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Second Sunday after Epiphany

John 1
35 The next day John was there again with two of his disciples. 36 When he saw Jesus passing by, he said, “Look, the Lamb of God!”
37 When the two disciples heard him say this, they followed Jesus. 38 Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, “What do you want?”
They said, “Rabbi” (which means “Teacher”), “where are you staying?”
39 “Come,” he replied, “and you will see.”
So they went and saw where he was staying, and they spent that day with him. It was about four in the afternoon.
40 Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, was one of the two who heard what John had said and who had followed Jesus. 41 The first thing Andrew did was to find his brother Simon and tell him, “We have found the Messiah” (that is, the Christ). 42 And he brought him to Jesus.
Jesus looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You will be called Cephas” (which, when translated, is Peter[a]).


My mother tells me I was born in a snowstorm. I still don’t like snow. I’m sure she told me the exact time, but that bit of information was been overshadowed by the snow.

My son was born at 8.21 in the morning, on a hot day in June, exactly six months from Christmas Eve. If you want your gifts to arrive evenly spaced, go for June 24th. They also throw a big party for you in Quebec, which is a nice touch.

It is the details that make things real, the ability to add that extra bit of information that says “this part matters.” When I say “son, you were born at 8.21” it adds gravity to an already important event. He, like me, may not remember his own time, but he knows I know, because the time matters to me.

Likewise with place. Travel through London and you will see countless signs that begin “On this spot.” Births, deaths, important events in the history of the UK, all revealed with a geographic maker. I can tell you that Benjamin Franklin was a printer’s apprentice behind Great St. Bart’s in Smithfield, but stand at the spot, and you can’t help but be impressed.

So imagine Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine, spending three years traveling the length of the Holy Land to discover the places described in the New Testament. Like an early Indiana Jones, she read and pondered, explored, ask questions, and decided between sites that are already in dispute.

Some were simple: a cave near Bethlehem, a tomb in Jerusalem. But some were not: the site of John the Baptist’s ministry is uncertain, likely in modern-day Jordan, but always subject to a river that has changed course many times through the centuries. The baptism of Jesus site is always listed as “traditional,” which seems to suit most pilgrims because there is nothing much to see.

So the place is part of this story from John, but not the whole story. The author builds in a timeline, something any good author will do. It gives the narrative a sense of direction, not simply ‘where did they go’ but ‘how long did they stay’ and ‘was it this day or the next.’

And we might say the author John is ambitious: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was with God in the beginning.” You might as well begin at the beginning. That’s verse one and two. Verse nineteen seems to be ‘present day’ or the same day. It is not named as such, but suddenly the human action begins, and John the Baptist is busy defending himself:

“I baptize with[e] water,” John replied, “but among you stands one you do not know. 27 He is the one who comes after me, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie.”

Then a time marker: “The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him.” This is the day of Jesus’ baptism, though you would hardly know it from reading the passage in John. We have gone form the heavily descriptive in Matthew, Mark and Luke to the vague and oblique in John. I mentioned this in Advent, this discomfort with John baptizing Jesus, so John gives it a gloss and makes it an event that fits his agenda for the whole book: a sign.

John’s Gospel is a really just a collection of signs, beginning formally at Cana but also present at the Jordan. John says “the reason I came baptizing with water was that he might be revealed to Israel.” If the author is uncomfortable with a human baptizing the Light of the World, than what better approach then to create distance between Jesus and the event. John doesn’t tell the story, he makes John an eyewitness:

“I saw the Spirit come down from heaven as a dove and remain on him. 33 And I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘The man on whom you see the Spirit come down and remain is the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.’ 34 I have seen and I testify that this is God’s Chosen One.”

The timeline continues: “The next day John was there again with two of his disciples.” So it’s creation, day one (debate), day two (baptism), and day three (present day). John is still there, still doing his thing, but the narrative is about to move on, literally.

“Look,” John says to two of his own disciples, “the Lamb of God!”

