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Sermon for the Fifth Sunday of Easter – April 20, 2008
From the Illinois State Journal of February 12, 1861 under the headline: “Departure of Mr. Lincoln,” we read: “Long before the hour appointed for the departure of Mr. Lincoln … hundreds of his friends and fellow citizens, without distinction of party, had assembled at the station of the Great Western Railway to tender him their respects, grasp once more that honest hand, and bid him God speed on his eventful journey. A subdued and respectful demeanor characterized the vast assemblage. All seemed to feel that they were about to witness an event which, in its relations to the future, was of no ordinary interest.”
The event “of no ordinary interest” described in this florid, fawning prose of a kind you seldom encounter these days, not even in campaign literature, was Lincoln’s journey from Springfield to Washington to assume the office of President of the United States. It was, as it turned out, a significant departure, for, although no one knew it at the time, Lincoln would only return to his adopted home town to be buried following his assassination on April 14th, 1865 – Good Friday - a coincidence that attracted extraordinary interest at the time.
Indeed, the 16th president’s martyrdom and subsequent ascension to nearly divine status in the pantheon of American civil religion, only adds to the poignancy of what historians call “Lincoln’s Farewell Address;” remarks which are engraved on a stone marker at the site of the restored station.
“My friends,” he said, in part, “no one, not in my situation, can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this parting…I now leave, not knowing when or whether ever, I may return…Trusting in Him who can go with me, and remain with you … let us confidently hope that all will yet be well…I bid you an affectionate farewell.”
Continuing the tradition of the presidential farewell – a hundred years later, on January 17, 1961 - President Dwight D. Eisenhower sat before a television camera to deliver his final address to the nation. A much longer speech than Lincoln’s to his hometown, in his remarks Eisenhower issued his now famous warning against what he called “the acquisition of unwarranted influence…by the military-industrial complex;” the first time that term had been used.
After thanking the people for allowing him to serve them, Eisenhower followed Lincoln’s lead and asked for God’s blessing – not just on his own people – but on all the nations of the world. “We pray that peoples of all faiths, all races, all nations, may have their great human needs satisfied…that, in the goodness of time, all peoples will come to live together in a peace guaranteed by the binding force of mutual respect and love.”
Long before becoming a staple of political leaders – beloved and otherwise - interested in maintaining and communicating the ideals of our country, the farewell address and a patriarchal style benediction can be traced back to those beloved people who maintained and communicated the ideals of our faith.
All the way back to Genesis, in chapter 49, the second to the last, under the heading in my Bible “Jacob’s Last Words to His Sons,” we read: “Then Jacob called his sons, and said: ‘Gather around, that I may tell you what will happen to you in days to come. Assemble and hear, O sons of Jacob; listen to Israel your father.’” Each of the twelve tribes is then issued its own blessing and, in some cases, its own curse – which serves as a warning to the others. In the end, one tribe comes out on top: “The blessings of your father are stronger than the blessings of the eternal mountains,” Jacob says. “The bounties of the everlasting hills; may they be on the head of Joseph, on the brow of him who was set apart from his brothers.”
I guess we don’t need to ask who dad liked best, do we? “All these are the twelve tribes of Israel,” Genesis says, “and this is what their father said to them when he blessed them, blessing each one of them with a suitable blessing.” And then, under the heading, “Jacob’s Death and Burial,” we read, “When Jacob ended his charge to his sons; he drew up his feet into the bed, breathed his last, and was gathered to his people.”
The final book of the Torah ends just as the first book does. Only now, just before he is gathered to his ancestors – without, by the way, ever entering the Promised Land – Moses, “the man of God,” Deuteronomy says, assembles the assorted tribes and“blessed the Israelites before his death.” No curses, no warnings – each in turn is promisedits share of God’s favor – Moses wrapping things up with, “Happy are you, O Israel! Who is like you, a people saved by the Lord?”
Notice, unlike President Eisenhower, Jacob and Moses pointedly seek God’s blessings solely on their own nation – Israel, a people saved by the Lord. In that respect their words are similar to those of Jesus today; words also spoken before his death; words which begin what biblical scholars call the “Farewell Discourse.”
