Insiders Outside, and the other way around

The Gospel reading for tonight was the center portion of John 12, after Jesus has arrived in Jerusalem, and a couple of Greeks approach Philip and ask to see Jesus. There is so much situation, culture, emotion and personality here. Philip, who had previously invited the Jewish Nathaniel to come and see Jesus now has no idea what to do with a couple of Greeks, gentiles, "goyim"... They're outside the elect, strangers whose access to God is questionable at best. There are no promises of a place at the table.

I find these unnamed Greeks remarkable, because they've already made a trip from their home to Jerusalem, knowing they'd come as outsiders, not expecting a place at the table. These are people with no spiritual home, seeking after the one God, and all the while literally walking away from the gods of their fathers, their lands, their family and neighbors. And all the while there is no promise that the one God will accept them. They travel miles in first century conditions, and when they arrive they still cannot enter the Temple past the court of the gentiles. Surely there is deep humility in their request, "Sir, we would see Jesus."

Philip knows there's no guarantee. How can he speak of the promises of God to these people, who are by definition outside the promise? How can he offer the Jewish messiah to these non-Jews? What does he have to offer to Samaria and the ends of the earth? A moment in time, a consult with Andrew, and together they approach Jesus.
I was struck today by the cryptic nature of Jesus answer. "The hour has now come..." Leave it to Jesus to not just offer a simple yes or no answer. There's much ado about glorification and the Son of Man being lifted up, but what about those Greeks. I took a moment to look up the passage in the InterVarsity commentary on John for a little extra help. There, Rod Whitacre notes:

Philip does not go straight to Jesus with the Greeks' request, but rather to Andrew, who was from Philip's town (1:44). This may bear witness to Philip's humility, but more likely it shows how unusual the situation was. Jesus has had contact with non-Jews (cf., probably, 4:43-53), but very rarely. He has taught much about the universal scope of God's love, but the full implications of this were not grasped by his followers until later. The nationalism stirred up during Jesus' entry into Jerusalem might make the disciples uncertain about such a request, though these Greeks were proselytes. It seems Philip simply needs some encouragement to approach the Lord when faced with this new and stretching situation. He goes to Andrew, who seems to have been a trusting person who was willing to speak up even when it seemed foolish (6:8-9). If we are stymied by a situation, it helps to have a friend with whom to go to the Lord, not to demand of the Lord but simply to lay before him the situation.
Quite often Jesus has responded to questions and situations with cryptic sayings, and this is no exception. When Andrew and Philip announce the coming of the Greeks something wondrous happens. It triggers the moment the reader has been anticipating since the story began: Jesus replied, "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified" (v. 23). As with all his cryptic sayings, this response addresses the issue, but it does so in ways incomprehensible at the time. He does not speak directly to the Greeks, but he speaks of their place in his community in the future. For he reveals that it is time for his death to take place, through which a great crop will be produced (v. 24) as he draws all men to himself (v. 32). Thus, verse 24 answers the Greeks indirectly, for through his death he "will become accessible for them as the exalted Lord"

Of course we all know that the Greeks are welcome to see Jesus, but if that is the only answer why is Jesus so harsh at first with the SyroPhonecian woman? The answer may be that the time hadn't come. Everything up through the triumphal entry was one phase, and now things are shifting. God became incarnate for the Jews, and now the whole system is about to crack wide open. It reminds me of Aslan on the Stone Table in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, the deeper magic is that the table, the old system, the Law itself is cracked in two and the lion gets up from the scene of his slaughter.  In my imagination, between the cracks in the cold stone, new life emerges, like a tree growing up from the rubble.
The contrast in the text though is with the locals. Those who have had access to Jesus all along, so many still don't understand. Even when God speaks directly, audibly, many just hear thunder. And yet, for those who seek him, of all nations, this is the "light to enlighten the gentiles" of whom Simeon spoke. But not only a light to the nations, but also the glory of God's people, Israel. Here is not only the King of Israel, but the very crown of the nation.
I think we are a little like Philip sometimes, when someone outside our own sense of the "chosen" people wants to see Jesus. Philip has no ill will, he just doesn't know what to do with the situation. I wonder how we can pray for people to come to Jesus if we aren't even sure we can comfortably introduce such as these to our Lord if given the chance. As Jesus shifts his ministry toward the cross, he also shifts his presence outside the boundaries of the "chosen" people, and sometimes it is hard for us disciples to catch up with where he's going. How willing are we to introduce to Jesus the stranger, the outsider, even the enemy and oppressor?

