The Beloved

John 21:15-25

February 18, 2018 • Mount Pleasant UMC

Well, here we are at the beginning of another Lenten season. For some of you, Lent has always been a part of your year, and for others, the whole idea of this season is something new or strange to you. “Lent,” as far as you knew, was the stuff that collects in the bottom of your pockets or in the dryer vent! In the church, though, Lent is a tradition that dates back to the earliest days of the church. A season like this is mentioned in some of the writings of the church fathers as early as the late 100’s, though it was a much shorter season then, just a few days. The calendar we have now—in which Lent lasts for forty days and begins on Ash Wednesday—was finalized in the 500’s, and by then this season had become a time of preparation for the celebration of the cross and the resurrection. Lent is meant as a season of repentance, sacrifice and denial, which is why people often talk about what they are giving up for Lent, and why in certain traditions, you can’t eat certain things during this season. The forty days of Lent do not include Sundays, because each Sunday is meant to be a mini-celebration of Easter. “Forty” was chosen because it’s an important number in the Bible, the length of time that usually preceded important events. For instance, Moses led the people of Israel through the wilderness for forty years before they entered the Promised Land. Noah’s flood lasted for forty days and forty nights, the length of time it took to rid the earth of sin, and Jesus fasted for forty days in the wilderness before he launched his public ministry. So Lent is meant as a somber call (not a legalistic one) to draw closer to Jesus before we go with him to the cross and then to the empty tomb.

For Protestants, the emphasis is not so much on giving up something, though some do that and it’s okay, but more on seeing Jesus more clearly. Lent is meant as a time of renewal, and so this year, we’re going to seek to get a better glimpse of Jesus as he is shown to us in the Gospel of John. We’re calling this series “Simply Jesus,” and my prayer is that by the time we arrive at Easter, we will find we know and love Jesus more then than we do now, because we’ve taken this time to be with him. Toward that end, I want to encourage you, or maybe challenge you, to read the Scripture readings each day faithfully, even (or especially) if that’s not something you normally do. If you do that, you will read through the whole Gospel of John during these next six weeks. Each week’s readings are designed to prepare you for the next week’s message; so you’ll be reading through the week and then on Sunday, we will be sharing a glimpse of Jesus that comes out of those readings. I am hoping we all learn things during this season, but more than that, I hope we have a better picture of who Jesus is and who he can be in our lives by the time we arrive at Easter. Because if John is about anything, it’s about showing us “Simply Jesus.”

This morning, we’re going to have a little bit of a different message—more of a Bible study, perhaps, than a sermon, because I want to spend some time this morning setting us up for the next few weeks in understanding John. It won’t take you long to notice, if you have any familiarity with Matthew, Mark or Luke, that John is quite different from those other three Gospels. John is giving us a portrait of Jesus, which is different, I have learned, from a picture. This past week, the official portraits were unveiled for former President and Mrs. Obama, portraits that will hang in the National Portrait Gallery at the Smithsonian Institute. Regardless of your politics, the portraits of our presidents are an important part of our history, and I couldn’t help but notice how strange the ones of the Obamas were. Granted, I’ve not taken much time to study any past portrait, but as I looked at these, I realized that the artists were not trying to give us a picture or an exact likeness; they were making a statement with the way the images were painted. (I’m not, however, sure what the statement is.) These are portraits, not pictures. John does something similar in the way he tells us about Jesus. He’s painting a portrait, wanting us to get the message rather than helping us understand dates, times or chronology.

John is unique among the Gospels. The other three are often referred to as the “synoptic” Gospels, a word that means “seeing with one eye.” Matthew, Mark and Luke tell many of the same stories, often even using the same words. Most scholars today believe Mark was written first, and both Matthew and Luke used his Gospel as the basis for their own. Then there’s John, written much, much later. By the time this Gospel is written, John is an old man, a “living legend near the end of his life, far past where the end is supposed to be. He is the last of the Twelve” disciples who walked with Jesus (Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 13) and is perhaps nearing 100 years old by the time he sets pen to paper. So, having lived a lot of life (more than many in his time), and having had some sixty to seventy years to reflect on his time with Jesus, it’s natural that he has a different way of thinking about Jesus. With age comes maturity along with a unique vision and understanding. He also knows what Matthew, Mark and Luke have already told us, so there is very little overlap between John and the other three. John writes, according to the early church father Eusebius, to fill in the gaps, to tell us things we didn’t already know, to give us extra eyewitness details we didn’t have before (cf. Barclay, The Gospel of John, Volume 1, pg. 3).

