A Tale of Two Tables (John 2:13-25)

Scripture: From One Festivity to the Next

13   The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.

Jesus and his disciples have just finished celebrating at a wedding, where there has been singing and dancing and drinking and eating. When the wine runs out and the festivities are in danger of drying up, Jesus performs his first “sign,” according to the gospel of John. He turns water into wine. The whole episode reverberates with joy and affirmation. It is a little reminiscent of creation, when God looks upon the earth and its creatures and sees that it is good. Jesus looks on the people gathered for this celebration of love, and he sees that it is good. He says, “Yes!” He blesses it.

Just as the wedding wraps up, it is time for the annual Passover pilgrimage to Jerusalem. From one festivity to the next—except this one will look a lot different.

In the other gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), Jesus only travels to Jerusalem once during the time of his ministry. It is a momentous occasion, as he is effectively walking to his death. You might remember how when he arrives, the air is charged with conflict. He enters the Temple and quickly becomes upset at the economic injustice that he sees, as the very institution that was meant to support the poor and disenfranchised is now instead exploiting them. He quotes from Jeremiah, calling the Temple a “den of robbers,” before turning over the moneychangers’ tables.  

But the gospel of John records multiple visits to Jerusalem. And interestingly, John remembers Jesus overturning the moneychangers’ tables at the beginning of his ministry (during his first visit) rather than at the end of his ministry just before his death. Why this incongruity? Does John simply remember the sequence of events differently than Matthew, Mark, and Luke? Or did Jesus overturn the tables two different times? Ultimately, we don’t know. And perhaps that’s just as well. The truth that the gospels want to convey has less to do with historical accuracy—what happened when—and more to do with the message of Jesus that each of them received. The message of Jesus that John receives, that he remembers, involves a stark contrast between Jesus’ “table manners” at two events. On the one hand is a feast far away from the Temple, where Jesus blesses the people gathered around tables and makes sure every cup is filled. On the other hand is a festival in the heart of the religious world, in the Temple itself, where Jesus disturbs the gathering and overturns the tables.

Scripture: Turning a Profit

Before exploring this contrast—Jesus’ joy outside the Temple and his profound exasperation within it—let’s listen to how John tells the story:

14 In the Temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables.

For most Passover pilgrims to Jerusalem, it was difficult to bring their own animals for sacrifice. But the Temple met this need by selling its own sacrificial animals. Now, it’s important to pause here and remember that Jesus is not opposed to Temple sacrifice itself. According to John, he made festival pilgrimages to the Temple more than once, worshiping there with fellow Jews. So I don’t think Jesus would have been irked by a fair trade that allowed pilgrims from far away to participate in Temple worship. What would have irked Jesus were some reported practices by which the merchants and money changers at the Temple turned a profit at the expense of the people, practices such as wrongfully identifying some pilgrims’ animals as “blemished” and requiring them to purchase a new animal from the temple, or more simply hiking up the prices. Jesus would have been similarly upset with money changers who added an unnecessary fee for their exchanging currencies. Many pilgrims from far away would only have Roman or Greek coinage on them, but the Temple only accepted shekels for its annual tax. The money changers would have had ample opportunity to pad by their pockets by exploiting pilgrims who were obligated to pay their dues but did not have the proper currency.[1]

Scripture: A Tale of Two “Houses”

15 Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the Temple, both the sheep and the cattle. (It’s worth noting here that Jesus with his whip is not acting violently against the Temple merchants but rather driving out the herd of animals.) He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. 16 He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!”

More literally, that last statement is, “Stop making my Father’s house a house of trade.” In other words, Jesus distinguishes between the conflicting purposes of two different “houses.” In a house of trade, the goal is profit. More. Accumulating. In the house of God, the goal is much simpler: to make space for God. If anything, this purpose is opposite the purpose of trade. It’s not about more but about less. It’s not about accumulating but about emptying. To make space for God is to “let go” of all the interests and concerns that get in the way.

