Phil Kniss: Deny or dissent? When empire and discipleship clash

Lent 3 – “Disciple turns Denier: Peter’s Betrayal”
TURNING
John 18:12-27


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Now we’re a little deeper into John’s passion narrative.

Last Sunday we looked at chapter 13, 

where Jesus washed the feet of his disciples.

Today we pick up in the middle of chapter 18, 

and Jesus is already on trial.

We can’t cover the whole text in a limited series,

so do spend some time reading the sections of John

that we jump over from week to week.

I want to point out an interesting feature

in John’s passion narrative.

If you have a Bible with you, open it to John 13.

Remember what I said earlier.

John is less interested in telling a chronological story, 

and more interested in telling a theological story. 

John 13 is mostly story. Things happen.

They are at a table for Passover,

and Jesus washes his disciples feet.

Peter objects, but ultimately allows it to happen.

Then Jesus says in v. 21 that one of them will betray him,

and an anxious dialogue ensues,

and Judas quickly walks out into the night, verse 30,

to get ready for what he will do.

Then Jesus starts talking, in a foreboding way, 

about how he’s not going to be with them much longer.

Peter asks, “where are you going?”

And Jesus answers without really answering, 

“Where I am going you cannot follow.”

Peter says, “Why can’t I follow you? 

I will lay down my life for you!”

Jesus says, “Lay down your life, will you? 

Before the rooster crows in the morning, 

you will have denied me three times.”

Peter figures large in this John 13 story.

So keep this bantering between Jesus and Peter in mind.

It’s essential background for today’s story.

But before we get there,

and before we get to any action at all,

Jesus turns to the rest of his disciples who stayed at the table 

and has a four-chapter-long conversation with them. 

Actually, it’s more speech than conversation,

but the disciples do interject a few times.

In John 14 to 17, we have four whole chapters of Jesus talking—

famous speeches that we know well,

but don’t often think of them as happening 

at the Last Supper table:

In my Father’s house are many mansions;

I am the Way the Truth and the Life;

I will ask the Father, and he will send you an Advocate;

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you;

I am the vine, you are the branches;

This is my commandment, 

that you love one another as I have loved you;

No greater love has anyone than this, 

than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

(Which is a verse often quoted by our military leaders,

and was quoted by Russian President Putin

a few days ago at a huge rally

referring to what his soldiers are doing in Ukraine.)

These are Jesus’ most golden speeches.

Even if we do take his words and misuse and abuse them at times.

Then in John 17, Jesus looks into heaven and prays his 

famous prayer for his disciples,

“May they be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, 

that they may become completely one, 

so that the world may know that you have sent me 

and have loved them even as you have loved me.”

John puts all these words at this intimate moment at the table,

Jesus speaking, with his closest disciples leaning in.

Finally, the action picks up again, in chapter 18.

Today’s reading started at verse 12.

But some critical action happened right before that,

and, once again, Peter figures large in the story.

Jesus and the disciples got up from the table,

and went out in the night to the Garden of Gethsemane.

And Judas shows up, this time with soldiers, and religious leaders, 

in order to get Jesus arrested.

Peter bravely (or shall we say, stupidly)

starts swinging his sword wildly

to defend Jesus against the band of soldiers

and ends up cutting off the ear of high priest’s slave.

And Jesus reprimands him.

And then we have the story we heard today, of brave Peter—

the one who was going to lay down his life for Jesus,

the one who hours earlier was swinging a sword at soldiers.

This man of courage denied he knew Jesus, three times.

_____________________

You know, as 21st-century disciples of Jesus in America, 

the land of religious freedom, 

it feels convenient to have a situation like this 

that’s so far removed from our lives 

that we can keep our questions theoretical and rhetorical.

How often have I heard us ask ourselves, 

“If I was Peter there in the courtyard, would I have denied Jesus?”

It’s an interesting question,

and a good question,

but a safe question.

We know the odds are pretty low 

that we will ever have to face off against armed soldiers 

or suffer a mock trial 

or nearly anything that resembles John 18, 

just because we identify as a follower of Jesus.

So let’s make this story real for us, shall we?

What this story is all about, seems to me,

is a dramatic collision between Empire,

and Kingdom of God.

We can see, with our 20-20 hindsight the disciples did not have,

that Jesus’ ministry is all about establishing an alternative politics.

A different way of being human,

and being in community,

and being in the world,

than what is offered to us by earthly empires and nation-states.

It is a kingdom of righteous, peace, justice, joy, and deep freedom.

It is not coercive, and greedy, and violent, and easily threatened.

Jesus came proclaiming that the kingdom of heaven was near.

And the nearer it came,

the more reactive earthly empires became.

And chapter 18 gives us two distinct examples

of how to function in this collision of Empire and the Jesus way.

Jesus dissented.

And Peter denied.

Let’s take a look.

In chapter 18 both Jesus and Peter get questioned

by representatives of Empire.

I use “empire” broadly speaking.

It can refer to Rome, of course, the literal Empire

who held the power of life and death over its subjects.

It can also refer to any human power construct

that operates by those values of control and coercion.

Such as . . . the religious leaders

who opposed Jesus and his followers.