And so, in John, we have no parables. In essence, Jesus’ whole life is a parable for John. There is no birth story, no baptism, no temptation, no Last Supper, no prayer in Gethsemane, and no Ascension; all of those things we find in the other Gospels but not in John. But the others don’t tell us about the wedding at Cana where Jesus turned water into wine. They don’t tell us about a Pharisee named Nicodemus who visited Jesus at night, just to ask Jesus a question. The others don’t tell us how Jesus made a special trip through enemy territory in order to meet a woman at a well who had been divorced five times and rejected by the community; he meets her just to let her know that God hasn’t given up on her. And without John, we wouldn’t have Jesus’ long teaching about the work of the Holy Spirit, or his long prayer on his last night for you and for me. And football fans would have nothing to post in the end zone because we wouldn’t have that famous verse, John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

There are other distinguishing marks of this Gospel that I want to draw to your attention, for you to notice as you read. First, while the Synoptics focus a lot on Jesus’ ministry in Galilee, in the north, John’s focus is on Jerusalem. (The fact that John can accurately describe Jerusalem is another sign that he was there, that he was an eyewitness, because by the time he writes his Gospel, Jerusalem had been destroyed for 20 or 30 years.) Another difference is that the Synoptics focus on the ethical teaching of the kingdom of God, how to live as a citizen of the Kingdom of God, John instead focuses on Jesus—who he is and why it matters. As I said on Wednesday evening, John wants us to know above everything else that Jesus is the savior of the world and that in him is the only hope for finding the life that really is life (Hamilton, John: The Gospel of Light and Life, pg. 9). More than anything else, John is telling his story because he wants us to believe as he has come to believe.

  But perhaps most of the uniqueness of this Gospel comes because of the man who write it. The Gospel itself is anonymous; we don’t have a text somewhere saying, “This Gospel was written by John.” What we have is early tradition that the same John who followed Jesus, who was the brother of James, who also write three letters and the book known as Revelation also wrote this Gospel. Some of the reasons for that understanding are technical, more than I want to get into this morning, but the text of the book itself also begs us to understand John as the author. For one, John is never mentioned in the text itself (Barclay 19; cf. Hamilton 10), but it does mention someone else, someone known only as “the disciple Jesus loved.” Most scholars believe that is John’s way of referring to himself, as if to not draw attention to himself. So what does that phrase mean, and why would someone (John) describe themselves in that way? Those are the questions we want to answer this morning before diving headlong into the Gospel itself, because the answers to those questions shape how we read the story of Jesus and how we understand who we are in that story.

So, what do we know about John himself? We know he was the younger son of a man named Zebedee, and together with his father, his brother James and their friends Peter and Andrew, they ran a small fishing business on the Sea of Galilee. His mother was named Salome, who was the sister of Mary, the mother of Jesus, so John has a cousin connection to Jesus. Perhaps that’s why Jesus went to him and his partners first when he was looking for disciples. Perhaps that’s also why he became part of the inner circle of disciples, and it could even account for why Salome asked Jesus for special treatment for her sons in the kingdom of God. If Jesus was going to have a throne, would it hurt him at all to allow his cousins the most important positions in the kingdom?

We know Jesus gave James and John a nickname: Boanerges, which the Gospel writers tell us means “Sons of Thunder.” Now, that might be a description more of their father, but I take that to mean that James and John might have had a bit of a temper. One scholar describes them as “turbulent” and “ambitious.” We do know that, when a village of Samaritans rejected their ministry, James and John were the ones to suggest calling down fire on the whole village (Luke 9:54). So, yeah, maybe a bit of a temper (cf. Barclay 15-16). In many ways, though, that makes John relatable. He’s not a picture-perfect, stained glass saint. He is a real person, with a real job and real faults. He has a mom and a dad who want the best for him, and brothers and friends who probably got into trouble with him. He is someone through whose eyes we can begin to see what Jesus looks like, because in so many ways he is just like us.

But then there’s this description he gives of himself. He is “the disciples whom Jesus loved.” When people first read that, it sort of sets some people back, partly because it sounds rather arrogant. It’s like the bumper sticker I got for a friend of mine one time: “Jesus Loves You, But I’m His Favorite.” That’s sort of the way this comes across, isn’t it? “I’m the disciple Jesus loved. Oh, sure, he loved everyone, but I really was his most favoritest.” Is that how John really meant it?

This title comes up four times in the Gospel, all during the last few days of Jesus’ life. The first time we read it is at the Last Supper, when Peter asks this disciple, the one Jesus loved, to find out who is going to betray Jesus (John 13:23). This disciple is sitting right next to Jesus, close enough to lean back against him and whisper a question. The next time this disciple is mentioned is at the cross, and it is to this disciple that Jesus entrusts the care of his mother. As the oldest son, it would have been Jesus’ responsibility to take care of Mary into her old age, but as he would not be here, he had to make other arrangements for her. Even from the cross, Jesus is concerned about someone else, specifically his mother. And, we’re told, the disciple Jesus loved took care of Mary for the rest of her life (John 19:25-27). This disciple is also in the Upper Room when Mary Magdalene comes back after discovering the empty tomb. He races Peter to the empty tomb and, we’re told repeatedly, he outran Peter, presumably because he was younger. Besides, he’s writing this long after Peter is dead; who’s going to dispute his claim (John 20:1-10)? And the last time this disciple is mentioned is in the story we read this morning.