Scripture: Two Different Lessons about Money

I can’t help but think here of two other gospel passages that are not especially popular but seem especially relevant here. In his sermon on the mount, Jesus says, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth” (Matt 6:19). A little bit later in his ministry, he reiterates this point in the story of the rich fool who builds barns to accumulate his surplus harvest. When Jesus reports that his fate will be to lose everything including his life, he adds, “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves” (Luke 12:21). Jesus is clearly not a capitalist. He is not keen on “storing up,” or accumulating, on making a profit beyond what is needed. Schooled in the Jewish faith, he knows well the story of God’s provision of manna in the wilderness, how God provides according to the need of everyone, and anything saved or kept goes rotten. To take more than we need in a world of limited resources is to take away from others. It spoils or rots the fabric of our community. Basil of Caesarea, a 4^th-century bishop, who took this lesson to heart, articulates it in cutting fashion: “If you want storehouses, you have them in the stomachs of the poor.” “If we all took only what was necessary to satisfy our own needs, giving the rest to those who lack, no one would be rich, no one would be poor, and no one would be in need.” And perhaps sharpest of all: “The more you abound in wealth, the more you lack in love.”

I share these difficult scriptures and Basil’s jaw-dropping words not as someone who has followed them, but as someone who stands convicted by them. I grew up in a world that taught me a very different message. I learned that profit is earned and therefore just and good. I learned that many poor people are lazy and only have themselves to blame. But more than anything, I learned that money is what makes the world go around. That the more of it you have, the better. That it’s a powerful resource, and if you want to do good in the world, you have to leverage it.

But I think back to last week’s wedding, where the wine ran out early and the tables around Jesus went momentarily dry. Why was that? The host family clearly did not have the resources to meet the demands of the crowd. They were poor. But does that deprive them of a joyous occasion? Jesus’ first “sign”—and remember, Jesus’ miracles were not meant as demonstrations of power but as “signs” that signify an important message—Jesus’ first “sign” seems to suggest that where there is love, there will be enough for everyone at the table. That where the priority is not wealth but relationships, there will be enough for everyone at the table. It is an entirely different lesson from the one that I learned growing up in this world.

Scripture: Turning Things Around

17 His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” 18 The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” 19 Jesus answered them, “Destroy this Temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” 20 The Jews then said, “This Temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” 21 But he was speaking of the Temple of his body. 22 After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.

23   When he was in Jerusalem during the Passover festival, many believed in his name because they saw the signs that he was doing. 24 But Jesus on his part would not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people 25 and needed no one to testify about anyone; for he himself knew what was in everyone.

Today’s scripture concludes on something of a damp note, namely Jesus being wary of the attention and acclaim that he is receiving for his signs—because he “[knows] what [is] in everyone” (John 2:25). He knows how people see his signs: as a promise of power and control, not as an invitation into a gratuitous love.

The festival of Passover celebrates the story of an enslaved people’s liberation. Unfortunately, as Jesus enters the Temple, he sees plenty of evidence to suggest that the people are enslaved again. By the shekel. By the dollar. By the promise that more money will make things better.

In a way, his overturning the tables becomes a marker for a new Passover, a new liberation, as Jesus invites people into God’s priority. Not profits but people. Not control but care. The money changers and merchants in the Temple had been turning a profit at the expense of people. In so doing, they had turned the Temple from a house of God into a house of trade. But Jesus comes to turn things around, to liberate people from this enslavement. And as we see so often, Jesus does his work at tables.

We see this first in the wedding in Cana, where Jesus’ sign shows that love supplies what is lacking at the table, that the joyous union of relationships supplies make up what is missing at the table. We see Jesus’ liberation next at the Temple. This time the picture is a negative of the original, as Jesus overturns tables of profits and greed.

John chapter 2 is a tale of two “tables”—the table of the wedding feast and the table of the Temple merchants. But both tables tell the same story. Whether he’s turning water into wine or turning tables upside down, Jesus is turning the world right side up as he invites us away from the quest for profit and into the care for one another. He teaches us a fundamental lesson which runs counter to what our world teaches. He teaches us that God’s love does not trickle down from wealth, but rather surges up from willing hearts and open hands.

