Jn 7:37-52

11 May 2008

Pentecost

“Can You Back Up that Promise?”

            One of the scripture readings for Pentecost, Acts 2, involves an event that plenty of onlookers thought was pretty strange.  Actually, there are still people today who think it’s strange.  Seeing the crew that had been hanging around with Jesus speaking in all kinds of languages had them thinking, “Okay, they’re drunk.  Or maybe they’re crazy!”

            There are a number of stories in the gospels in which Jesus himself seems to be saying things that don’t make sense—or behaving in a bizarre fashion.  At least, I’ve tended to think of them as bizarre if I were missing some major pieces of the puzzle.  Today’s story in John 7, when Jesus starts crying out at the festival, is definitely one of them!  (Incidentally, this scripture text is quite appropriate for today, the Day of Pentecost.  I’ll try to connect the dots later on!)

            We’re told early in the chapter that this is the feast, or the festival, of Tabernacles.  It’s also called the festival of Booths.  It’s one of the most important events on the Jewish calendar.  Originally seven days long, an eighth day was later added as a Sabbath.  The festival commemorates the wandering in the desert, when the Israelites lived in booths.

            On a side note, when we went to school in Philadelphia, we were in a part of town with a significant Jewish population.  During this festival, I would notice a number of houses with these booths, these shelters, in the front yard.  They were made of branches and covered with greenery; they could house a couple of people.  I don’t think any of the residents actually spent the night in them—but I could be wrong!

            Anyway, for years, I’ve tried to picture the scene we’re given in verses 37 and 38.  “On the last day of the festival, the great day, while Jesus was standing there, he cried out, ‘Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink.  As the scripture has said, “Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.”’”  (Just in case you didn’t know:  “living” water is water that isn’t stagnant.  It’s flowing water.)

            The image I’ve usually had is of those strange characters that probably most of us have encountered.  Immediately, two such persons come to mind, although I’ve come across many others.  Both times, I was in downtown Nashville.  Once during a fireworks display on July 4th, there was a fellow dressed in a long robe, shouting something about the world coming to an end.

On another occasion, a guy wearing a sandwich board was standing on a traffic island during rush hour.  On the board appeared the words, “Repent in the raw.”  Below that was the name of his group, “Nudist Christians,” with a telephone number.  (By the way, there were clothes between him and the sandwich board!)

As I’ve suggested, getting some background knowledge makes Jesus’ behavior seem not quite as strange.  Among the rituals of the feast of Tabernacles was something done every morning.  A priest would carry a golden pitcher, filled with water from the pool of Siloam, and pour it out in the temple court.[1]  Among other things, this was symbolic of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit.

So seen in this light, Jesus’ outcry on “the last day of the festival, the great day,” for many people, is less bizarre than it is offensive.  At this dramatic moment, what kind of grandstanding is this?  How can he claim, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink”?  Living water, flowing water, speaks of the wisdom and Spirit of God.  How can he promise to provide that?

Not surprisingly, there is a division among the people about Jesus.  Some say he’s the prophet that Moses predicted (Dt 18:15); others say he really is the Messiah.  But as you can see, there’s confusion about his origin.  It’s well known that Jesus is from Galilee, the province north of Samaria.  It seems that far fewer are aware that he was born in Bethlehem.  The idea that the Messiah comes from there is found in the prophets Micah (5:2), Isaiah (11:1), and Jeremiah (23:5-6).

As for the chief priests and the Pharisees, they dismiss the opinions of the people altogether.  Their attitude is that “this crowd, which does not know the law—they are accursed” (v. 49).  The New Jerusalem Bible puts it in even less flattering tones:  “This rabble knows nothing about the Law—they are damned.”

Fortunately, one of their number isn’t quite so ready to jump the gun.  Nicodemus (and yes, that’s the Nicodemus of the nocturnal sit-down with Jesus) reminds his buddies that the law itself requires giving someone a hearing before judgment is made.

Rudolf Bultmann has an interesting take on this.  He points out that, due to their “misuse of the law,” it “becomes the accuser of those who seek in it their own security, instead of allowing themselves to be challenged by it.”[2]  That’s important.  I wonder:  how often do we allow the Bible to challenge us?

Bultmann says because of that, they “lose their objectivity and no longer hear what the law says.”[3]  The fault is not with the law; it’s with them.  They’re so sure of their standing within the law that they feel safe in pronouncing damnation on others.  That’s a character flaw that still haunts us today!

Can we detect the thinly-veiled disgust with which the religious leaders answer Nicodemus?  “Surely you are not also from Galilee, are you?  Search and you will see that no prophet is to arise from Galilee” (v. 52).  If they only spoke the second half of that, maybe it would just be a matter of properly interpreting the scriptures.  But that first part, the personal attack on Nicodemus, betrays their suspicion of anything from Galilee.  Plus, it shows that they need to work on thinking before opening their mouths!