So how did Peter respond when confronted by Empire?

He said he knew nothing about this Jesus.

He slunk deeper into the shadows, hoping to disappear.

He denied, deflected, and deceived,

in order to protect himself.

And how did Jesus respond when confronted by Empire?

He stepped forward, and dissented.

He begged to differ from the assumptions of the Empire.

He challenged the framework.

He creatively engaged.

In our story next Sunday, Jesus will be questioned by Rome.

But in our reading today, Jesus is questioned by the religious leaders,

Annas and Caiaphas.

There’s a little ambiguity in the text,

about whether one or both are high priests.

But either way,

Empire and the Kingdom of God are colliding,

Jesus is right in the middle,

and Jesus openly dissents. 

Look at his various answers to the interrogation.

I have spokenly openly to the world.

I have said nothing in secret.

Why do you ask me?

If I have spokenly wrongly, tell me what is wrong.

If I have spokenly rightly, why do you strike me?

Compare with Peter’s answers to his informal interrogation

in the courtyard.

I am not Jesus’ disciple.

No, I am not a disciple.

No, you did not see me in the garden.

Cleverly, John intersperses Peter’s Q&A,

with Jesus’ Q&A.

Like a movie,

the camera cuts back and forth

between these two scenes happening at the same time.

The one where Jesus confronts the Empire 

with an alternative and more truthful reality.

And the one where Peter tries to hide and blend in with Empire.

_____________________

Now . . . if we think about ourselves again for a moment,

it won’t take a lot of imagination

to think of multiple ways that in our everyday lives,

the call to follow the way of Jesus,

collides with what Empire expects of us.

And it is always our choice how to respond—

to dissent from the claims of Empire,

to creatively confront Empire and its way

of coercive power over others,

or—in order to blend in—

to not mention that we answer to another Lord,

to essentially deny that we are disciples of Jesus,

that we are being formed to live in this world 

in a different way.

No, we may not have armed guards asking us to state our allegiance . . .

yet.

But don’t we already find ourselves 

in exactly the position Peter was in?

There are many ways we can bring this home right to where we are,

so do that, as you talk together about this.

But let me give you a striking example a little further away,

that was shared with us this past Wednesday from this pulpit,

when Drew Strait gave a public lecture on

the Bible and Christian Nationalism.

And I encourage all of you to go to our YouTube channel

sometime this week and listen to it.

He read a quote from a statement made 

by a group of Russian Orthodox leaders this past week,

in opposition to Putin’s war against Ukraine,

even while many of their Orthodox clergy colleagues

are supporting Putin.

Here are some disciples of Jesus choosing to dissent, rather than deny.

Just a few lines from their statement:

“We acknowledge the sole and ultimate authority

of our Lord Jesus Christ . . . 

We therefore condemn as non-Orthodox and reject any teaching

which would subordinate the Kingdom of God,

to any kingdom of this world seeking other 

churchly or secular lords who can justify and redeem us.

We firmly reject all forms of government that deify the state . . . 

We also rebuke all those who . . . replace their ultimate obedience

to the crucified and resurrected Lord

with that of any leader vested with ruling powers 

and claiming to be God’s anointed, 

whether known by the title of “Caesar,” “Emperor,” “Tsar,”

or “President.”

Powerful example of choosing dissent over denial.

A choice that is also in our hands,

nearly every day.

God, give us the power to dissent from the false claims of Empire,

and boldly proclaim our allegiance to you and your Reign.

Let us read together the confession, printed in our bulletin.

We will sing the Kyrie response twice through, 

two times, where indicated.

“Kyrie Eleison . . . Lord, have mercy.”

We begin with singing.

all [sing “Kyrie”]

one Sovereign God of all Nations,

we confess that when confronted 

with competing claims of earthly empires 

we disciples of Jesus do not always rise to the challenge.

all Forgive us for being mute.

Forgive us for retreating into silence.

Forgive us for our outright denials.

one We confess that our concern over what others think, 

and our impulse to guard our reputation 

and avoid costly consequences 

often keeps us warming our hands by the fire 

in the outer courts, 

instead of daring to confront injustice and oppression 

in places of power.

all [sing “Kyrie”]

one We are forgiven and freed by your grace.

Go with us, Jesus, as we continue the journey as your disciples

in a world that resists your kind

of upside-down power and love.

—Phil Kniss, March 20, 2022

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Phil Kniss: A sustainable willing spirit

Lent 2 – “Master turns servant: Jesus washes feet”
TURNING
John 13:1-17


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On this second Sunday of Lent, 5 weeks before Easter,

the Narrative Lectionary puts us in the final week of Jesus’ life.

This is unusual, but for me, a welcomed opportunity.

Holy Week is book-ended by Palm Sunday and Easter,

so in my binders of old sermons,

I have loads of sermons about the Triumphal Entry,

and the Resurrection,

but very few about 

all the other things that happened that week.

We always read through the Passion Story during Holy Week,

but rarely do we dive in deep.

Case in point, although I’ve often made comments 

on this John 13 text at Maundy Thursday services,

I have never preached a Sunday morning sermon on it.