37 When the two disciples heard him say this, they followed Jesus. 38 Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, “What do you want?”
They said, “Rabbi, where are you staying?”
39 “Come,” he replied, “and you will see.”
So they went and saw where he was staying, and they spent that day with him. It was about four in the afternoon.
40 Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, was one of the two who heard what John had said and who had followed Jesus. 41 The first thing Andrew did was to find his brother Simon and tell him, “We have found the Messiah” (that is, the Christ). 42 And he brought him to Jesus.

Not bad for a day’s work. Three new disciples, including a disciple recruited by one of the original two, came together that day. How did John the Baptist respond? Was he annoyed? Did he bless them on their way? We’re not told, but we have to assume that his testimony indicates his blessing, and he knew all along this day would come.

One more thing: my favourite detail, found in verse 39: “So they went and saw where he was staying, and they spent that day with him. It was about four in the afternoon.”

Four in the afternoon. Jesus and his friends would have called this the tenth hour, following the Jewish practice of numbering the hours from sunrise to sunset. Daylight was fading, with little time left in this third momentous day. The author John records that Simon is renamed Peter some time after four, and the day comes to an end.

Twenty-eight verses to cover 13.75 billion years, minus two-thousand, five verses for day two, and four verse later it’s day three at four in the afternoon and time to slow down.

***

A friend recounted meeting a smiling young woman on the street one day. She was passing out some written material and telling everyone “today is my birthday.” My friend stopped. “Congratulations,” he said, “how old are you?”

“I’m three,” she said, “I was born again three years ago today.”

I’m certain that if he asked, my friend would have discovered the time of day.

What happened to John Wesley? (heart strangely warmed)
Where did this happen? (Aldersgate Chapel, London)
What was being read? (Preface to Luther’s commentary on Romans)
What time? (8.45 pm)

What time were you born? Four in the afternoon? For at least three of the disciples, they seem to point to four in the afternoon. Like Wesley and my friend’s new friend, there is a day, and there is a time, and the day and the time mean much more that a day on the calendar or a spot on the clock: they mean life.

***

If you are a news person like me, you know that everything happening south of the border is larger than usual this week. A struggle for meaning is taking place. A nation is waiting for more miracles and stories of ordinary lives are being told.

One such story is the story of Christina-Taylor Green, just nine years old, her life stolen by a madman with a semi-automatic pistol. A nation mourns. But this story has a strange and inexplicable twist, with little Christina born on another tragic day, September 11, 2001.

She was featured, we learned, on page 41 of a book called “Faces of Hope: Babies Born on 9/11.” It seems like a very American thing to do. Extend the national obsession with 9/11 to include those born on the day, forever marked with reactions like “poor you” or “that must be terrible.” Instead, these children became “faces of hope,” with a book and a story and a new way to see reality.

Until tragedy struck again. Call it the shadow side of remembering, the terrible task of trying to understand where the hope went when the first “face of hope” dies a victim of the violence that haunts the U.S. every day of the year.

So we live with a variety of dates and times. We trace the steps of hope and loss, the place we stood, the time on the clock, who we were with, what we were doing, how it unfolded. All these details provide the context for emotion: feelings are made real when they are given space and time. We can’t seem to help ourselves, it is the human way.

Now for the truly uncomfortable part: someone, in the next day or week or month will ask: “where is the hope?” They will not expect you to have the answer, even though you do. You will think to yourself, the answer must be four o’clock, because for John and Jesus and Andrew and Simon everything seems to settle on four o’clock. 13.75 billion years of time seems to lead to four o’clock, on the third day, the day that their relationship with Jesus truly began.

The answer is four o’clock. It may not be four o’clock for you yourself, maybe it’s another time, like sometime after nine for me. Whatever the time, whatever the location, we believe that the simple act of bringing your uncertain friend to Central may lead to something momentous for them, maybe an insight, maybe a sense of belonging, or even a heart strangely warmed. If I can be bold: not sharing the gift of this community of faith seems a tad selfish—don’t you think? Remember the question: “Where is the hope?” All we have to do is listen and wait, and our opportunity to make the time will come. Amen.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 12:45 PM