Recall the events of Maundy Thursday – described in Chapter 13– which serve to set the scene. Just before Jesus washes the disciples’ feet, John says, “… Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”
“His own,” that’s who he speaks to in his remarks which extend for four chapters; “his own,” his immediate disciples, all except for Judas who has already left the room to betray him. “His own;” Jesus is left only with those who will grieve his physical loss; those who will seek his blessing; those who are wondering – as those who listened to Jacob, Moses and maybe even Abraham - Lincoln that is - wondered - how they will ever manage to carry on without the one who loved them in the world; the one who made them feel, as no one else could, that when they were with him, they were at home.
They want Jesus’ blessing, sure; but more than that; more than that: they want him: The Word made flesh; the Resurrection and the Life; the Good Shepherd. Yes, that’s probably who they’ll miss and who they want the most – the one who knows their names, who prepares a place for them in the presence of all who would trouble them; the one in whose presence they fear no evil; in whose house they long to dwell for ever. They don’t want him going anywhere.
Saying goodbye is never easy – as Lincoln’s sadness at leaving Springfield testifies to – but offering a final farewell is especially difficult. For that reason, this speech of Jesus, unlike all his other discourses in John, comes before a significant event. Unlike his healing on the Sabbath or his feeding of the five thousand, or his restoring the sight of the man born blind, the purpose of all of which he explains later – the Farewell Discourse lets “his own” know beforehand just what his death, resurrection and ascension means for them.
“Let not your hearts be troubled,” he tells them, anticipating their reaction, attempting to prepare them. “Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.”
They will not be without a home, he is telling them; the house he is going to – his Father’s house – will be theirs to dwell in all the days of their lives, and then some. In fact, it is only because he is leaving them physically that this spiritual abiding place is possible, for them and for us. In fact, it is only because he said farewell to his frightened disciples in that darkened room so long ago that we can joyfully greet him today in this bright one.
Because he is saying farewell does not mean that he is leaving them; in fact, just the opposite is true. “For to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended,” our Prayer Book says in the service for the commemoration of the dead. The relationship does not end; indeed it cannot end. Jesus, who comes from the very heart of God, is going back home, there to make a place for his own. A place, by the way, we don’t have to wait to inhabit.
You see, what he’s preparing for us is not an actual place, a place of walls and floors; it is a way, a way of life and truth; a way in which all of us can be as closely related to the Father as Jesus is. Even as our earthly journey continues, when we abide in Christ we have reached the place he has promised and prepared for us. “Believe in God,” he says. “Believe also in me.”
At times of goodbye it’s hard to remember what we heard when we first said hello.“Let what you heard from the beginning abide in you,” the First Letter of John proclaims. “If what you heard from the beginning abides in you, then you will abide in the Son and in the Father. And this is what he has promised us, eternal life.”
As the disciples grapple with Jesus’ immediate departure, he does not want them – or us - to forget his eternal promise that where he is we may be also –in his Father’s house – a house, , with many rooms; ours is just one of them. Our task as Jesus’ own is to do all we can to make this place a home for God; a place where those who long to dwell with God will feel at home; a place where all will find their way to abide in the eternal promise.
The writer Anne Lamott is an active member of St. Andrew Presbyterian Church in Marin City, California, missing services, she says, ten times in twelve years. One reason is Pastor Veronica, who told the story of her best friend who, when she was about seven, got lost one day. “The little girl ran up and down the streets of the big town where they lived, but she couldn’t find a single landmark. She was very frightened. Finally a policeman stopped to help her. He put her in the passenger seat of his car, and they drove around until she finally saw her church. She pointed it out to the policeman, and then she told him firmly, ‘You can let me out now. This is my church, and I can always find my way home from here.’”
And that’s why Ms Lamott says she stays so close to St. Andrew’s. Because no matter how bad she is feeling, when she sees the faces of the people at her church, she can always find her way home.
Sometimes it’s a long way back home – we do tend to wander. Life is full of farewells, some sadder than others; to family, friends, to the assorted fantasies that have sustained us; fantasies that we have all the time in the world; that we will live forever; that we can do everything we did when we were in our twenties; that someday we will again sleep through the night without having to get up and use the bathroom.
We change houses so often; it’s difficult to remember the home in which we live. Recently I read that the average American moves every five years; that’s a lot of goodbyes; that’s a lot of farewell addresses. In the Father’s house, we find the one home address that never varies; no matter how often we say goodbye; he always says hello.