So this is sermon #1,227 in my preaching career.

But about foot-washing, this is sermon #1.

And that is awfully strange, if not shameful.

Because, 

since the very beginning of our Anabaptist movement in the 1500s,

this story from John 13 is in our Top Ten of all Gospel stories,

if not the top 3 or 4.

How many Mennonite church logos have you seen,

that include an image of a basin or towel? Lots.

How many Mennonite altar tables or foyer displays have you seen,

where a basin and towel had a prominent place? Lots.

One of the more prominent sculptures on EMU’s campus,

is that of Jesus washing Peter’s feet,

created by Esther Augsburger.

Of course, actually doing the physical ritual

is more rare these days.

Foot-washing has virtually disappeared from many churches.

We do it here at Park View only occasionally,

and often in smaller settings.

I’ll bet many of you,

especially among Millennials, and younger,

have never participated in a foot-washing ceremony.

Lucky for you, there will be a chance today,

during All-Age Faith Formation,

in case you want to “test the waters” so to speak—

to just get your feet wet in this ritual Jesus instituted.

But . . . back to my debut sermon on John 13.

_____________________

Servanthood is central to Christian discipleship.

We know that, deep in our bones.

It’s part of the DNA not only of Anabaptists,

but many, many denominations and faith groups.

A willingness to humble ourselves,

and carry out acts of service that otherwise seem below us,

is how we demonstrate the love of God.

It’s how we show we are willing

to serve a cause greater than ourselves, 

and bigger than our agenda.

It is the essential posture of a disciple of Jesus.

It is why Mennonite Central Committee exists.

MCC started a little over 100 years ago,

in, of all places, the Ukraine,

where the combination of a Russian civil war

and widespread famine,

meant that our own Mennonite sisters and brothers there

were starving to death.

So we went to great lengths,

and great personal and financial sacrifice to serve them,

and to serve many other suffering people besides.

Some even laid down their lives for that noble cause.

Service still drives the mission 

of so many of our Mennonite institutions today—

Mennonite Disaster Service,

Mennonite hospitals, group homes, schools, camps,

mission agencies, financial aid organizations.

For the size of our denomination,

we have a huge, and I mean huge,

number of institutions whose mission is centered 

on servanthood.

Nevertheless, this is a challenging topic for us.

_____________________

In John chapter 13,

we see Jesus, who (as John often reminds us)

is sent from God,

is one with God,

is God’s anointed one, the Messiah,

whose authority is supreme—

we see this God-figure stoop to our level,

take a basin of water and towel,

and make his rounds to his disciples.

This highly esteemed rabbi

washes the dirty and dusty feet of his disciples.

He does the duty usually relegated

to the lowest servants in the household.

And Jesus not only does this remarkable act,

and makes his disciples feel awkward and uncomfortable,

but he commands them—and us—to do the same.

Jesus intends for his followers to never forget

the primary place of humility and servanthood,

in the character of a disciple.

This idea is not easily embraced.

As we heard in the story,

Peter protested—vehemently—at the very notion

that Jesus would do this.

And why did Peter protest?

We tend to put this in the best possible light.

Well, Peter had such high esteem for his rabbi.

His own humility made him object.

Yeah? I don’t think so.

It was not humility, but pride,

that prompted Peter’s protest.

I say this partly because humility 

was not very apparent among Jesus’ disciples, most of the time.

Many of them—including Peter—

were rough, proud, and self-sufficient Galileans.

James and John angled for the top two positions

in the new government they thought Jesus would establish.

But I also say this partly from personal experience and observation.

We Mennonites who emphasize service and servanthood,

also suffer from a lot of pride

that masquerades as humility.

When we object to being served by others,

or protest when someone wishes to give us an undeserved gift,

or wants to perform some act of service or kindness for us,

we might imagine it’s our humility that gets in the way.

But no, let’s be honest.

It’s pride.

To be the recipient of a free gift, or an act of service,

makes us feel beholden to another.

And we don’t want to be beholden.

We can take care of ourselves, thank you very much.

When Jesus washed Peter’s feet,

Peter felt like he was losing control.

And he was.

Peter’s response actually reminded me

of a story in the Hebrew Scriptures, 2 Kings 5, 

when the powerful Aramean army commander Naaman,

came to the Israelite prophet Elisha,

to seek healing from his leprosy.

The cure Elisha offered, through a messenger

(to wash in the Jordan River seven times),

was so offensive to Naaman,

that he turned his chariot around in anger to head back home.

Elisha didn’t even do the favor of showing his face.

Naaman was too great and powerful,

to be told, by a messenger, to get in that dirty water.

Now, we don’t have trouble identifying this as pride.

But is it really much different than what Peter objected to?

Peter resisted the offer of Jesus,

because to accept it was to admit he wasn’t in control.

_____________________

Jesus modeled the posture of authentic servanthood—

It was a self-giving and generous act 

that even at the moment he lowered himself,

he maintained a strong identity and selfhood.

Jesus was self-giving,

not self-destructing.

There is a big difference.

So why has foot-washing diminished among us in recent decades?

I’ve heard us blame it on our Western individualistic,

and self-oriented culture.

