by Andrew Stephens-Rennie
(Preface)
We read this story in the shadow of three crosses.
There is the story in a nutshell. There are the various ways into the story. There is the story itself. There are the stories themselves. There is the question: Whose story is this?
The passion was coming. They didn’t know it yet, but it was soon to arrive. The disciples, sitting in the upper room, their leader talking, the air pungent and heavy. One week prior, he had been celebrated by the throngs as they entered the city. And now they feel unrest. Though they don’t know it, they wait for an arrest.
And in this room. In this tension. In this celebration of a victory once won, an exodus made, from a land much afraid. In this celebration, fear assails.
We read this story in the shadow of three crosses. The cross follows soon after Judas’ double-cross.
And in this room, this tiny upper room, Jesus shows his disciples The Way. The Truth. The Life. In this tiny upper room, Jesus calls his disciples, each one by name, to follow him. “Where are you going?” “How will we know?” They ask, unknowingly. And knowingly, he responds,
“I Am. I am The Way.”
“I am the Truth.”
“I am the Life.”
But there’s more to it than that. There’s more to our story. The plot thickens, you see. Sure. There’s the story in a nutshell. But the plot thickens. As much as this story is about Jesus. As much as this story is about all that he has done. As much as this story is about Jesus, it’s about us too.
In the midst of the celebration – the upper room celebration where fear assails – Jesus tells his friends that which they cannot believe. His life is the textbook, the roadmap, the guide to their lives. He is the expert. The teacher. And yet he turns to them, saying, “If you believe in me, the works that I do, you will do also. If you believe in me, you will do even greater works than these.”
Greater works than these? What, shall we too raise the dead?
(Surface)
There is the story in a nutshell. There are the various ways into the story. There is the story itself. There are the stories themselves. There is the question: Whose story is this?
Jesus never leaves the picture. He may have returned to the father, but Jesus is always in the picture. In this room. In this room, as he was in the upper room, Jesus is present. In the atrium of this house. In the heart of the community, Jesus is present. And in his presence, a letter is read.
The letter is read, and the assembly stares. Eyes focused on Philemon, Archippus and Apphia. Pillars of the community. How might the community hold together in this wake? They are called to the impossible. To the impossible and more. They are called to do as Paul says. To do as Paul says and more.
Here we enter another resurrection story. A resurrection story yet to unfold. We enter a resurrection story yet untold. We hear this story in the shadow of three crosses. Recalling how the cross followed soon after the double-cross, we await resurrection.
Here. In this room. In this room, a community gathered around, a community gathered, the lost, the found. And all are called to practice resurrection. “If you consider me your partner,” the letter reads, “If you consider me your dear friend. If you consider me your partner, welcome me with open arms.”
But Paul is not near. Only these words on the page make him so. Paul is not near. But here, in this moment, we are given the chance to make this heart beat again. Onesimus, a heart, Paul’s very own heart, we are called to restart. Useless. Dead. And here today, Paul calls us to do even more than he asks. Paul, like Jesus, calls us to greater works.
Paul, like Jesus, calls us to raise the dead.
Paul, like Jesus, calls us to obey the command. “If anyone loves me, he will keep my word.” Jesus’ words demand love and obedience. “He who has my commandments and keeps them, he it is who loves me.”
Love and obey. No other way. To practice resurrection, to practice our faith until faith becomes practiced. He calls us to practice, and to practice, and to practice again. In practice we become practitioners. In obedience we love. In love we obey. In Christ we love (for he is the only way).
In practice, we learn the ways of our teachers. Of Paul. Of Christ.
In practice, we become effective, and in practice, we proclaim. We proclaim in our love, in our restoration, in our resurrection. Died. Crucified. Buried with Christ. In Christ we rise again. In Christ we proclaim with actions what words alone cannot speak. We proclaim with our actions the new life that we seek. The new life of which we speak.
(Interface)
There is the story in a nutshell. There are the various ways into the story. There is the story itself. There are the stories themselves. There is the question: Whose story is this?
Our story, it echoes. Our story, it resonates. Called to obedience. Called to love. We have Onesimus. We have Christ in our midst. And with these, we know what we are called to do. These are the stories. These are our stories. These are a couple of ways in.
We must enter the story with Onesimus. In Onesimus’ outcast state.
Outcast. Dead. Nowhere to turn. Yet with nowhere left to run, he finds mercy in Paul. And Paul finds mercy in Christ.
We must enter the story with Christ. With Christ’s self-breaking.
In Christ’s brokenness for the poor. For the oppressed. For the blind. For the leper. For the tax collector, the Samaritan and the harlot.
Resurrection is real. It is as real to Christ as it is to Paul. Resurrected on his way to Damascus, Paul knows what it is to find mercy. And in Christ, we find both the command and the love of greater mercies.
It’s all but impossible to practice resurrection on our own. It’s all but impossible. And yet, with Christ. In Christ. Through Christ, the impossible comes to pass. This is the Way. This is the Truth. This is the Life. In the shadow of three crosses, only here is resurrection possible. The cross. The double-cross. With these, Christ redeems the most unlikely.
And as we gather today, we recognize that Christ’s sacrifice is not merely something we celebrate. It is something in which we participate. And as we share in Christ’s body. As we partake of his blood. As we take it all in, we are called to be broken. We are called to be killed. And we are called to rise again, for the life of the world.
He currently serves as the Director of Missional Renewal for the Anglican Diocese of Kootenay on the unceded territories of the Sinixt, Syilx, and Ktunaxa nations. He previously served as the Director of Ministry Innovation at Christ Church Cathedral in Vancouver, BC.
Andrew is cofounder and contributing editor at www.empireremixed.com, and co-editor of "A Sort of Homecoming: Essays Honoring the Academic and Community Work of Brian Walsh" with Marcia Boniferro and Amanda Jagt.