Before she sold her house, my mother had in mind to make some much needed repairs to it. We were confident that the property would attract potential buyers. But the house itself needed work.
What stood most in need of repair was the deck out back. Affording a scenic view of a pond and Lake Macatawa Bay farther out on the horizon, not to mention a place to have barbecues in the summer, it was easily the most attractive feature of the house.
My mom called a home repair man, who came out a few days later and did the inspection. He pointed out the several boards that had rotted out and needed to be replaced. My mom thought for a moment about the extent of the repairs needed, and then asked: “What about replacing the whole deck?” Without hesitation, the man replied, “Oh, that’s going to cost you.”
Our gospel lesson tells us about some Greeks who came up to worship at the festival. Cities draw people from all nations, from all walks of life. This was certainly true of Jerusalem then, especially during the time of religious festivals.
These Greeks come to the disciples Philip and Andrew. To be more precise, they go to Philip first, probably because he has a Greek name and grew up in a town, Bethsaida, which had a mixed population of Jews and Greeks.
In any event, they come to him with a request: “We wish to see Jesus.” They are looking for Jesus.
Incidentally, the idea of “looking for” is an important one in John. We see it already in the first chapter. There we read of two men who hear the preaching of John the Baptist about Jesus: “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” (Jn. 1:36). Fascinated, they accept John’s testimony, and turn to follow Jesus without fully knowing why.
Then Jesus, noticing that they are following him, turns around and asks them: “what are you looking for?” (Jn. 1:38).
What is it that you and I are looking for?
If you tell me you’re not looking for anything at all, then I’d have to check your pulse.
For if we’re no longer searching, if we no longer have a passion that motivates us in all our striving and doing, then we’re no longer alive in any meaningful sense of the word.
These Greeks are looking for Jesus. They are inquirers. One wonders what they expected to find in him. They’d probably heard stories about the signs he was performing, about the effects he was having on people.
We can relate to them. For we are all inquirers, aren’t we? We’re here in this worship space on a Sunday morning, when we can be most anywhere else, because there is something about this Jesus that draws us here.
And when we come here, we also do not know what we expect to find in him. At least not entirely. We remain inquirers. And that’s okay. My pastor once told me that no question a person can ask about Jesus can be ruled out if he or she is seriously searching.
It occurs to me that this status as an inquirer can and should find expression in our prayer life. Consider how we pray. If you’re anything like me, your prayers are: “Help me, God!” or “Heal my loved one, God!” or even “God, if you make this happen for me, I promise I will…”
But how many of our prayers are: “So, God, tell me about yourself.”
This is a prayer God loves to answer. He wants to reveal to his children the depth of the riches of his grace and mercy, his justice and righteousness. He wants to show us his salvation.
Philip went and told Andrew, and they both went and told Jesus. But the response to the Greek’s desire is not to be introduced to Jesus now. The response will be the event, the crucifixion of Jesus, that enables global reach (David F. Ford).
More precisely, it will be the person, the crucified Jesus, at the heart of the event: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself” (Jn. 12:32).
You see, the appearance of the Greeks here is significant in the context of God’s plan of salvation. God sends his Son into the world not only for the Jews (although salvation is from the Jews), but for all people, whom the Greeks represent.
As happens throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus seizes the occasion afforded by the event to teach about himself.
And what he goes on to say applies not only to them, but to us, and so we need to listen carefully.
“Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies it bears much fruit” (Jn. 12:24).
Jesus then explains what he means. He said, “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life” (Jn. 12:25).
We see a pattern in the Gospels. Inquirers come to find out who this Jesus is. And his response, if you permit me to paraphrase it, is essentially as follows: “I am all you are looking for and unimaginably more. But how badly do you want this? Because it’s going to cost you.”
Jesus promulgates a spiritual law here that we cannot contravene. If we cling to this life, to who we are and what we have, we stay small. Or what is worse, we shrivel up inside.
But if we let go of it all for Christ’s sake, we grow, we expand. Our capacity to give of ourselves, of who we are and what we have, is enlarged. And our capacity for true joy is enlarged to a corresponding extent.
It is then that we bear fruit. It is then that we distinguish ourselves as servants who follow Jesus. It is then that we move in a direction, along a path, whose goal is praise and honor from the Father himself: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
But make no mistake. The conversion, the change, to which Jesus is calling us here is uncomfortable, even painful. How else can we account for the strong language that he uses here?