That’s probably fair.

But it’s also a little more complicated than that.

Maybe Mennonites have gradually come to see

there is a perverted form of yieldedness,

that shows up sometimes in the church.

It’s a form of self-yielding that veers into self-condemnation,

that keeps us from living our best self,

that makes it harder to see and affirm

that sacred and beautiful divine image in all of us

that must be celebrated and preserved.

And so . . .

seeing some people struggle to believe

they are worthwhile as they are, in the sight of God,

we have focused less on self-emptying servanthood.

So I understand this response.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.

We have the authentic servanthood that Jesus modeled:

self-giving without self-abasement.

If we have a healthy sense of self,

or at least, a sense of self that is growing,

and being supported by our community of faith,

then we can safely be invited by our community

to a life of humility and servant-hood and even deep sacrifice,

because it is coming from a place of 

knowing God’s abundant and unconditional love.

Our inherent worth before God is not called into question,

when we say yes to radical servanthood and obedience,

even to the point of being willing to lay down our lives

for a cause greater than ourselves.

This is the paradox of Christian servant-hood:

In order to sacrifice ourselves,

we need to have a self to sacrifice.

We need a self that knows it is loved unconditionally by God.

_____________________

In my study this week,

I came to a deeper appreciation of Psalm 51.

This is a beautiful penitential psalm I’ve read my whole life.

It is full of honest self-assessment

of our shortcomings and sin.

But the psalm really shines, 

when the psalmist gets in touch with his worth before God,

and of God’s love for him.

It’s summed up in verse 1:

“Have mercy on me, O God,

according to your steadfast love.”

But I the real key is in verse 12.

“Restore to me the joy of your salvation,

and sustain in me a willing spirit.”

There is the soul of Christian service:

A willing spirit, made sustainable by God’s own intervention.

That’s the prayer of the psalmist.

That God would sustain, in him, a willing spirit.

The word “willing” is so much richer in Hebrew.

We cheapen it,

when we think it simply means to be “agreeable.”

We can agree to do something, without being willing in spirit.

The original word in this Hebrew poem is nadib (נָדִיב)

Nadib.

It means to be inclined toward someone.

To be generous.

To be noble.

In fact, when used as a noun

it’s in the masculine form in Hebrew,

and translated elsewhere in the Bible as,

nobleman or prince.

Makes sense actually.

We think of a noble person or princely person

as someone who is generous, self-giving,

and inclined toward others.

So in the middle of confessing his deep sin,

the psalmist prays that God would enable him

to be noble, princely, generous,

that God would sustain in him a willing spirit.

I don’t know of a better prayer,

for those of us who choose a life of service.

Lord, would you make my generosity sustainable?

Help me give myself without losing myself.

I commit myself to praying this prayer more often.

I encourage you to do the same.

Lord, make me more generous, more open to others,

more inclined toward others,

including those I find difficult to understand or love.

And Lord, you sustain in me, that willing spirit.

Join me now in a prayer of confession

that begins to move us all in that direction.

one God of love and generosity.

We also want to be generous.

At the same time, we want to be respected,

to not be taken advantage of.

all Forgive us when we have closed the door too soon,

and kept ourselves from responding to your call.

one We acknowledge that we sometimes hold our willing spirit in check,

to protect ourselves from being used.

all Forgive us when we have closed our heart too soon,

and kept ourselves from giving and receiving your love.

[silence]

one Do your work in our inner being,

sustain in us a willing spirit,

to go where you lead,

to give where our gifts are needed.

And restore to us the full joy of your salvation.

—Phil Kniss, March 13, 2022

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Paula Stoltzfus: Turning towards the other

Lent 1 – “Word turns flesh: Jesus raises Lazarus”
TURNING
John 11:1-44


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Phil Kniss: Whom shall we fear? Serious question.

I am the Light of the World
The Word became flesh and lived among us
John 8:12; 9:1-41


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This morning’s lectionary reading in John does a funny thing.

It picks up one verse in the first part of chapter 8,

and then with a big leapfrog, jumps over 46 verses,

and drops down on chapter 9,

to tell the longest healing story in the Bible.

But it makes perfect sense to cherry-pick that verse in chapter 8,

because it summarizes, in one verse,

what the long healing story in chapter 9 is all about.

In John 8:12, Jesus makes another of his “I am” claims,

as he is in conversation with his adversaries.

He said, “I am the light of the world.

Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness

but will have the light of life.”

That statement, along with other things he said and did in chapter 8,

resulted in a major verbal kerfuffle — a fight with words.

The conversation got so heated,

the religious leaders tossed Jesus one of the worst slurs

they could think of,

calling him a “demon-possessed Samaritan.”

Wow.

That insult covers religion, morality, mental health, and race.

So the healing of the blind man happens right after all that,

at least in John, who seems to arrange it that way on purpose.

Measured in number of verses, 41,

no other healing story gets this much ink in the Bible.

The fascinating thing about it is,

Jesus plays a minor role in the story.

The healing itself takes only two verses.

In the rest of the chapter,

there’s a whole cast of characters reacting to that healing.

