Fifth Sunday of Easter

Please pray with me: may the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

 The first mountain I ever climbed was Mount Fernow in the Northern Cascades of Washington state. It’s a remote mountain: you can’t drive to the top of it, like Mount Washington in New Hampshire, and there isn’t a trail to the top either, like Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park. To get to the top of Mount Fernow, you need to either have really great topographical route-finding skills, or you need to be led to the summit by someone who has been there before. The latter was true in my case - I went with a couple of friends, one of which had been there and back before. Our route to the summit started on a steep trail that wound its way up the side of a mountain into a small valley. And that’s where the trail ended. From then on, we climbed hand-over-hand up boulder fields, traversed scree fields, and tip-toed across knife-edge ridges until we made it to the summit cone. This was a real exercise in trust for me, someone who likes to have a map and a clear sense of where we’re going. I had no idea where exactly we were going, aside from a vague sense of that we were going to the summit of a mountain, which I couldn’t even see until we were almost there. The uncertainty got to me a few times, especially on that knife-edge, but we made it to the summit and back down, fine except for sore muscles and a few minor scrapes.

 I can imagine we’ve all had occasions where we weren’t quite sure where we were going or how we were going to get there - in the days before Google maps, a misread roadmap could lead to many hours-long detours and a few family car fights as you figure out how to get to where you’re going. On a hiking trail, taking the wrong fork could get us completely off-track. Missing a key step in instructions for putting together a piece of furniture from Ikea could derail the entire project. We may have a vague sense of where we’re going and the steps it takes to get there, but things can get dicey along the way as we deal with questions and uncertainty about our route and our destination.

 We meet the disciples in today’s reading from John’s gospel as they are dealing with uncertainty about where they were going and how they were going to get there. They had just received some distressing news - their teacher, Jesus, was leaving them. They also heard that one of them was going to betray him, that Peter was going to deny him three times, and that they couldn’t follow Jesus where he was going - at least, not yet. Their hearts were distressed, they may have felt abandoned. Our friend Thomas, puts words to the uncertainty the disciples were feeling: “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” As Jesus’s disciples, they had followed him across Palestine, witnessing him heal the sick, standing by as he sparred with the Pharisees, walking with him to visit the grave of a friend and rejoicing that he came back to life, and listening to him teach about a new and greater righteousness. The disciples had followed Jesus many places, but now they couldn’t follow him where he was going, nor could they fully comprehend what he meant about going to his Father’s house and preparing a place for them there. They were disoriented, uncertain about what their next steps were or what the future held in store for them.

 It has been said that we are living in uncertain and disorienting times. The novel coronavirus has upended our lives, causing us to cancel family gatherings, weddings, vacations, be unsure about job or school prospects, or change the patterns of our daily lives. For an almost unfathomable number of people, it has resulted in the loss of a job or income. Even more devastatingly, it has led to severe illness and loss of life, particularly for the most vulnerable among us. And that’s not it. A 25-year-old African American man, Ahmaud Arbury, was murdered by two white men while going for a run and it took nearly two months for these men to be arrested. Some of us may ask aren’t we better than this as a country while others may not be surprised at all. Racism is alive and strong in our country. We’ve all seen the headlines this week - there’s so much to be uncertain about, so much for our hearts to be troubled about. And this is different from other rapid changes we’ve had in our lives. We might not like it, but it’s easier to deal with if we have some sense of where the change will take us. But we honestly don’t know right now and may be asking where are we going as individuals, as a country, as a world? How are we going to get to the other side of this dark valley that we’re in the midst of?

 Jesus understood the uncertainty his disciples were feeling. He knew that their hearts were troubled, and that the events of the following days would not make them feel any better. But Jesus didn’t give them a roadmap or trail guide to get from that last meal they shared in the Upper Room, through his crucifixion, and out the other side to the resurrection and ascension, the path that he knew he was taking. Instead, Jesus invited them to set their sights on him. Jesus says, “I am the way...place your trust in me.” In the midst of the disciples’ uncertainty, they could be certain that Jesus would lead them - and us - where he was going.

 And that promised destination is the presence of God. This passage from John is often read at funerals, so we may assume these words are talking about heaven and life after death. But the word often translated as “mansions” or “dwelling places” is actually a form of the word “abide.” In John’s gospel, abiding refers to a relationship. A deep, lasting, close relationship between Jesus and those whom he loves (which is the entire world, by the way, as we see through his willingness to go to the cross the grave and out the other side to the resurrection showing that God’s love has the final say).

 This is a relationship that impacts our lives here and now. It’s the promise that no matter what we face, whether it’s uncertainty, fear, anxiety, loss, or even death, Jesus is there, as an abiding presence that walks with us through it all.

 Several weeks ago, I read a blog post written by Dr. Deanna Thompson, the director of the Lutheran Center for Faith, Values, and Community at St. Olaf College. The post was a personal reflection on her experience of, in her words, the virtual Body of Christ when she underwent treatment for cancer. Isolated in her hospital room, unsure of the trajectory of her illness, she wasn’t able to connect in-person with anyone, save her doctors, nurses, family, and a few close friends. She couldn’t go to church, which she missed desperately. But friends, neighbors, and complete strangers who suffered from the same kind of cancer stepped up and developed virtual ways of connecting, ranging from setting up meals to phone calls to offering resources and support. She writes, “These virtual connections were not simply poor substitutes for real interaction; they filled my soul at a time of despair. I wouldn’t have survived my cancer quarantine without them. As a theologian I had never given the invisible church much thought in life before cancer. But when cancer prevented me from being physically present at church, I was introduced to how the body of Christ exists virtually in profound, healing ways.” Christ showed up to her in the midst of her suffering and unknowing. Christ showed up as a community of people gathered both in-person and virtually, walking with her through a time of deep pain and uncertainty and giving her new knowledge of the ways that God moves in our lives and world.

 In this time of uncertainty, the truth is that we don’t know exactly where we are going. Or even how we’re going to get through this. But we can be certain that Christ is with us, that he is leading us, that he abides with us. The promise of Christ’s abiding presence helps us continue to believe in him and to boldly live as his faithful disciples in an uncertain and hurting world. We are Easter people, this promise is for us and for all of creation, let us share it with the world.

Thanks be to God, Amen.