave, the arm received and it was all to the good of the body. This is how John’s Jesus understood all relationships.

And it is this kind of union – with God and with each other – that John invites us to pursue as image-bearers of God.

Primacy of Love

The light shines in the darkness; the light reveals a union of being that includes both God and humanity; and at the center of that revealed union is our third theme: and that is the primacy of love. If there is one thing John insists on and is known for, it is the purity of our vocation to love. Nothing is truer of God and nothing can be truer of us.

God is love, he writes (1 John 4:8), and this is the message you have heard from the beginning, that we should love one another (1 John 3:11).

God loves and we love. Love is the center and love is the boundary. Anything beyond is simply not of God.

There’s an ancient story about John. (I have no idea whether it’s true or not. But that hardly matters.) It’s said he continued to preach as a very old man, but that his sermons were always the same: just a single line, Children, love one another! Now – much as people appreciate brevity in preaching – they got a little annoyed by its repetition. So they asked him why he kept repeating the same thing over and over, to which he replied, “This is the command of the Lord, and if you fulfill it, it is sufficient. Children, love one another!”

Now there are, of course, many expressions of love. But at its heart is a willingness to forgo power and self-interest in order that another may flourish: The mother who eats the scraps so her child may be filled; the fireman who rushes into a burning house; the church that genuinely welcomes the stranger. What makes love love is a heart that truly desires another’s good, and hands committed to making it so.

And in light of this, I find it fascinating that in John’s version of the Last Supper story, there is no bread and wine at all. What there is instead, is a basin and towel. John replaced the Eucharist altogether with a sacrament of servanthood when Jesus washed his disciples’ feet, then told them to do the same.

And if there were any one thing I would wish for our church, it is that we would embody this spirit – this sacrament – of loving servanthood.  Which is why I’m so grateful that the most prominent stained glass window in our church – that one at the back – is an image of the foot washing. In the darkness of night, when the light is shining in St. John’s, it is that image that our neighbors see. And, so may it be, that the window of this church would be the window of our soul.

Christ is the light that shines in the darkness.

Christ has made us one with each other and one with God.

Christ is calling us into the sacrament of servant love.

This is John’s legacy to us. And this, I believe, is what will make us – truly – the parish of St. John.