Jesus healed the blind man on the Sabbath,

and that stirred up the worst fears

the Jewish leaders lived with every day.

They couldn’t stomach Jesus’ popularity,

because it was calling unwanted attention by Roman authorities.

See, Rome was just fine with the Jewish people

keeping their Jewish identity

and practicing their religion,

just so long as they kept calm and paid their taxes on time.

In other words, Rome was saying to the Jewish rulers,

“Do your religious thing—

pretend like you have actual power (even if you don’t)—

we don’t care,

just as long as you keep the peace,

and keep the money flowing.

It was an arrangement that the Pharisees and other Jewish leaders

could live with.

Because, well, they could live… with it.

And because it kept some semblance of control in their hands,

Kept them in their jobs.

But they knew, if things got out of hand, the hammer would drop.

So it was not entirely unreasonable of them

to be concerned about Jesus and his impact on the people.

If Jesus started skirting the religious law,

and got crowds of people on his side while he did it,

it was undermining this convenient arrangement

they had with the Empire.

It could effect everybody’s well-being.

I think many Bible readers, myself included,

are sometimes too quick to judge the Pharisees,

as the power-hungry elite, who ignore the little people,

and game the system to their advantage.

That’s not really fair.

They were working on behalf of their people, in at least two ways.

They tried to maintain calm and social order,

to keep them out of the crosshairs of the Roman Empire.

And…they were trying to achieve ritual purity,

around Sabbath laws and other religious regulations,

not because they were fanatical, self-righteous conservatives

who didn’t care about the people.

No, they cared about purity because they believed

the Messiah would not come and deliver them politically,

until they had achieved purity religiously.

Now, were they misguided? Yes.

But were they well-intentioned? Also yes.

So keep that in mind as we review the plot of this healing story.

If you can call it a plot.

It’s less a sequence of actions, than it is a series of debates.

This would not make a great movie,

unless you like movies that are all talk, and no action.

The first conversation is between Jesus and the disciples —

before Jesus healed the man.

The disciples pointed at the man,

not out of compassion for him as a human being,

but as a theological object lesson,

asking Jesus, “Who sinned, this man or his parents,

that he was born blind.”

Jesus confronted their faulty theology, and said, “Neither one.”

Then he proceeded to heal the man of his blindness.

Well, that set everything else into motion,

because, you guessed it, it was the Sabbath Day.

This story has multiple scenes and multiple debates,

over different issues.

Some just could not believe that a man born blind could now see.

So there was an investigation of sorts,

just to verify the story,

make sure it wasn’t fabricated.

But the central debate was driven by the Pharisees,

who were stuck on this issue of Sabbath.

At first, the Pharisees tried

to pull the man’s parents into the argument,

but they wouldn’t take the bait.

Eventually, it came down to a face-off

between the Pharisees and the formerly blind man.

And it’s a brilliant dialogue.

It probably would make a great movie, anyway.

The Pharisees end up looking like blustering fools,

and the blind beggar like a skilled orator,

who wins the debate with his superior intellect.

There’s a couple mic-drop moments in the chapter.

The argument came down to this crucial point—

is this man Jesus from God, or is he a fraud?

That’s the key question,

because the buzz all over the country,

is this growing feeling about Jesus,

“This could be the Messiah!”

And many are believing he actually is.

And things are not staying calm and quiet,

the way the Jewish leaders need them to be.

Rumblings of Messiah, mean rumblings of revolt.

Rome would not hesitate to clamp down.

Jesus is not once, but multiple times,

breaking Sabbath law,

or encouraging others to break Sabbath law

(remember the other week, Jesus asking the lame man,

to carry his mat on the Sabbath?).

And he is not keeping himself ritually pure,

associating with lepers and sinners and Samaritan women.

By definition (their definition)

it is impossible that Jesus could be the Messiah.

The Messiah will come when religious purity is achieved.

This man is drawing people away from religious purity.

The Pharisee’s entire world of constructed reality

is in conflict,

and they are afraid.

They are afraid that this fraudster

is about to ruin the whole project,

and bring the wrath of Rome down on everyone’s head.

But what this amazing Gospel story does, instead,

is unmask the Pharisee’s false sense of security.

It reveals the underlying fear

that is driving their whole way of living—

their fear of losing control over their situation.

_____________________

Jesus has a way of shining God’s light of truth

into the shadow areas of whoever he encounters.

That’s why John 8:12 is the key that unlocks this healing story.

Jesus IS the Light of the World.

Jesus comes shining God’s spotlight

on all that is wounded and broken and unjust in the world.

The healing of this man would have been no big deal,

if it hadn’t violated religious law.

But these circumstances brought religious law

and God’s compassion into conflict with each other.

That was God’s spotlight.

In Jesus’ day, and perhaps in ours just as much,

sometimes giving someone the healing or justice they need,

results in the powers being unmasked for who they really are.

Operatives that rely on fear to maintain control.

I’m guessing we could all think of some modern-day examples

in the larger world of political movements,

and social change.

The powers of evil are everywhere present.

We can easily look to the human disaster befalling Ukraine right now,

where the people of one country are in no way enemies

of the people in another.

Extended families find themselves

on both sides of the conflict.