The great American writer and civil rights activist James Baldwin wrote powerfully about change—in this case, about societal change. But his words capture what we are attempting to describe about Jesus’ teaching here. He writes:
Any real change implies the breaking up of the world as we have always known it, the loss of all that you own as your identity, the end of safety. And at such a moment, unable to see and not daring to imagine what the future will not bring forth. One clings to what one knows, or thought one knew; to what one possessed, or dreamed that one possessed.
But what if giving up the comforts and the securities of our lives, the stories we keep telling ourselves and our place in them, means at the same time giving up the loneliness and the empty materialism, freeing us to reach for “higher dreams and greater privileges.”
These last words are Baldwins’. Behind them lies a critique of the American dream.
In following Jesus, we do not give up who we are as Americans. But the individualism, the consumerism, the hedonism, and the materialism all wrapped up in the American dream—that we do have to give up. There are “higher dreams” and “greater privileges.”
The fact is that Jesus gives all who hear and follow him a way out of their insular lives, a remedy for that loss of joy, the emptiness, the boredom, the guilt, the nausea, the disfigurement of their souls.
Jesus frees us from the barricaded, stingy, and frightened self for genuine personhood. And then we are truly free—free for shared responsibility, shared purpose, shared abundance.
Is this not, after all, what Jesus himself is doing? Or rather, does not Jesus himself subject himself to this same spiritual law? That is, isn’t he the grain of wheat that falls into the earth and dies? He is.
The grain of wheat that falls into the ground and dies refers to him; he will be crucified and buried. The fruit that it bears in dying refers to him and to all who will be drawn to him.
Down through the centuries, Christians have confessed what they believe about God in the words of the Nicene Creed. We are not as familiar with the Nicene Creed here, since we recite it only once a year. But in it are the words:
For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven, and by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man.
Whatever heaven is, it’s at the very least a place of unimaginable riches. These riches belong to Jesus, the Son of God. In the language of the Apostle Paul, he is the heir. Think of an heir to a large fortune, only think larger, much larger.
He came down from heaven to give us a share in these riches—not keeping them for himself. Put otherwise, he opens up God’s own life to us—eternal life.
Is he any less God if he does not do this? No. But it is in God’s nature to give. God gives and gives and gives. God is boundless generosity.
And it is a giving that costs God—a cost that God freely and willingly bears.
Nowhere is this more powerfully displayed than in the Garden of Gethsemane, which John alludes to here.
Jesus reflects on his impending crucifixion, and his soul is troubled. Should he pray to his Father to save him from his hour?
These verses are reminiscent of the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane as Matthew, Mark and Luke portray it, where Jesus sweats great drops of blood and his soul is troubled to the point of death.
After asking his disciples to keep watch with him, he goes a little farther, falls facedown and prays.
Here in John we see the resolve of Jesus.
The cup that his Father has given him to drink will not pass from him unless he drinks it. In his obedience, he glorifies his Father. This is the desire of his heart. And he makes this known to God in his simple prayer: “Father, glorify your name!” The voice that came from heaven responds: “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it!” (Jn. 12:28).
The voice that came from heaven is articulate; otherwise Jesus would not have said that voice came for their sake. But to the crowd it sounded muffled, like thunder.
We have to be careful that we are not content to be bystanders, to be one in the crowd. The noise of this world drowns out the words of Jesus. Influencers and internet gurus presume to teach us how to interpret the world and how to succeed in it.
When we listen to them, the voice that comes from heaven becomes less and less distinct.
Here we need to rely on a Lenten discipline that we should all be practicing: prayerful and meditative study of the Scriptures.
Let us read and re-read the words of Jesus and let them do their work in us. For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart (Heb. 4:12).
By our constant use of it, the word of God will train us tune out the noise and hear the voice that comes from heaven.
Jesus said: “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also” (Jn. 12:26). Have we tuned out the noise enough to hear the words “Follow me?”
Jesus addresses these words to each one of us today. If we have heard these words, then we ought to continue along the path he has pointed out to us, the path where we learn to let go, so that we may learn to give.
And then, over time, we will begin to resemble Philip and Andrew. Others will notice us and approach us with the request: “We wish to see Jesus. We want to connect with him too. Teach us what you’ve learned. Show us what you’ve seen.” And then we’ll have something to share.
And this is what Jesus wishes too. He makes this explicit when he says that when he is lifted up from the earth, he will draw all people to myself, as we have already seen.
To the Greeks, as well as to us, it’s as if he is saying: “You wish to see me? Gaze at me on the cross. The cross is the place where who God is comes into sharpest focus—the God who gives what is most precious to him for the life of the world. Amen.