Prelude
Fifth Sunday of Easter

Lector: A reading from First John. (Pause.)

Beloved, let us love one another because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.

By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and do testify that the Father has sent his Son as the Savior of the world. God abides in those who confess that Jesus is the Son of God, and they abide in God. So we have known and believe the love that God has for us.

God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because he first loved us. Those who say, ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.

The Word of the Lord.

The People: Thanks be to God.

The cantor begins the “Alleluia” and Fr. Jack rises, retrieving the Gospel from the Altar. Raising it above his head, he descends from the chancel into the nave. After the cantor concludes, Fr. Jack makes the Sign of the Cross on the book and then on his forehead, lips, and breast as he says—

Jack: The Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ according to John.

The People: Glory to You, oh Lord.

Jack:

I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.

The Gospel of the Lord.

The People: Praise to you, Lord Christ.

Jack turns and ascends the three steps to the chancel and places the Gospel on his pulpit. He pauses in reflection and then motions for the people to sit.

Jack: “God is love.” This is the commitment on which all of the theological doctrines of our faith are premised. It is the fundamental deposit of the faith from which all other doctrines derive their legitimacy and against which they must be judged. And it is the basis of our teachings concerning the way of life to which we are called.

He pauses and looks at his parishioners, scanning their faces. He softly sighs and stoops slightly, producing a Bible from the shelf below the pulpit. He thumbs to the back of the book.

Jack: You know, very little of the Book of Revelation is included in our lectionary.

He holds up the volume tapping the page.

Jack: This book, which marks the conclusion of the Christian canon, has the character of a fever dream, a strange, terrifying account of the Christ who was so loving returning to pass judgment on humanity. (Pauses and rubs his temple.) To be honest, I’ve often doubted the wisdom of including it in our canon.

He sets the book aside resting it upon the edge of the pulpit. He turns and descends, traversing the chancel and once again descending into the nave. He walks down the aisle, his parishioners’ eyes following him.

Jack: Lately, though, I’ve been returning to it in my thoughts. I’m struck by the account of the Son of Man passing judgment upon the church in Ephesus. He is depicted as walking among the menoroth, or candelabrum, his eyes aflame, holding seven stars in hand. He then thunderously proclaims: “I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. Remember then from what you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first.”

This is something we tend not to dwell upon. But as I consider the state of the church in our society — how we offer prayers for the families of children massacred by other children in our schools, the young black women and men who are mowed down by our officers of the peace, the hollow utterances of blessings that our politicians call down upon our nation as we bomb our Middle Eastern brothers and sisters into oblivion — I wonder if perhaps we are the New Ephesus, a church that has strayed.

Many of the parishioners shift in their pews, parents furtively attend to their children.

I feel deeply — more deeply than I have felt anything of late — that the three-fold call that the Son of Man issues to Ephesus is one that we ought to heed: to remember that from which we have fallen; to repent, and to do the works the early disciples did at first.

He again pauses, pacing a bit.

We heard in the Word today that God is love. Notice that the matter was not principally put in terms of God’s love for us, though that of course is mentioned. The emphasis is on God being a special kind of love, agape.

Agape is an other-directed love that is free and gratuitous. It is unconditioned as opposed to conditioned. It is what is actualized in a relationship of mutuality. It involves making of ourselves a sacrifice to others. One of my favorite theologians, a Roman brethren, the late Father Michael Himes, said that agape may be best understood as “self-gift.” You see, in agapeic love, a lover cares for the other — gives of oneself to the other — for the sake of the other. Such self-gift is the very nature of God. This is what was disclosed to Jesus’s disciples and what they have bequeathed to us. It is our task as the living members of the living God to embody this spirit of agape and to spread it in the world.

Since God is Love, when we love another person for the sake of that person, without condition, we love God.

He pauses again, this time clearly reorienting himself and changing tack.

Let me ask a question. Who are we told will inherit the kingdom to come?

The parishioners continue to sit silently, interpreting the question as merely rhetorical.

Jack: Who do we say they are?

He looks about. Eventually, some parishioners offer quiet responses.

Janet: Those who believe.

Jack nods encouragingly.

Vivian: The poor and the meek.

He points to Vivian with approval and gestures for more.

George: We who accept that Christ is Lord.

Jack: And what is the mark of such people? What distinguishes then from others?

Chuck: Worship and prayer.

Jack: Ah! Yes, but recall…

He closes his eyes as he recites a passage from memory.

Jack: “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”

He opens his eyes and looks about, pacing a bit more. After a lengthy pause he continues.

Do we do these things, really? In a spirit of agape? Can it be said that we bear such marks of distinction? (After a brief pause.) “Of course,” it might be said. “We care for our friends and family members and fellow church-goers, attend to them when they are sick, and comfort and provide for them.” Indeed, and there’s nothing wrong with all of that. But as Saint Paul said, even unbelievers do that much. Being a Christ-follower is supposed to mean something, it is meant to distinguish us.

He turns and walks once again up to the chancel, crossing to the pulpit and takes up his place. Some parishioners glance at their watches.

Earlier this week, I attended a funeral for a young man that died of a drug overdose. He was found only a block from the doors of our church. You may have read about it in the paper.

Jack runs his hands through his hair.

Michael was a child when I was called to serve this parish. He was a funny kid, full of energy. He’d often interrupt my sermons, sending his grandmother into a tizzy. (He chuckles, with fondness and regret.) The last time I saw him alive was two years ago. You might recall that he approached us and asked if we would let a group he worked with run a weekly clinic out of the parish house basement. You might also recall that we turned him down because the group was going to be illegally distributing clean needles to drug users along with overdose-reversal medication that is difficult to obtain. We didn’t want “junkies” hanging around our church and we didn’t want to be implicated in their illegal distribution of a controlled substance.

What you might not know is they disbanded shortly after that, but during the time that they worked in the community, the naloxone kits they distributed were used to successfully reverse over sixty overdoses.

Mike wasn’t one of them. He died under a tree in a park named after a president who despised people of his race.

He stands silently for quite a while.

Jack: I haven’t slept much these past few nights. As I lay in my bed, I feel myself under the blazing gaze of Bright Fire Eyes. (After a lengthy pause.) Amen.

Jack steps from the pulpit and crosses the chancel, taking his seat in the Presider’s Chair. He bows his head in a silent prayer, eyes closed, and hears a shuffling from the nave. After a moment the large church door swings open and then slams shut.

Jack: Let us confess our faith in the words of the Nicene Creed.

And they do.