When We Are Lifted Up
Fifth Sunday of Lent Scripture Readings
As we allow our liturgy to draw us into the season we call Passiontide, we join Jesus as he sets out on the path that leads inexorably to his suffering, death, resurrection, and ascension. John places today’s gospel narrative immediately after his triumphant entry into Jerusalem—the entry that we’ll celebrate next week on Palm Sunday. John, typically rearranging the order of events to suit his understanding of them, never describes the agony in the garden that took place after the Last Supper. Instead, we have John’s version of the agony in the garden right here, in this passage. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus is portrayed as agonizing over his acceptance of the suffering that is imminent: should he accept the will of his Father and go forward, or not? Here, we see the opposite. The decision has already been made. His commitment to accomplish his mission regardless of the cost is displayed here for all to see. It’s confirmed by a voice from heaven. He tells us that that voice is meant for us, rather than for him.
We might think that the voice from the heavens marks the apex of this gospel passage, as it was at Jesus’s baptism in the Jordan and his transfiguration on the mountain. In fact, here it’s more of a watershed point in the action than the culmination of Jesus’s message. The important part comes earlier when he’s speaking about the glorification of the Son of Man. In this one passage, he turns the entirety of human understanding on its head—for those who understand his message. When we think about glorification, we can’t help thinking about recognition, honor, and acclaim—a hero returning victorious from battle to applause and shouts of praise from the crowds, or a king or queen, newly-crowned, standing before the people, at the center of their joyful celebrations in their honor. Yet, as we well know, the glorification of the Son of Man has none of those features. His glorification is accompanied by contempt, derision, hatred, and mistreatment to the point of death. But even this incomprehensible reversal of the common understanding of “glory” doesn’t do justice to the profound paradigm shift that Jesus is introducing here. His teaching by word and deed flies in the face of the most basic and fundamental of human instincts—that of survival.
When we think about our basic human instincts—the survival instinct, the reproductive instinct, and the social instinct—we suspect that all our instincts are at the service of our instinct to survive. Not only that but every one of our fears exists solely as a defense against threats to our survival. What are we afraid of, after all? Our drive to succeed—our competitive nature—is the result of our fear of not getting what we need or want. Our fears tell us that if we don’t work hard enough, beat out our competition, and win others’ approval, we’ll lose out and be deprived. If we’re deprived, we’ll suffer … and then we’ll die. Our drive to achieve and maintain security derives from a fear of losing what we have and what we need. If we were to lose the people and the things that sustain us, we’d suffer … and then we’d die. At the foundation of all our excesses we find fear and, ultimately, our only fear is that … and then we’ll die.
The glorification of the Son of Man that we read about in today’s gospel has but one central message for humankind. Death—that extinction of the spark of life—is not possible in the reign of God. Jesus uses the image of a grain of wheat to show that, even in the natural world, life not only goes on but flourishes. His commentary on that directly confronts our survival instinct. When Jesus speaks of loving our life and hating our life, he’s not talking about self-care. After all, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual self-care is essential for a productive and happy life. No, what Jesus is talking about is our delusion that, by our own power, wisdom, and striving, we can prolong and sustain our lives, and that we are the ultimate determiners of our destinies.
One of the difficult gifts we receive when we accompany a loved one in their transition into death is the realization of our ultimate powerlessness. Regardless of how strenuously any of us love our lives to preserve them, we eventually come to the realization that “when your number’s up, it’s up.” There’s a mythical bus with our name on it headed for each of us. Nothing we’ve done or failed to do can change that. So, how did Jesus approach this unavoidable fact of life? He surrendered to the will of the Father, let go of his fear, and put all of his trust in a loving God. And his trust was stretched to the breaking point. Why was Jesus’s death—a death he freely accepted—so excruciatingly awful, encompassing all the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual agonies that we so dread? Was his Heavenly Father that cruel that he would punish Jesus for our sake? Not at all. Jesus accepted to go through our greatest terrors to become our pioneer. Where Jesus went, all of us—each one of us—will surely follow, at least to some extent. He went before us to show that on the other side of all the suffering and even the death we must endure as part and parcel of this earthly existence, there is resurrection. Life is changed, not ended.
“I am troubled now,” Jesus said. Which of us faces difficulty without anxiety? “Yet, what should I say, ‘Father, save me from this hour?’ But it was for this purpose that I came.” What is that purpose, after all? Jesus, by his suffering, death, resurrection, and being raised to glory, has given us the key that frees us from the bonds of fear. If we can, in fact, take on ourselves the mind that was in Christ Jesus, we’ll discover an incredible freedom. We’ll be able to face absolutely anything—regardless of how difficult or painful—without dread, without fear, and with the absolute assurance that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, we will get through it and come out on the other side transformed. Like Jesus, we’ll take on the challenges of life with unshakable confidence. We’ll cease fighting anybody or anything.
Remember that the gospel stories—especially those from Saint John the Evangelist—are not just about Jesus. They tell our stories as well. So, when we hear Jesus say, “When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.” What does he mean by “the earth” but the world of struggles, conflicts, failures, fears, sufferings, and deaths? If he is being raised up from all of this, so are we. If his surrender to the will of the Father brings him victory over all that would harm him, so will ours. If his crucifixion, death, resurrection, and ascension into glory—his conquering of failure, sin, and death—draws people to himself as a fountain of life and a beacon of hope, then, as his followers, we’ll see the same happening to us. Living the resurrection is the real evangelization of the world. People will see our calm courage in the face of obstacles and want some for themselves. When we, too, are lifted from the earth, we will draw others to ourselves. Our trust in God, shown in our fearless service of God and neighbor, will speak more profoundly than any other gospel.
Get articles from H. Les Brown delivered to your email inbox.