Prayer

Lord of the feast,
Whose love sets the table
And supplies our need
…
Here in your house,
Help us to let go
Of thoughts that do not serve us or others
And habits of needless saving.
Grant us faith in the power of your love
To turn this world right side up. In Christ, who invites us to turn around: Amen.

 

---

[1] Feasting on the Gospels: John (Eds. Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, et al.; Vol. 1; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2015), 54. 

Survival into Celebration (John 2:1-11)

The First “Lesson”

Before today’s passage, Jesus calls his disciples to follow him. Their relationship is quickly established. They call him, “Rabbi”—teacher.

Normally in those days, a teacher would have taken his students to a school-like setting or perhaps to the desert. He would have taught lessons. He would have trained them in the practice of important spiritual disciplines. This is what we see, for example, in John the Baptist, who attracted quite a crowd in the desert, where he taught repentance and practiced baptism.

What is the first thing Jesus does with his disciples?  Does he sit them down for a lesson?  Does he initiate them in the practice of certain spiritual disciplines?  In the other gospels, he does. Perhaps most famously, in the gospel of Matthew Jesus calls his disciples and then teaches them his most timeless lesson, the Sermon on the Mount, where almost everything he says is spiritual dynamite, liable to blow you to bits, like blessed are the poor and love your enemy and don’t worry about tomorrow, only seek God’s kingdom.

But according to the gospel of John, Jesus does something else before he teaches or trains his disciples. He takes them to a party—a wedding in Cana of Galilee! Perhaps you’ve heard how significant such an event was in Jesus’ time. Weddings then were village events, a gathering of family and friends and all the folks around. For a full week—seven days!—they would eat and drink, talk and laugh, sing and dance. They would celebrate love—not the sappy, romantic idea that passes for love in Hollywood, but the sacred union of two persons from which would spring new life: new life between two families, new life in the birth of baby boys and girls, new life in the hearts of the married couple.

The gospel of John loves to use symbol and metaphor. It’s John who popularizes the ideas of Jesus as the bread of life, the water of life, the great shepherd, and the lamb of God. And so I can’t help but think that John is using this wedding feast as a symbol too. “Begin as you mean to go on,” we often say, and here John shows us how Jesus means to go on. His very first “lesson” is a celebration of love.

More Than a Tick-Tock Life

Sometimes I wonder if this lesson has been lost amidst the church’s tragic love affair with “eternal life.” Eternal life conjures up a horizontal image of life: life with no end, a heart that keeps beating forever and ever, tick-tock, tick-tock. But as I think Jesus shows his disciples in his very first experience with them, life is about much more than a mechanical, tick-tock heart that beats forever. Such a life is meaningless (or even torturous) if it is not filled, from top to bottom, vertically, with love. Such a life is meaningless (or even torturous) if it is not filled with the eating and drinking, singing and dancing, if it is not filled with relationships of love, which invariably cultivate forgiveness and tenderness, generosity and compassion. A mechanical, tick-tock heart is nothing compared to a heart that laughs and cries, that gives and forgives, that celebrates life and lives in love. Perhaps it would help to remember this the next time we quote John 3:16. Perhaps instead of “eternal life,” we might say, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in him may not live a mechanical, tick-tock life, but a life filled with love—and love never ends.”

Water into Wine

If Jesus’ first “lesson” is a wedding, a symbol that real life is found in loving…then what Jesus actually does at the wedding only amplifies the lesson.

For when the wine runs out, Jesus turns to a collection of stone water containers. Rocks and water had an important place in Jewish history. They meant survival—the horizontal kind of life. On more than one occasion in the wilderness, Moses had struck a rock and miraculously water had sprung forth for the thirsty Israelites to drink. In the Jewish mindset, rocks and water meant survival.

But at this wedding, the challenge is not survival. The challenge is celebration. When the wine runs out, Jesus’ mother fears the worst: that the rejoicing will run dry too. So now we see a new miracle, a new wonder, a symbol again of what life means for Jesus. He turns rocks and water into wine and rejoicing. He turns the symbols of survival into a symbol of celebration. Jesus has come to give us life, not just the horizontal kind that keeps going but the kind that is worth living, the vertical kind, filled top to bottom with love.

