Once there was a young man who wanted to become a monk. He was a very earnest person and felt God’s call to live a monastic life. Because he was so earnest, he wanted to join a strict order. And so, he went to the monastery and talked with the Abbot about becoming a monk. The Abbot said that part of our rule of life here is that we maintain silence all year long. The only exception is once a year each monk can come forward to say two words.
So, the young monk settles into his monastic cell and diligently follows the rule of life of prayer and worship. Then he is notified that his day has arrived to meet with the Abbot to say his two words. When he meets with the Abbot, the Abbot asks, “What are the two words you wish to speak this year, my son?’ to which the young monk replied, “Hard – bed.” The Abbot nods, and the monk turns around, leaves, and returns to his usual rhythm of life for another year.
After the second year, his day comes to say his next two words to the Abbot. The Abbot asks, “What are the two words you wish to speak this year, my son?” and the young man replies, “Bad – food.” The Abbot nods, and the monk continues for yet another year. After three years, he goes to the Abbot and says his next two words, “I – quit!” The Abbot responds, “Well, I’m not surprised, because all you’ve done since you first came is to complain and complain!”
I wonder what happened next with the young man. Sometimes the ending of one part of life is the beginning of something we otherwise would not have been able to do. In our passage from John’s gospel, Jesus says that he will be “lifted up,” indicating the way he will die. The teaching that Jesus offers has to do with the great paradox that exists in the Christian faith: that death is a
part of life and that there is life after death. We say in our Episcopal burial liturgy that life has merely changed, not ended. So, while there is a physical death, there is also a new birth.
Karl Jung talked about the false self and the true self. Thomas Aquinas used similar terminology in his writings during the 13th Century. Jesus is speaking to the same reality of the dying of the false self and the rising of the true self. This is where he talks about the grain of wheat dying for life to continue.
We are moving from winter to spring this week, Tuesday to be exact. We see all around us how things died in the autumn and winter, only to have new life springing forth in a beautiful display of color, along with the aromatic scent of flowers and budding trees. The plants that died during the last few months have turned into compost. The old plants that were dead eventually become the new fertile topsoil for the beauty that will soon be surrounding us.
In the American midwestern states, there are vast miles of varieties of prairie grasses covering the earth. And when wildfires occur and sweep over the land, burning the grasslands to ashes, it seems like the fire has caused a total wasteland of death. However, some of these species of prairies grass carry a little secret: there are certain kinds of seeds that are designed only to be released when wildfire has consumed the rest of the plant that held it before. These seeds are known as fire-released seeds. They are dormant until a fire occurs, thereby releasing them onto the ground in the very midst of the fire’s destruction. Isn’t it amazing how a little seed can be designed by God in such a way that it is not also consumed by the fire? In fact, it is the hot temperature that causes them to begin their journey of regeneration. As the seeds fall from each plant into a concentrated area on the ground, there is another ingenious secret waiting to happen: the seeds have a special pheromone that is emitted at this stage. The pheromone attracts tiny ants that have burrowed below the surface to a safe depth while the fire was burning above. The ants emerge at some point after the fire has extinguished and are drawn to the seed’s pheromones. The ants take the seeds one by one and disperse them in a wider area, burying them into the new, rich composted topsoil. You can imagine what happens next. The rain comes, and the nitrogen-rich soil feeds the tiny seeds, which contain everything they need to flourish and repopulate the prairie once again. This is a beautiful example of dying and rising—-of the false self, becoming the true self.
Jesus said, “The hour has come for the son of man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” Jesus also says, “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am there will my servant be also.” To follow Christ means to let go of certain things that we have been holding onto that are not required much less needed for our journey of being a servant. There is a common saying of, “You can’t take a U-Haul to heaven.” To follow Christ, we will need to let go of certain baggage. It might have served us for a season or for part of the journey to this point, yet there is always something to let go of in order to receive what God desires to equip us with for the next phase of our discipleship. There is a Presbyterian pastor in New York City who has started an amazing blog and website for Christian poets to post their work. Sarah A. Speed started this ministry several years ago called The Sanctified Art. I encourage you to give yourself the gift of perusing some of her poetry at thesanctifiedart.org. One such poem that she wrote called “Open Hands” goes like this: We are born with the ability to wrap our fingers around another to hold tight to what we know. Maybe that’s where the instinct comes from— This clinging this sinking this holding on. Maybe that’s why Peter cries, “Never!” when Jesus must leave. From the very beginning we’ve known how to hold tight. So I pray: open up my hands.
Uncurl my fingers one by one. Loosen the grip that I hold unyielding. Remind me that birds must fly and children must grow and leaves must fall. And even though we are born with the ability to hold tight, we can learn how to love with open hands.
What is it that you may be holding on to that needs to be let go? Lent is a time to examine what we are holding on to too tightly. This is a time to recognize that we may not need to be carrying all the things that we have in our grasp. We have to ask ourselves, are we holding on so tightly out of fear or out of love? Because if it is out of fear, Jesus tells us to not worry, to not be afraid, to trust in God, to trust the Christ in one another. When we open our grip and let go of the things that are causing us to feed off the fruit of anxiety, then what we are opening our hands to are the things that God intends to give us for this day and the days ahead.
This scripture account is the closest that John’s gospel comes to the transfiguration story. The transfiguration in the other gospels reveal the secret that has been retained up to this point. Jesus is the new covenant and the savior of the world. Jesus predicts His death. Death on a cross. His hands open for the sake of all people, regardless of status, nationality, or ethnicity. This is why the Greeks come to Jesus in the first place. It is to show the scope and the effectiveness of his approaching crucifixion. The symbol of death for criminals and Christians of the cross becomes what will be the exaltation of Jesus: Jesus lifted up in an act of dying which leads into His rising.
Death can sweep over our lives like a raging fire or a devastating flood. It seems all is lost. To our eyes, everything is gone. And indeed, there may be loss of many things. But God finds a way to resurrect the fire- released seeds in our lives, to call upon the smallest of angels to put them in the right place to grow again. When we experience loss, and the grief of letting go, God fills the gap with new creation. Because every fire, as destructive as it is, leaves the soil rich in nitrogen. The atmosphere during a storm is also rich in nitrogen. These elements are woven into some of the most destructive forces. The plants that will grow, and I mean WILL grow, are dependent upon the nitrogen left after a fire or a storm.
This is the natural cycle of life. It is like Jesus’ own dying and rising. To follow means we can expect to experience losses. God promises that we can also expect there to be the joy that comes with new life. This is the great and amazing paradox of our Christian journey. The seed must die, falling to the ground to mix with the compost, even the manure in our lives, along with everything else, for the plant to grow. For the seed to grow, the plant must die. The space in our hearts so heavily occupied by grief and loss, can then begin to turn into the hope of new life in our savior and redeemer Jesus Christ! Thanks be to God. Amen.