Chapter 21 of John’s Gospel, many scholars believe, was added on later by a disciple of John; they believe that mainly because the Gospel seems to end so nicely with the passage we looked at on Wednesday night. But whether this chapter was part of the original Gospel or added later, the setting is the Sea of Galilee, when, after experiencing a night of frustrating fishing, the disciples see Jesus on the shore. He’s makeing breakfast for his weary disciples. He sent them to go into the world in chapter 20, but now, seemingly just a few days later, they are back to fishing, back to doing what they did before they knew him. I think Jesus appears on the shore to remind them that this is not what they are supposed to be doing. This is not what he expects of them. How did they forget so quickly? Well, how do we? It seems awfully easy for us today to forget that we are commissioned to live the Christian life, to actively share the Gospel, to build the church rather than tend solely to our own comfort, needs or preferences. We convince ourselves we don’t have time or energy for the mission; we have our own stuff to do. That’s what has happened here, and why Peter, uncertain perhaps what to do next, has come back to the sea, back to the boats, back to the smelly fish—because that’s what he knows. That’s what is familiar.

After breakfast—which, by the way, consisted of fish roasted on a charcoal fire. Maybe that sounds good to you, and I admit that I’m not a big seafood fan to begin with, but the first time I went to Israel, I was surprised to find fish on the breakfast buffet. It’s a regular part of their diet, so what Jesus is feeding them is just normal fare. No Cheerios or Pop Tarts or bagels, just fish. And after breakfast, Jesus turns to Peter and asks him three times, “Do you love me more than these?” There’s a whole other sermon tied up in that question, and in the identity of what “these” is. I don’t think Jesus is asking Peter if Peter loves him more than the other disciples; I think he’s asking Peter if Peter loves him more than the fish, more than the familiar, more than whatever might take him away from the mission. Do you love me more than these, more than this world around you, Peter? Three times he asks him that, and every time Peter affirms that he does. He claims his eyes and his heart are fixed solely on Jesus. I wonder if Peter isn’t remembering the time he walked on the water. John doesn’t tell us specifically about it in his Gospel, mainly because Matthew has already told us about it, but John does tell us about the storm, and how afraid the disciples in the boat were. Peter actually did walk on the turbulent water, until he took his eyes off of Jesus. What John has told us about is that, on this early morning, when Peter saw Jesus on the shore, he put his clothes back on then jumped into the water to get to shore. Is it possible (and I think it is) that Peter believed he was going to keep this eyes on Jesus this time and walk on the water to shore (cf. Card, The Parable of Joy, pg. 249)? But he had to swim instead, and now, given the chance to proclaim where his attention lies, he boldly proclaims his love for and dedication to Jesus.

Yet, just as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Peter notices someone else near them. It’s “the disciple Jesus loved.” And Peter is once again distracted. “What about him?” Peter asks. Peter and Jesus were taking a lovely stroll on the seashore, and suddenly John is there, sort of like a younger brother, following along behind, not wanting to be left out. “What about him?” Aren’t I the special one, Jesus? After all, you invited me on this walk along the beach, not him. Why are you letting him follow us? Though we may not want to admit it out loud, I think we understand Peter here, maybe more than we would ever want to let on. We see someone else who is doing great things, perhaps, maybe even things we wished we could do, and we say, “What about them, Lord?” We see someone else who seems to have everything we ever wanted, and we struggle along, even when (at least in our eyes) they’re not a very good person. Why do you seem to bless them and not me? It’s easy to find places and people and situations at work, or in our neighborhoods or even in our churches where we get distracted, as Peter was. “What about them? What about him?” I remember very clearly one time that happened to me, maybe the first time I was really aware of it. It was near the end of my senior year at Ball State, and InterVarsity was going well, but we were not as big as a couple of other campus Christian groups. We weren’t even as large as we had been the year before, and I remember feeling especially responsible for that somehow. I had been the chapter’s president, after all, for three years. Why were we seeing a drop of interest when other groups weren’t? And, as I tend to do, I was asking that question of myself a lot. I can still see in my mind’s eye exactly the room I was sitting in when I heard God speak to me. It wasn’t an audible voice, but it was a clear impression and conversation in my spirit. God asked me, “Have you done what I’ve asked you to do? Have you been faithful?” And I remember responding, “As best as I knew how, Lord, yes, I’ve done my best.” And that’s when this very clear impression came to me: “Then that’s enough. That’s all I’ve asked you to do, to be faithful and follow me.” On the shore along the Sea of Galilee, Jesus takes this moment to similarly refocus Peter. “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me” (21:22). You focus on me, Peter. Don’t worry about anyone else. You do what I’ve called you to do.

