Seeing Jesus

Almost 35 years ago, two presumptuous “professionals,” each in his mid-to-late 30s—let’s call them Jim and Tom—entered Duke Divinity School from totally different directions, yet sharing a common question that is echoed in the Gospel reading appointed for this upcoming Sunday, the fifth Sunday in Lent [John 12:20-33, RCL, Year B]: “We would see Jesus” [King James Version]. As it was for the unnamed Greeks whom the gospel writer described as approaching Philip and Andrew during the last week of Jesus’ life, and who desired a private audience with the One who had raised Lazarus from the dead, who’d much earlier turned water to wine, healed the lame, cured the mentally ill, and spent time eating and talking with sinners, the latter day sojourners, Jim and Tom, discovered that the quest to see Jesus would take them in directions that they had not planned.

Like the Greek travelers in the first century, Jim and Tom would soon discover that those who come looking for Jesus on their own terms soon find that He is not content with allowing them to set the rules. He does not appear at one’s beck and call. Instead, He has a special Kingdom in mind. He has a desire to exhibit his special love for all of humanity. Moreover, He has a special message that is quite unlike the messages that are so pervasive within the world of those who seek him. The Greeks in John 12 came seeking an audience with the Learned One; they came away with a speech that foreshadows the passion that He will soon have to undergo.

For example, Jesus allows that “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit [John 12:24]. Those nearby must have thought to themselves, “What is He talking about?” His disciples, having heard some of this talk before, would have recognized that their Lord was again talking about his own demise.

To that Jesus adds the paradoxical: “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life [12:25]. Would not many of them have gazed into their own hearts and thought, “I love this life and don’t want to give it up.”

In words that resemble Maundy Thursday’s painful Gethsemane prayer found in the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus continues his unusually passionate speech, “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour” [12:27]

The Greeks, if they are standing there—we don’t actually know one way or the other from the text—would be thinking, “We just came by to see the One everyone is talking about. A quick greeting was all that we desired. We’re not prepared to talk about death and resurrection.”

But Jesus’ intent is to expound upon what lies ahead, both for himself and for the world around him.

Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”

John tells us, as if we didn’t know, that Jesus said this to indicate “the kind of death he was to die” [John 12:31-33].

What kind of death was Jesus to undergo? It is ironic, is it not, that the soldiers ridicule Jesus by dressing him in royal garb and hailing him as “King” [John 19:2-3]. Pilate will carry the joke along as he mocks the Jews (and Jesus) by calling our Lord their King (John 19:14). Indeed, Pilate orders the inscription on the cross to read “King of the Jews” [John 19:19]. As is the gospel writer’s habit, he allows the enemies of Christ to speak the truth. Caiaphas, the chief priest, has already said that “It is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish’ [John 11:50].

There is further irony in the fact that, through Christ, one can come to envision that which is not accessible to ordinary sight, and that one can discern that it isn’t necessary to see in the literal sense in order to believe. After all, John’s Gospel ends with the risen Lord’s admonition to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” [20:29]. In this way, the Greeks described in Chapter 12 come to represent all of us for whom John writes his Gospel. As noted above, there is no evidence that the Greeks get their personal face-to-face with Jesus. Nevertheless, Christ’s Truth is revealed to them and, therefore, to us.

What kind of death was Jesus to undergo? It turns out that instead of Christ the victim, Jesus becomes Christ the Victor. John, the gospel writer, skillfully argues here that for those who can see—truly see—what appears to be a Roman victory over Jesus turns out instead to be a crushing defeat.

What kind of death was Jesus to undergo? As Jesus says in the narrative captured here within John Chapter 12, His death is the unique death that “draws all people” to His kingdom. It’s the kind of death that breaks down all barriers, that lifts up the lowly and forlorn, that breathes new life into the condemned, and comfort to those who are suffering. His death is for all of us who “would see Jesus.” His is the kind of death that brings fellowship to those who follow along after Him on His special path.

Last night, at a bit after 9:00 p.m., I had a short telephone conversation with Jim. We had actually talked some on Monday evening, but our conversation had been interrupted by the lateness of the hour. And so, last night Jim texted me, saying, “Call me.”

I did so, saying, “Hey, what’s up? Is everything ok?”

He replied, “Oh, sure—all is well. I just wanted to say we didn’t finish our talk last night.”

Chuckling to myself, knowing how many millions of words the two of us have spilled in easily more than 500 meetings and phone conversations over 35 years, I said something like, “There’s always so much more that we could say.”

He agreed, and we talked on for a few more minutes. Jim then added, “I was thinking, both last night and this evening, about our common journey over these many years, of how we met so serendipitously so long ago, how we’ve shared our search for meaning, for Christ himself, of how we are so different and yet, in our pursuit of Christ—or, rather, His pursuit of us—we have been drawn so closely together. I didn’t get a chance last night to say what was really on my mind, that both through Christ and because of Him, I appreciate you so much, and I love you.”

Tears welled up within my eyes. Two white-haired, seventy-year-old men, with seven children, and a gaggle of grandkids between us, separated by more than a hundred miles, by dissimilar backgrounds, differing habits and interests, we were both drawn to and drawn by a Christ’s whose defying action was to be lifted up, i.e., exalted, on a cross—all one can say is “Thanks be to God!”

And that, of course, is the point. Having been drawn to our Lord by our Lord’s great sacrifice, Jim and I were accordingly drawn to each other. In similar and dissimilar fashion, we’ve been drawn to many of you. It’s Christ’s way. It can happen to you; indeed, it’s likely already happened to you in one form or another. It’s what happens when one sees Jesus.