And at the same time we hear stories of Christians, in every generation and on every continent, who are able to pray for their persecutors. We sit here comfortably and think that our minor losses are persecutions, while we have yet to begin to suffer. And we can't pray for our enemies. But our brothers and sisters who risk life and limb on a daily basis shine like beacons to the grace of God. They are the Andrew to our well-meaning but (in this case) somewhat ineffective Philip

Paying One's Respects

Not to be on a morbid theme, really I don't go looking for these things, but I stumbled across this in the news today and couln't resist sharing (found at: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2011/04/17/drive-casket-viewing-california-offers-mourners-look-wheels/?test=latestnews)

Drive-thru Casket Viewing in California Offers Mourners a Last Look on Wheels

Published April 17, 2011

COMPTON, Calif. - There are drive-thru burger joints and drive-thru banks but now one California city offers the ultimate in drive-thru convenience: drive-thru casket viewing.
Yes, at the Robert L. Adams Mortuary in Compton, south of Los Angeles, it is possible to view the deceased resting in a casket display window while cruising past in your car, the Los Angeles Times reported Sunday.

"It's a unique feature that sets us aside from other funeral parlors," said owner Peggy Scott Adams.

"You can come by after work, you don't need to deal with parking, you can sign the book outside and the family knows that you paid your respects," Scott Adams explained. "It's a convenience thing."

I don't know about you, but the way I was raised, paying one's respects is not supposed to be convenient.  Its about going out of your way to care.   Now, I've never been a fan of the American ritual that involves displaying the dead (if any of my family ever try to do that to me I promise to haunt them) and commenting on how "natural" uncle Joe, a manly man indeed, looks in full make-up and a suit he probably hated.   I tolerate it for the sake of parish ministry, play nice for the love of friends and relatives (again, its not about me, my convenience, my preferences) but I'd be much happier to just attend the funeral and offer thanks to God for lives well lived.  Yes, I'd rather spend two hours in a pew than ten minutes in a receiving line.

And the very thought of driving by, where the dead are on public display in some bulletproof (oh wait, I haven't posted that part yet, have I?) storefront for the sake of "convenience"... revolting.   I don't suppose it struck me as an indignity to receive a my supposed meal from a paper bag handed through a window by an employee who would rather be anywhere else.  I'm sure I missed the lack of humanity in the "here's the goods, now move along" world of drive through banking, food, coffee, and even pharmacies (or so they say, I've never used one).   But one by one, business by business, convenience has taken the place of relationship.  To do so in the most relational of times, a funeral, is dehumanizing and repellant.

You know, there was a time when the dead were kept in their homes before the funeral, and death was part of life.  Funeral homes removed that, for convenience. And while the last thing I'd want if a member of my household were to pass on woudl be a parade of people coming in and out my door, there is something appropriate in the non-sterile environment in which death and life collide.  But for convenience, dignity and humanity and relationship are sacrificed, and even our loves are dispensed from a drive through (spelled drive-thru, I guess) window.

Important, life changing, and otherwise essential things I did today.

1.  called my mother.  Everyone should call their mother fairly often.  Mothers like that sort of thing.
2. called my mother-in-law.  I happen to really like mine.  She's a gentle relaxing sort of soul.
3.  took a walk.  Two miles.  Also relaxing.
4. failed to be in an auto accident on I-79.  WPXI reports that there were two fatalities.  I drove right by all the firemen and police, but had I not stayed on after vestry meeting, I would have probably been there when it happened.  On the exit I would have taken (had traffic not been detoured because the accident closed the exit). 
5. worshiped Jesus, received his holy sacrament, fellowshiped with some of the saints militant in Carnegie.  God is good.
6.  ate a doughnut.  Not important but tasty.
7.  had steak for dinner.  Humor me, its Lent.
8. sat outside in the sunshine.  Immensely good for morale after another nasty cold Pittsburgh winter.
9.  listened to the Pirates and Reds both lose. again.  Humility is good for the soul, right?
10.  got some work done... like real work.  That's good.

I don't know why I'm posting this except to remind myself that sometimes little things are big things, and the things we think are huge are really, in the grand scheme of things quite little.  In a lot of the points above, life was being intensely lived, ministry was more an adventure than a job... and yet the list really looks pretty mundane.   And I guess that's good.  I also did some less than mundane things, but in the long run I doubt those things will matter. 

And probably, only the dougnut will be with me a year from now, right?