It’s seems so transparent to us,

that fear of losing control,

fear of a constructed reality falling apart,

is what is driving Putin and the Russian government

to invade a neighboring country,

and cause so much human suffering, without remorse.

We can also look to our own dysfunctional political system,

and point to where fear is a driving force

all across the political spectrum.

Where fear is the motivator,

and human compassion is a forgotten virtue.

_____________________

Of course, those are easy targets—

Russia, and our own domestic political adversaries.

But I think the truth of the Gospel hits closer home.

What fears are keeping us

from following the light of Jesus?

Where are those shadow places in our own lives,

where we’d rather the light of God not poke around too much.

Is there a way in which God wants to offer healing,

and we aren’t quite ready for that,

because it would disturb the status quo.

Jesus IS the light of the world,

and the light of our own being.

And light is sometimes welcomed,

and sometimes not.

Light can illuminate us.

Light can also disillusion us.

And illusions are hard to let go of.

That’s what Jesus was getting at in the concluding debate in chapter 9.

He was talking to the formerly blind man,

and the Pharisees were in earshot, listening in.

Let me just reread the last three verses.

I can’t say it any clearer.

Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment

so that those who do not see may see,

and those who do see may become blind.”

Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him,

“Surely we are not blind, are we?”

Jesus said to them,

“If you were blind, you would not have sin.

But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”

Ah, the illusion of sight.

Even worse than blindness.

In today’s Psalm reading, we heard these familiar words,

“The Lord is my light and my salvation,

whom shall I fear?”

That question, “whom shall we fear?”

we usually read as a rhetorical question, and rightly so.

God is light, there is NO ONE we should fear.

But actually, we don’t have to read it as a rhetorical question.

“Whom shall we fear? Serious question.”

Whom do we fear?

Sometimes, we fear the one wielding the flashlight.

I invite us to examine ourselves in a moment of confession,

to examine what and whom we fear,

and after that confession,

to then sing, with all our being,

and invite Jesus, the light of the world,

to shine wherever—wherever the light is needed,

even if the light hurts.

—Phil Kniss, February 27, 2022

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Phil Kniss: Staying in the flow of God

I am the Water of Life
The Word became flesh and lived among us
John 7:37-52

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Today’s service is different than most,

so we aren’t really having a sermon, or a typical children’s time.

Instead, I want to talk just a little about what Mia and I just read

from the Gospel of John,

and about what we are doing in today’s service,

and help it make sense to children, young people, and adults.

So this is for all ‘yall.

The thing about following Jesus,

is that it’s not always an easy way to live.

Not always smooth sailing.

Because Jesus came to change the world,

and change the way God’s people lived in the world.

And that made some people love Jesus,

and some people hate him.

Jesus spoke up for God, and for God’s rule

of justice and peace and love.

Jesus represented, or stood up for, God’s family,

the kingdom of heaven.

But Jesus also had a human family, a human community.

His people were Palestinian Jews

living under a violent Roman Empire.

And sometimes the way his community lived,

didn’t match up to the way God’s kingdom was supposed to be.

So part of the job God gave Jesus to do on this earth,

was to tell his own people,

they weren’t living the way God wanted them to live.

That was hard for a lot of them to hear.

Especially the leaders,

who wanted to keep things the way they were,

and not make waves.

It’s a little like that, with us, in the church.

We are followers of Jesus here at Park View.

We are part of the big heavenly Kingdom,

but we also have this smaller community of human beings

who aren’t perfect, and who make mistakes,

and sometimes, are even selfish or violent 

or sinful in other ways.

Then we all have to figure out together what to do about it.

That’s what it means to be part of a church.

Any church, including this one at Park View, 

is a group of people trying to figure out, best they can,

how to follow Jesus in a big, complicated and messy world,

and especially, how to follow Jesus, exactly where we live,

in our own neighborhood, here and now.

Guess what?

That makes church complicated and messy, too.

We can’t help it, because we’re human.

We aren’t always the best that we can be.

But we need each other anyway.

In today’s service, we will hear from some people 

who want to become members of this church.

That means, they want to say publicly 

that they want to be part of this church family,

as imperfect as it is.

They want to give something of themselves to us,

and they are ready to receive what we have to offer them.

In chapter 7 of the Gospel of John,

right before what Mia and I read,

Jesus’ own family of faith were having conflict,

and a lot of the conflict was about Jesus.

The rich and powerful leaders, especially,

felt threatened by Jesus,

and all his talk about the heavenly kingdom,

because it disturbed their way of life.

It was time for another big festival in Jerusalem,

and some people wanted Jesus to go to it,

and some people warned Jesus to stay away.

At first, Jesus said he wouldn’t go.

But then after everyone else left for the festival,

Jesus himself also went, kind of on the sly.

But once he was in Jerusalem,

he started teaching and preaching openly,

even though some of the leaders were so upset with Jesus

that they wanted to kill him.

But this time, Jesus’ main message

was a comforting one, at least for most people.

He said, “If you are thirsty, come to me.

Drink deep, and you will have rivers of living water 

flowing in and through you.”

