A sermon for the Sixth Sunday of Easter. The theme tune for this sermon was “If”, by Bread. (No, I don’t usually give sermons a theme tune, but this one just seemed to lend itself …)
There is a word in the English language, small and insignificant in appearance, that is the gateway to a multitude of possibilities, a plurality of parallel universes. That word is, “If”.
It’s a word that Jesus uses more than once in this final discourse with his disciples over that last supper. “If you keep my commandments; if you do what I command you.” We have heard over and over that God’s love for us, to us, is unconditional – what greater love than to become human and to give that humanity, that life, for us, for creation, for God’s beloved world.
So what do we make of this word, “If”?
We are used to thinking of “if” as a hurdle, an obstacle, a door to which we need the key. If you don’t eat your supper, you can’t have dessert! We say, “If only”, thinking of all that keeps us from complete joy. If only I had this, if only I had not done that, if I only knew.
We place conditions on God with our “ifs”. If you will help me get this job, or this parking space. If you will bring her safely home. If you will make me win the lottery, then, Lord, will I love you.
If you respect me, then I will respect you, we say self-righteously, conveniently forgetting that we just promised at our last renewal of the baptismal covenant to respect the dignity of every human being, with God’s help, but without conditions.
But like one of those optical illusions, where we see “if” as a barrier, Jesus is an open door. There is, let’s face it, nothing conditional about Jesus. He held nothing back. Nothing.
He is the Key of David, the Wisdom, the Way. The “if” that Jesus sets before his disciples, before us, that he lays on the table beside the bread and the wine, the oil, that “if” is the one that opens up a world of new possibilities, new life.
The author of 1 John puts it another way: When we love God, and God’s commandments, then we conquer the world. And this is the commandment that Jesus sets on the table between his disciples: love one another.
How can love be commanded? We think that such a demand would crucify love. Ah, but Jesus isn’t saying love me, love ME. He is saying, love one another.
Gentleness can be commanded, the salve, the oil, the compassion of the Samaritan toward his enemy.
Resistance, too; the turning of the cheek away from violence, presenting another way.
“Feed my sheep” – that can be commanded. Break the bread, spill out the wine, wash the feet and wipe them with tears, lay down in the dirt of the grave of a friend – all of these can be commanded. Do they add up to love?
Love one another as God has so loved the world. Love one another as I have loved you, calling you, healing you, giving the power to cast out demons, raising the dead, restoring your life, forgiving your betrayals and denials, washing your feet, laying down my life for you. Jesus says, in this your joy will be complete, if you love one another. When you love one another.
We know that we are better, we are closer to heaven, to the kingdom of heaven, when we keep the commandments of love; when we are guided by Christ’s undying love. We forget, sometimes, because of the ways of the world or the ways we grew up or the disappointments of unrequited love; we forget that we cannot make God love us any more or any less than God so loved the world from the beginning, and to the end of ages. We forget that the “if” of Jesus’ commandment to love is not a threat, but a promise.
We are not commanded to love so that God will love us, but because God loves us. There is nothing conditional in Jesus; he has held nothing back. If we keep his commandments, to love God and one another without reservation, we will see heaven.
over the water 