Introduction
Whatever our secular or religious status, confidence is elusive. Sometimes we even work to keep it at bay because we’re afraid of disappointment. We swagger around the world proud to be among the G7, but France, the US and the UK should admit that shaping identity can be fraught, not only for a teenager, or someone asserting themselves in a new job, but also for whole countries at decision time. Jesus lovingly exposes this weakness, but also offers an authoritative source of confidence.
Context
Often absurd, sometimes presumptuous, occasionally perceptive claims about national identity are ringing out this election season. There is surely cognitive dissonance as the ‘United Kingdom’ is spoken of with pride, while some claim Scottish politicians (and therefore, presumably the electorate who chose them) somehow threaten to poison the London parliament. There is a fracture in logic as austerity and prosperity are brandished by the same politicians. There is corrosive resentment in the claim that it’s always others who should pay for the services we demand. There’s a scramble for authority, people making often embarrassing claims about being ‘strong and stable’ and ‘for the many not the few.’ There’s a bafflingly un-examined assumption that it’s anti-European politicians who should negotiate Britain’s exit, when they might be least qualified to understand what is at stake and how to relate to the groups in question. And yet we have the politicians we deserve. Fewer than thirty per cent of us got off our backsides and voted in the local elections while we participate in the bombing of Syria because they’re not a proper democracy. Who are we? Where do we anchor our national confidence?
Sadly, it was one of the most believable and likeable politicians whom an extremist chose to attack nearly a year ago. There will be street parties and events on the weekend of June 16th-17th to mark the anniversary of Jo Cox’s death. She was attacked precisely because she was joyous and positive, so confident that more unites than divides us in our common humanity. She died attempting to protect her colleagues and calling out for them to stay safe. This week we read about Stephen, dying because his joy in Christ was, for some, too provocative. As he died, he prayed for others. It is important emphatically not to claim Jo Cox for the Church. That would be appallingly self-serving and presumptuous. Rather, we might humbly let the quality of her life and the courage of her death teach us what is important about Stephen’s witness. She and her exceptionally gracious, courageous family, show us what Christian confidence ought to look like and name for us the risks we must accept in a world confused about identity and disorientated without reliable authority.
Reflection
Belonging
I am fortunate that, for the umpteenth time, this summer I will drive onto a car ferry and cross the Channel. Whenever I do, or when a train guard makes her way along the aisle, or I go to check in at an airport, I have a curious default setting inside. I always assume they will not let me on the plane, there’ll be a problem with the ticket or my booking won’t count for some reason. I’m not particularly nervous person, and as a straight white middle-class bloke I’ve had a very easy time of it: apart from two driving tests, no institution has said no to me. If, with all that positive experience, I still doubt my entitlement to be a paid-up passenger somewhere, how much more unnerving is it to face authority figures for someone who has been stopped and searched too often because of their colour, or barred from office in the church because their family doesn’t fit a neat stereotype, or who have been let down in love?
This long farewell discourse in John’s Gospel (Chapters 13-17, no less) is there for a reason, or perhaps we should say two. I venture to suggest that John’s Gospel, with its detailed conversations and intimate connection with Jesus, teems with first hand material. Surely in the long farewells, perhaps we can hear the apostle John preparing his disciples for his own death, by remembering how Jesus prepared him for his death, and his ascension. We can hear John’s disciples gathering this material, holding on to the one they are devoted to, who had eaten with, the risen Jesus. The text shimmers with both bereavements and with the wistful care of both John and Jesus who are leaving.
‘Who are we without John?’ asks his community, echoing his question years earlier: ‘who on earth will we be without Jesus?’
With the foot washing Jesus began showing them how to be a community without him. Peter’s over-reactions (‘No,’ then, ‘wash all of me,’ then, ‘I will die for you’) showed, not confidence, but lack of confidence. Over assertion usually does. That is why Jesus responded by saying ‘Don’t be afraid.’ (John 14.1) He went on to assert, with beautiful hospitable imagery, that they really do belong with God. They should feel at home, safe and cherished with God. Then, by casting forwards to create an image of a future haven for troubled disciples, Jesus acknowledges that, as Stephen will be all too painfully aware, it is understandable for our hearts to quiver, for us to feel afraid. Jesus tells them not to be troubled in spirit because he knows exactly what it feels like (11.38; 12.27; 13.21; not to mention the other Gospels’ account of Gethsemane), yet he does so in a way that acknowledges the cost of a discipleship orientated towards heaven.
