Easter 5 — 2026-05-03

Transcript

So today's Gospel reading is one that is pretty familiar for most of us. Scholars refer to it as Jesus' farewell discourse, though most of us know it because it's often used as a reading at funerals. Through that lens, it is a text that offers comfort to the bereaved. There's something quite assuring about the idea that Jesus has gone ahead of each of us and prepared a mansion. It's easy to wonder what sort of mansion Jesus would have prepared for us. For me, I secretly hope it looks like the tree house that my oldest son drew when he was tiny. Up in the trees, but somehow had a swimming pool in the basement, had a light-filled art studio on the top floor, and a place for a telescope somewhere on the roof. And as dreamy and wonderful as that is, it sort of flies in the face of what I have come to understand about Jesus. I know that Jesus appreciates me as part of the body of Christ, but I also know I am not the whole package. Jesus just isn't that into me or into you. Jesus is a we guy. So how do we make sense of this? There are a few linguistic elements that are at play and that I think they are helpful to take into consideration. The major one being the Greek word moni, which is often translated as dwelling place. It's the word that is translated as rooms, or if we're being uppity, mansions. Many commentators suggest that this word has less to do with real estate and much, much more to do with relationship between Jesus and his disciples. The phrase is more abide than abode. As we understand them, abide is to follow, abode to dwell. Abiding feels active and engaging, while abode seems static, like we've arrived at the destination and we are not going to budge. But here's the thing. Jesus isn't static. His story is a constant unfolding. As followers of Jesus, we are constantly unfolding into the Christ story. Even our liturgical calendar shows this way. As much as it seems Eastertide, which is where we're at now, is one of great, cheerful resurrection and a place we really want to hold on to, our readings are preparing us for Pentecost, which is the next unfolding, which leads me to the disciples. God bless them. In our reading today, Philip and Thomas come to mind, wait, what? You're going to go where? Could you give me an address so I could plug it into my GPS and follow you? Come on, Jesus, just show us the Father and we're going to be satisfied. Sometimes I catch myself wanting to grab them by the shoulders and shake them. How do you not understand, fellas? You've been with this guy for how long? You've witnessed what? And still you ask dumb questions. Man. And yet this week, I've been thinking a whole bunch about mentorship, particularly because my mentor, and I'm pleased to add also my friend, David, has been visiting me. So David was my CPE, or clinical pastoral education supervisor. And for those unfamiliar with CPE, I'd like to think of it as being human 101. And after three units, my mentor helped me unfold into myself. As I reflect on that time and the time that I got to know David, I think about how much sitting in that room I wanted to shake my colleagues. What is wrong with you people? How do you not get it? How have you let something this big and beautiful and expansive become so small and confining? And of course, I think about the ways that I developed, and I wonder how many times David wanted to grab me by the shoulders and shake me. Yet typically, he would say something kind of Yoda-like, and eventually lights would turn on, and I would get there. But I'm still unfolding. So when I read this gospel, I cannot help to see a variation of that dynamic at play. The human desire to be right, to be seen, to be endorsed and competent, and it reminds me of the ways that our big, dumb egos just constantly mess that up. With the disciples' insecurities on display, rather than embracing his human nature and just shaking the snot out of them, Jesus offers them reassurance. You've been with me. You've seen the works that I've done. I am the way and the truth and the life, meaning my life is the way and the truth. I don't think we need to reach further to flesh out the meaning. I don't think we need to reach for atonement or anything other than what is offered right here. His life, the way he was in the world, was the way and the truth. And he assures his beloved community that if they live into that, then they, in fact, will do greater works than what he has done. Jesus, in his life, could only reach so many. But oh, I just imagine how those who believed could demonstrate and spread the word. When that happens, the numbers grow exponentially. You don't believe me? Is your inner cynic at the helm this morning telling you that the whole thing is just too impossible? There are too many obstacles, too many jerks keeping the kingdom at bay? Beloveds, you are here this Sunday morning. You are sitting here now and are a testament to the power of the unfolding of the Jesus story. What if we truly lived into that? What if every single soul that you interact with, every one of them, were nourished by your presence and your embodiment of the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth? And honestly, what if that were the whole Christian journey? To mentor one another in the ways of love, mercy, compassion, and wholeness? As I sit with it, as I reflect on all the ways that I have been nourished and the ways that I have fed others on this path, I am not sure it is ever more complicated than that. And when I imagine Jesus standing amongst his disciples, I'm taken aback by the idea that though Peter and Thomas and Philip and all of them spent lots of time wrestling with their experience and their belief in Jesus, Jesus consistently believed in them. And that commitment to compassion, love, and care helped them to unfold. Let us follow that lead. Let us continue to unfold into this heavenly kingdom. Amen.