The Jewish people in Jesus’ day,

and we here at Park View Mennonite Church in our day,

don’t all have the same ideas about everything.

We disagree, sometimes about important things.

But one thing we have decided to all come together on, 

is that if we are thirsty, if we are tired, if we need life,

Jesus is where we can find it.

We come together around Jesus.

Jesus is, to us, water that gives life.

Eternal life, no matter what else is going on around us.

I’m really thankful for that,

and I’m really thankful that I can call this church my family.

Like my own family at home, we aren’t perfect.

But we are full of love. And that’s enough for a good life.

Jesus, Rock of Ages, let me hide myself in thee.

Jesus, Living Water, let me drink from your flowing stream.

—Phil Kniss, February 20, 2022

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Phil Kniss: Ingesting Jesus

I am the Bread of Life
The Word became flesh and lived among us
John 6:1-14, 35-44, 48-51


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A lot of eating goes on in John. And it’s not a coincidence.

Six of the stories take place during an actual meal,

where food is served.

And John likes to use metaphors of eating and drinking—

“tasting death” . . . “drinking living water” . . .

and most notably,

today’s strange text about eating and drinking Jesus.

I’ll get back to that disturbing image.

But let’s begin with a story.

This is Narrative Lectionary, after all.

Story drives our engagement with scripture.

In John 6, we get another miracle story.

Like other miracle stories, it’s less about the miracle itself,

than about advancing the mission of Jesus.

It’s a teachable moment, for the disciples and for the crowds,

but mostly for the disciples.

By the way, this is the only miracle that’s  in all four Gospels.

Details vary, but the storyline is the same.

Jesus makes a lot out of a little,

feeds an enormous crowd of thousands,

and to put an exclamation mark on it all,

they gather the leftovers,

and it’s way more than they started with.

So why this story, and why now in John?

Well, it’s one of John’s six meal stories.

And it sets the stage for the long theological discourse

about bread and life that we’ll get to soon.

But primarily,

this is a story about how and why people are following Jesus,

and what people believe about Jesus.

The crowds and Jesus almost seem to be in a cat and mouse game.

Jesus was healing people and word got around,

so crowds started trailing him . . . everywhere.

Maybe they or someone they loved needed healing,

and they were looking for a chance

to be on the receiving end of a miracle.

Or, maybe they were just curious and wanted

to see another one of Jesus’ tricks.

Anyway, it seems like Jesus was trying, unsuccessfully,

to get away.

He tried going to the other side of the Sea (v. 1)

But the crowd kept following him (v. 2)

So he climbed up a mountain (v. 3) to create some distance

and sat down there to teach his closest disciples.

And just as he was starting his lesson, he looked up (v. 5),

and there was the crowd of thousands again,

trudging up the mountain after him.

So he said to Philip (v. 5),

“Where are we going to buy bread for all these people?”

It was a tongue-in-cheek question,

but Philip gave a serious answer about needing 6 months wages.

Then Andrew piped up, maybe also tongue in cheek.

“Oh, I see a boy over there with 5 loaves and 2 fish.”

After this - almost - joking dialogue, the miracle unfolds.

Jesus gives thanks for the 5 loaves and 2 fish,

they pass them out,

they are multiplied exponentially,

everyone is fed and filled,

and truckloads of leftovers are gathered up.

And then the cat and mouse game continues.

The people are overjoyed at this miracle,

they are about to mob Jesus and try to make him King, v. 15,

so Jesus runs off again,

this time to a mountainous area by himself,

presumably for some peace and quiet.

And the disciples, maybe to distract the crowd,

get in a boat and start sailing across the sea to Capernaum.

And to fill in the part we jumped over in our reading,

there’s another miraculous moment with the disciples,

where Jesus walks on water out to the boat in a storm,

and they safely reach the other side, far from the madding crowds.

For one night.

Because in the morning crowds remembered seeing

the disciples sail to Capernaum without Jesus the night before,

so they figured Jesus got there somehow,

so they hightail it over there.

They find Jesus, and ask him how he got there,

but he doesn’t answer.

He just tells them,

“You are only looking for me

because I gave you bread when you were hungry.

You are in it for yourself, for the adventure.

You don’t see the meaning behind the signs.”

Then we have this long teaching about bread and life.

_____________________

Now . . . let’s recall the main point behind John’s Gospel.

John’s aim is to tell the story of Jesus in such as way,

that the hearer of the story comes to believe—

not, believe, as in accept some propositional statement about Jesus;

but believe in, as in, come to trust Jesus fully,

that Jesus is who he says,

the One come from God, and One with God,

and go all in as a disciple and learner of Jesus.

That’s what John means by “believe.”

And since Jesus is One with God,

as we experience communion with Jesus,

and friendship with Jesus,

we enter into a process of communion with,

and even, mysteriously, union with God’s very self.

So keep that as a backdrop,

as we look at this strange and off-putting discourse.

Now, on the one hand,

“Jesus as bread” is not a strange or difficult metaphor.

Donna did a great job talking about it with the children,

and making the idea understandable.

Just as we depend on bread for life and strength,

so we can depend on Jesus.

But Jesus took it further.

