John’s
Gospel was a lot easier when it just talked about how much God loves us. It was a lot easier before Jesus
started complicating things by asking us to love each other. It is a lot easier to tell ourselves
that Jesus loves our neighbors and that’s good enough than it is to realize
that Jesus has asked us to love our neighbors. It’s a lot easier when we get to be the recipients of
someone’s love, easier to point out where someone has failed to love us as they
love themselves than it is to see how we have failed to love others as we love
ourselves. Do we really know what
that looks like? If we think it’s
easy, if we think we’re good at it, and if we think we’re already doing it, I
think we’re kidding ourselves. If
this is the case, why, then, have we been confessing many of the last few
weeks, “We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves?” This is really hard stuff.
‘“The
history of the church and of individual communities of faith suggests that to
love one another may be the most difficult thing Jesus could have asked. There are many circumstances in which
it is easier to love one’s enemies than it is to love those with whom one
lives, works, and worships day after day.” The intensity of the conflict in which many churches
and denominations are presently (and perennially) engaged attests to the wisdom
of this observation.’[1]
And
no, this does not specifically refer to GLBT issues, nor does it specifically
refer to the Call to Common Mission, nor does it specifically refer to whether
or not women ought to be ordained, but it involves all of these. It involves all of these, but it also
involves St. Peter, specifically and particularly. How many times have the walls of this church heard
conflict? How many times have the
walls of this church witnessed pain and separation? How many times have the walls of this of this church mourned
the loss of someone who glued the community together? And we get farther and farther and farther from each
other. We get farther and farther
and farther from loving each other.
Having all been hurt, whether we carry pain from our pasts or pain from
our presents or fears of our futures, we lug these around, and sometimes we
decide to sling them at our brothers and sisters at church.
I
think this is the hardest thing that Jesus has ever asked us to do. The hardest thing he has ever asked us
to do is to continue coming to
church, even though we have been hurt.
The hardest thing he has asked us to do is to allow ourselves to love
and to be loved again, even after so many times of having been broken down, of
having been hurt despite our good intentions. Jesus knows we cannot grow without each other. Instead of allowing us to cut ourselves
off from the vine each time we are hurt or each time we hurt someone, Jesus tells
us we cannot abide in him unless we abide in each other.
That’s
the hard thing about Jesus’ love.
Abiding in Jesus’ love does not mean abiding in Jesus’ love for us as
individuals. Abiding in Jesus’
love means abiding in Jesus’ love for that person in church that we have a
really hard time loving. Love one
another until it hurts. Love one
another even though it hurts. Love
one another even though you have tried so many times you just want to give
up. Love one another even when you
don’t want to.
Thinking
about this kind of love reminds me a lot of my mother. Having raised four headstrong and
independent children, we sharpened our teeth on our mother’s love. She loved us relentlessly, almost
desperately. My mother could not
cut any one of us off, no matter how much she wanted to at times, because it
would have been like cutting off her own limbs. Like a mother, desperately trying to love her teenage
daughter even when she pushes her away, we are called to love each other during
our ugly moments. Like a mother,
who sees her children ready to fly on their own, we are called to nurture each
other and, when we come back bruised by our efforts to do it on our own, we are
called to bandage each other up.
Like a mother, who rejoices as she sees her children raise children, we
are all called to rejoice in each other’s joy and hold each other’s hand in
times of sorrow.
What
would St. Peter look like if we did this?
How would it feel to be church?
What do you think would happen in our ministries if we joined together
and were known for the church that will love anybody? I don’t know about any of you, but I feel something like a
surge inside me. I feel anxiety
and excitement and terror and a little bit of, “But how will that look?” I think this is the way it feels when
the Spirit looks at us and says, “It’s go time.” This love looks at each of you and says, “I am never going
to give up on you. You’re stuck
with me loving you forever.”
These
words are written on the wall in one of Mother Teresa’s homes for children, and
I think it is good reminder for all of us:
People are
unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.
If you are kind,
people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful,
you will win some false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.
The good you do today
will be forgotten tomorrow.
Be good anyway.
Honesty and frankness
will make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years
building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.
People need help, but
may attack you if you try to help them.
Help them anyway.
In the final analysis,
it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.
God
has called all of you here. He has
brought you, with all your joys, with all of your sorrows, with all of your
hurts, and with all that you are.
Christ has commanded you to abide in his love, but not just in his love
for you. Christ has commanded you
to love one another. This isn’t
necessarily the fuzzy bunny kind of love, that loves you when you do the right
thing or when you say the right thing or when you are kind. This is the love that is messy, and it
goes so deep that it hurts. It
will break your heart over and over again. It will be hard.
Nowhere in the Gospel does Jesus say, “This love stuff is so easy,
y’all, you should really try it!”
I
think the hardest part of all, though, is to allow yourself to be loved. “Sure, you love me now,” you say, “but
you don’t really know me all that well.
If you only knew, you’d run so far and so fast…” and so we turn love
away. This is like refusing to hug
the toddler who runs up to you, barely able to keep his balance because his
chubby little are stretched out so far and his smile so big it takes up his
whole face… It doesn’t matter to that little kid what you did or where you’ve
been; he loves you simply because of who you are, warts and all.
This
love is more than a feeling; it’s more than an emotion. This love is the enactment of our faith
in Christ. It won’t be easy, and
sometimes it will seem impossible, but nothing is impossible for God. God can take a broken church full of
broken people and teach them how to love.
If that’s not accomplishing the impossible, I’m not sure what is. So, here’s to the impossible!
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