I believe it may have been this incident that caused John to begin calling himself “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” I don’t believe that was ever meant as a brag; it was actually a statement of amazement of wonder. After all Jesus had done, after all the lives he had touched, after the cross and the empty tomb, it seemed impossible and amazing to John that Jesus could love even him. After all the ways he had failed Jesus, Jesus still loved him. After all the ways these disciples had failed Jesus, Jesus still loved them. John doesn’t mean to brag; he means to remind us that we are the beloved. We all can be disciples whom Jesus loves.

As we begin this Lenten journey together, let me ask you: are you amazed that Jesus loves you? Sometimes, we take his love an care for us for granted, but Lent is a time for reflection and renewal, a time to take honest stock of where we are in our spiritual journey. Does it amaze you that you are a disciple whom Jesus loves? Does it still blow you away that, even in the times when you fail to be who he asks you to be, he still loves you, he still wants you to be part of his kingdom? Does grace still amaze you? Of course, to be amazed requires first that we allow him to love us. That’s not easy for us who live in a culture and a world made up of distrust and not much love. We live in a world of anger and offense, of judgment and division. We live in a world where people all too easily trade one love for another, one vice for another. This past week, of course, we celebrated Valentine’s Day, the same day this year as Ash Wednesday, which is an ironic pairing, or perhaps I should say a powerful pairing. You see, to really experience love, true love, requires a death. We have watered down the meaning of the word “love” to be not much more than warm feelings or, worse, just a mere physical act. But true love, the kind of love God has for us, requires a death to ourselves. Jesus put it this way: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). A cross means a death; to truly experience love means dying to ourselves and putting someone else ahead of us. After all, to quote Paul’s well-known words, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7). We can’t live into those things if we’re always putting ourselves first, and we can’t truly experience Jesus’ love for us if we always insist on our own way. So Jesus says, “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it” (Matthew 16:25). Only when we’re amazed at the love of God, as John was, are we able to lay everything else down in pursuit of that love.

There’s a beautiful old hymn that is in the hymnals in our pews, one that I didn’t know growing up but I heard later in life. It’s a song I go back to when I need to be reminded of how much God loves me. The words go like this:

(1) The love of God is greater far

Than tongue or pen can ever tell;

It goes beyond the highest star

And reaches to to the lowest hell;

The guilty pair, bowed down with care,

God gave his Son to win;

His erring child He reconciled,

And pardoned from his sin.

(3) Could we with ink the ocean fill

And were the skies of parchment made,

Were every stalk on earth a quill,

And every man a scribe by trade,

To write the love of God above

Would drain the ocean dry.

Nor could the scroll contain the whole,

Though stretched from sky to sky.

John, remember, has a purpose in writing this Gospel; he wants us to believe in Jesus and find life in him. And we only find that life as we realize how much he loves us. We are the beloved; we are the disciples Jesus loves. I had a friend who learned that, oddly enough, on a trip to the Holy Land. He signed up for the trip as a sort of vacation; he was retired and had always wanted to travel like that. Plus, he was interested in history and thought this would be an interesting historical trip. But something happened to Charles on that first trip to Israel. He met Jesus in a profound way and he became one of the amazed—amazed that God loved him so much that he sent Jesus. Ever after that trip, as he began to grow more in his faith in those retirement years than he ever had before, he would often say to me, “I wish I had known. I wish I had started sooner.” He was a disciple whom Jesus loved—and that never ceased to amaze him.

Can you say the same about yourself? Are you one whom Jesus loves? And does that continue to amaze you? As Pastor Rick shared a few weeks ago, Karl Barth, the eminent theologian, was once asked to summarize everything he knew about doctrine and theology. How would he sum up his life’s work and learning? And Barth responded without hesitation: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” This Lent, I want to be one who is constantly amazed, over and over again, that Jesus loves me.

It’s said that, when John was dying, his disciples asked him if he had any last words, any final wisdom he wanted to impart to them. The elderly apostle, last of the original twelve, looked up at those he had taught and said, “Little children, love one another.” He repeated it again and again. “Little children, love one another.” After several moments of this, one of his followers asked him if that was all he had to say, to which John replied, “It is enough, for it is the Lord’s command” (cf. Barclay 18). This message that shaped John’s life is the same message he would send to us this Lenten season: little children, love one another, for that is the Lord’s command. Be amazed that you are a disciple whom Jesus loves. Let’s pray.