ROOTS notes this week helpfully open up some of the dwellings Jesus evokes, like those desert havens for travellers. Symbols in John are always open to several meanings, evoking several things at once. Jesus has attended the Festival of Sukkot, or shelters (John 7) – which are symbolic of having to make temporary shelter in the wilderness. For a Christian on the move, such as Syrian Christians fleeing even the refugee camps where they have felt unsafe, such evocation is vital. For Christians whose church has been bombed in Egypt, talk of shelter on a journey is beautiful. For a community being expelled from the Temple and synagogue where the early Christians met to praise God (as in early chapters of Acts), it is reassuring to imagine they can count themselves the fabric of a temple (1 Peter 2). Just so, for someone searching for a church because after years of creative contribution they have come out as gay and been asked to leave the fellowship they loved. Jesus’ description of the shelter God provides, highlighting the provisionality of our self-made shelters, is deeply reassuring. For an individual like St John at the end of his life – and for Bob, whom I was privileged to anoint just before he died last week – imagining our ultimate home as a place of eternal safety and belonging is exquisite. All these evocations, count and should perhaps be allowed to play among each other.
Authority
Having asserted that they belong with God, Jesus lets questions from Thomas, Philip and Judas, (14.22) draw them deeper into his confidence. These are questions of faithful, not faithless people, but they do also show our tendency to resist giving in to confidence in God; our hunch that just a little more is always needed. ‘Tell us exactly where you are going.’ ‘Let us see something glamorous, a theophany to prove the Father’s presence.’ ‘Do we need to worry all the others?’
Confidence to assert the authority of heaven over earthly powers, even those that might kill Stephen and harm us, can be elusive. The confidence Jesus is nurturing in his close followers is in sharp contrast to the institutionally confident face presented by those who want him and his followers silenced. It is very telling that the normally self-consciously dignified Council should both cover their ears and shout loudly as they rush to stone Stephen (Acts 7.57). This over assertion is proof that they know they are wrong. Think of the people bellowing ‘god is great’ as they kill someone, clearly trying to drown out the sound of their own conscience. Think of the screeches of approval at sickening political rallies. Think of the spittle and pathetic swaggering of unmanly EDL louts trying, and failing miserably, to intimidate a young Muslim woman in Birmingham last month. Think, too, of a president shouting ‘Fake News’ and jabbing his finger to silence an uncomfortable question from a journalist, or summarily sacking the FBI chief who was looking into his links with Russia.
It is easy to criticise such people, but harder to fill the gap left by the disingenuous authorities we deconstruct. I often wonder: if we saw cloud and fire leading us, flocks of quails landing when we’re peckish, water streaming from rock, let alone plagues on our enemies, whether we would be more faithful, more confident in God. But then one of the hilariously frustrating things about us is that, even when Israel had all that clarity, they still made the golden calf, grumbled and wandered off. We think, like Philip, just a bit more information and we’ll be sure. But it doesn’t seem to work like that. Indeed, Jesus asserts that his absence will soon make his presence even more wondrously felt (14.12). We have seen examples this Easter season. Recalling them, think of those around you whose quiet faith out shines the self-promoting but inwardly needy people who claim our attention.
God made the prison gates swing open. Miracle.
Paul stayed, more concerned for the guard than his freedom. Greater miracle.
God gave Peter a vision of animals. Gift of the Spirit.
Peter then made friends with a Roman Centurion like the one who’d
executed Jesus. Greater gift of the Spirit.
Jesus the Christ forgave his executioners. Intimidating miracle.
Ordinary Stephen did the same. A miracle to make God weep.
Prayer
Sunday worship
might include pre-election prayers for:
- wisdom to discern when someone is raising their voice because deep down they know they are wrong;
- courage to challenge any who try to punish someone for being right;
- confidence to speak up when someone is mistreated out of resentment at their joy;
- grace to notice when someone in embattled silence needs to hear that they belong;
- humility, when we shout too much, to hear your words: ‘do not be afraid’.
Prayer during the week
Stephen quoted a Jewish night prayer, Psalm 31, as he died. Use the summary of the Psalm in today’s lectionary, as a night-time prayer this week, gently accepting the vulnerability of sleep as a symbol of our death. Then, in the morning, recite the closing verse to start the day:
Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord. (Ps 31.24)
Questions
- How far does our desire for deeper spiritual experience of God distract us from God’s presence among us in the needy neighbour approaching us for help, in the sacrificial love of a wounded parent; in the joy of a child not yet burdened by cynicism?
- How far do we use questions of proof about God to keep our hearts closed to his/her authority?
Action
Think about how you say goodbye to people. Is there anything you might say to build their confidence? If it turned out to be the last time you saw them, what might they need from you?
Young People
If you are fortunate enough to have a room of your own, or perhaps share one with a sibling, when you have some time to yourself, look around at the things you have chosen to decorate it; the things that make you feel you belong there; the things you reach for when you are upset; the things that make you feel safe. Imagine Jesus is in the room with you. Tell him why each thing matters to you.
Then pray:
Thank you, Jesus, that wherever I go, you are with me.
When I feel the world does not understand me,
remind me that I can find refuge in you.
I trust I belong with you. Amen.
The Revd David Warbrick serves All Saints Kings Heath in Birmingham which, thanks to a hospitable congregation, he thoroughly enjoys, but still he doesn’t feel grown up enough to be their Vicar.
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