He made the metaphor graphic:

In the wilderness your ancestors ate manna that fell from heaven,

and they died.

I am also bread come from heaven. Eat me and you won’t die.

Whoever eats of this bread will live forever;

and the bread is my flesh.

And saying it once wasn’t enough. A couple verses later he says,

“Very truly, I tell you,

unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood,

you have no life in you.”

You know those words very well.

They appear in one of our favorite communion and Easter hymns,

“I am the Bread of Life.”

With great emotion we all sing it—

after communion,

on Easter,

at funerals,

and many other times.

We belt out those lines we barely understand,

many of us even spontaneously stand up

and raise our hands.

In the third stanza we sing,

“Unless you eat of the flesh of the Son of Man,

and drink of his blood (and then we say it again),

and drink of his blood,

you shall not have life within you.”

I don’t know, maybe some of you squirm when you sing that.

I admit I sometimes have.

But no longer.

I have come to appreciate these lines from John 6 in a new way.

And it has to do with a newer interpretation of this discourse.

I won’t get into the weeds of the scholarly debate.

But as recently as four years ago,

in the rarified air of the Society of Biblical Literature,

there was scholarly debate on the exegesis of John 6.

The traditional interpretation is that this language in John

grew out of an early Christian community

that already saw the eucharist, the Lord’s Supper,

as a way to eat the body of Christ,

and drink the blood of Christ, albeit mystically.

And that Jesus was here referring to the eucharist.

I slogged my way through a journal article about it this week,

and from the best of my limited understanding,

the newer argument is that there’s no evidence

John meant to have Jesus talking about the eucharist,

or that it was influenced by any existing church ritual

that said they were eating Jesus’ flesh and blood.

Rather, the influence was the other way around—

these words in John led to particular understandings

of the eucharist that developed later.

John used Jesus’ words about eating and drinking himself,

not to refer to the eucharist,

but as an expansive metaphor,

in the same way the prophet Jeremiah

talked about eating the word of God,

“Your words were found, and I ate them,

and your words became to me a joy.”

Or the way prophet Isaiah spoke,

encouraging his people to ingest the law, the words of God—

“Listen carefully to me,” Isaiah said, “and eat what is good,

and delight yourselves in rich food.”

Like Jeremiah and Isaiah,

John is all about ingesting Jesus,

about consuming the Word, the Logos.

Remember the prologue in ch. 1 gave us that image:

Jesus as Word become Flesh.

The Word moved into the neighborhood, and dwelt with us.

All through the book, the reader is invited, repeatedly,

to come closer to Jesus,

to take Jesus in,

to let our life be subsumed in the life of Jesus,

to be united with Jesus,

to abide with Jesus,

and here, to ingest Jesus.

So John 6 is not out in left field.

It’s consistent with the rest of the book.

If we see eating and drinking as metaphor, which of course it is,

then this is no strange idea in John.

It’s not offensive, barbaric, or cannibalistic.

It just reinforces John’s main point—

be united with God, through Jesus, the Word, the Logos.

When John has Jesus saying,

“Eat my flesh and drink my blood, so you can live,”

it’s just another way of him saying,

Go all in with me.

I am where life is found.

I am the living Word, the Logos.

Eat me up.

Drink me up.

Let me become part of you.

Let me course through your veins.

So you can live. Really live.

This is beautiful!

Let’s embrace it, not be repulsed by it.

Apparently, at the end of John 6,

these words did offend and divide.

It separated those who were just following Jesus for kicks,

and those who were coming to believe in a deeper way.

Some were grossed out, I guess,

by Jesus talking about people eating his flesh

and drinking his blood.

Others were offended by Jesus’ claim to have “come from heaven,”

like the manna in Exodus.

In any event, the crowds started thinning out.

So at the beginning of chapter 6,

Jesus couldn’t get away from the crowds.

At the end of the chapter,

so many had left that Jesus turned to the Twelve, in v. 67,

and asked them, “Do you also wish to go away?”

And Peter answered him with these immortal words,

“Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

So, with the Gospel of John,

I implore us all.

Let us ingest Jesus.

Let us allow the living Word, the Logos, to fill our being.

It will not happen without the intentionality and regularity

of Christian practice—

both individual and communal.

Prayer, listening, scripture, silence,

embodied communal worship,

singing our faith together,

retelling the Gospel story together,

confessing and reconciling,

eating and drinking at the Lord’s Table,

as we did last Sunday,

and more.

Let us commit ourselves to that.

And let us say so, through our confession.

Please join with the bold type, as seen in the order of service,

and on the screen.

one God our Provider, we confess we are hungry, 

        and in want of bread.

We are weary, and in want of your sustaining life within us.

all At your invitation, we come to your table of plenty. Feed us.

one We confess we often eat of that which does not satisfy.

We miss opportunities to be deeply fed by you.

all At your table, we receive what you offer of yourself. Fill us.

[silence]

Words of assurance

one All who hunger, gather gladly; Jesus Christ is living bread.

Come from loneliness and longing. 

Here, in peace, we have been led.

Taste and see the grace eternal. 

Taste and see that God is good.

—Phil Kniss, February 13, 2022

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