For centuries, that northern part of the country has been intermingled with Gentiles.  To throw the word “Galilean” at Nicodemus is very much an insult—and he knows it!  “You’re not one of those half-breed hillbillies, are you?”  So our boys here are blinded by both their approach to the law and by their bigotry!  (Okay, enough about them.)

There’s one other part of the text that I want us to examine.  In verse 38, Jesus says to “let the one who believes in me drink.  As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.’”  That exact quote doesn’t appear in the Old Testament.  It looks like John has pulled together some pieces to create it.  But that’s not what’s important.

In the Greek it reads literally, “Out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water.”  So interpreters have asked:  okay, whose heart is he talking about?  Is that living water flowing from Jesus or from the believer?  As you can see, the folks who put together the NRSV opted for the latter.  Still, no one doubts that this living water, this divine Spirit and wisdom, has its source in the Lord.  Those who say it refers directly to Jesus might be among those asking, “How can he promise to provide that?”

But what if we look at it in the other—and I think, more interesting—way?  Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.  That’s us, people!  Have you ever thought of yourself as a channel, or conduit, of living water?

Are we hesitant to make promises about our faith in Christ?  I’m not saying to promise someone that they’ll have no problems, plenty of money, and live happily ever after.  Jesus never promised that kind of hogwash, either.  I’m talking about promises of life in Christ.  Do we fear having to back up the promises?

I read something on the Christian Century magazine blog.  It was a story posted by Debra Bendis, one of the magazine’s editors, who recently spoke with a long-time church member and friend.[4]  This friend has been showing up at church less and less over the past few months.  Involvement in worship and church activities has shifted to leading an exercise class for cancer survivors.

She says, “Consider two [people] who are trying to lead good lives after the example of Jesus Christ.  One is active in congregational life; the other’s membership is weakening but [still is] doing good and caring work in the world.  What’s wrong with this picture?  [I want to put that to you.  Is there anything wrong with that picture?]

“Is membership, and a member’s participation in congregational life and worship, optional?”

Someone who’s been thinking about the same things added a comment to Debra’s blog post.  This is someone who has long believed “that church attendance [is] crucial to life as a Christian person”:  but who also understands how our culture has created lifestyles in which we’re driven to work and play at almost a 24/7 pace.

The question is asked, “Why do I keep going [to church]?”  I really like the answer; every word says a lot.  “I go because I do believe that I need the community to keep my faith.  I need to hear the Word:  sung, read, and preached, and I need the Sacraments.  Even when the services are dull and life-less, and I am distracted and restless, I go.

“I don’t know how it is that this practice has [come] to rest at the center of my life, except that it has [been] by experience.  Perhaps that is what our dissenting members are telling us.  They don’t have the experience of community that others of us have created and found, and subsequently, find ourselves in need of.  [This is some good stuff!]  I wish I could simply give it to them—but I have learned I can’t give it to anyone.  It is theirs to have and to co-create with me and with God.”

The point is made about what seems to be “the casual dismissal of…a commitment to stay connected to one particular group of people:  ‘Will you be a faithful member of this congregation, share in its worship and ministry through your prayers and gifts, your study and service, and so fulfill your calling to be a disciple of Jesus Christ?’”  That’s a question in our Presbyterian Book of Order that is asked to those who become members of the church.

Notice the last phrase in that question:  “and so fulfill your calling to be a disciple of Jesus Christ.”  That means being a disciple of Jesus can’t be done alone.  It just can’t.  It requires the community of the church.

Still, I understand why a lot of people are turned off by the idea of joining the church.  There are plenty of reasons, but surely one of them is the problem of control issues displayed by churches.  In many ways, churches mimic the chief priests and Pharisees who argued with Nicodemus—through arrogance and bigotry, of whatever kind.

            For a long time, I was reluctant to join the church.  (This was when I still lived in Tennessee.)  In retrospect, I think I was unwilling to make a commitment to that body of believers.  At a deeper level, I was unwilling to make a commitment to Christ.  My priorities were too messed up.  But every now and then, my mom would ask me about it.  And eventually, I submitted to baptism, and I joined the church.  I told her afterward that it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

            I didn’t think of it this way at the time, but I believe that I received the gift of the Spirit, which Jesus promises in verse 39.  I didn’t speak in tongues or do something that would have onlookers concluding I was drunk or crazy, but that is the fire of Pentecost!  (I told you I would say why this text is relevant for today!)  That is the Spirit who creates community.

            I’m speaking of true community, not just a collection of people who just happen to come together.  There’s definitely no guarantee of community in the visible body of Christ.  I think we’re well aware of that!  I’m speaking of the invisible body of Christ.  I’m speaking of community, of fellowship, in the New Testament sense, koinwnia (koinōnia).  That doesn’t happen without commitment, without taking ownership—without putting your heart into it.

            It doesn’t happen without letting the living water flow—without letting the Spirit flow.

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