Love Is the Beginning

Not long before today’s scene, Jesus himself was baptized. At that point he hadn’t healed a single person, he hadn’t taught an inspiring lesson, he hadn’t preached a great sermon. In the gospels’ account of things, he’s done practically nothing at that point. But even so, he hears the voice of God proclaim, “You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Whereas our world preaches that hard work and achievement come first, and only afterward affirmation and love—that love must be earned—we see the opposite in the life of Jesus. The love of God is at the beginning of the story before he’s done a thing. The love of God is what begins the story. It’s only after Jesus hears these words of love and blessing from God that he embarks on an unforgettable three-year adventure that will forever change history.

It’s almost, then, as if today Jesus shares with the disciples the truth of his baptism. By taking them to a wedding instead of teaching a lesson in a classroom or training them in some spiritual discipline, he is sharing with them his experience. The unconditional love of God is at the beginning of the story. It is what begins the story. If there is no love, there is no life. (I see this myself all across the gospels. I think of the adulterous woman and Zacchaeus, how his call to “go and sin no more” is not given as a condition for his love, but only after he has made clear his love. Only after he has shown his grace. “Neither do I condemn you,” he says first to the woman. For Jesus, love is always the first word. It is what begins the story..)

This truth echoes in all our world. I’m reminded especially of the timeless fairy tale trope of the sleeping princess. Her heart may be beating tick-tock underneath the enchantment, but that’s no kind of life to be living. So what is it that breaks the enchanted sleep?  What is it that raises her to life?  It’s not strength. It’s not intelligence. It’s a kiss. Love is where life begins.

The Good News That There Is More to Life

The good news of today’s story is that
Whenever we’re just surviving,
Whenever our hearts are a mechanical tick-tock,
Whenever the days are nothing more than numbers on a calendar,
Whenever we’re in the wilderness
With nothing but rocks and a trickle of water—
There is more to life.
I can’t tell you where.
I can only tell you
That it tastes a little bit like wine,
That it feels a little bit like a kiss,
That it lets you know you are beloved
And draws you out into the world.

For me, sometimes, it’s a cat’s attention.
For me, sometimes, it’s an honest conversation.
For me, sometimes, it’s a walk in the woods.
For me, sometimes, it’s a guest sitting at my table.
For me, sometimes, it’s a dream that wakes me up in the middle of the night.
Whatever it is for you, know this—
It is also Christ,
Whose love transforms
Survival into celebration,
And gives us not just a life that keeps going,
But a life that’s worth living.

Prayer

Smiling Christ,
Who celebrated
Weddings and wine
And most of all
The wonder of love—
We study your teaching,
We try to practice your way.
Let us never lose sight, though,
Of what is first and foremost.
In the mid-winter routine of our lives,
Grant us an epiphany, a revelation.
Amid the odds and ends of our days,
Share with us your love,
Which turns survival into celebration.
Amen.

"I Saw You" (John 1:35-51)

Scripture: “What Are You Looking for?”

³⁵ The next day John (that is, John the Baptizer) again was standing with two of his disciples, ³⁶ and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” ³⁷ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. ³⁸ When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?”

When Jesus asks the two followers of John the Baptizer (one of whom we later learn is Andrew), “What are you looking for?” he invites them to be honest about their motivations. It is a question that can quickly cut through the superficial reasons we give for the things we do. A question that peels back the layers. Not unlike the question “Why?” asked repeatedly.

If I say I go to church because I am a Christian, I am still on the stand, asking myself, “Yes, but what am I looking for?” If my answer is Christ, the question comes back still, “Yes, but what I am looking for in Christ?”

When I first started attending church, what I was most looking for was probably approval. I remember wearing shoes I didn’t really like, stiff clothes I wasn’t really fond of—but I did it because that’s what respectable people did when they went to church. I wanted validation, approval, respect. I went to church for the same reason that I followed the rules. I wanted my parents and teachers to like me.

When I went to college, I continued to attend church. At this stage, my motivations had evolved. I continued to look for approval, of course. I knew my parents would ask what I’d done on Sunday. But I was also beginning to look for community, for people who shared a similar worldview and similar values.

By the time I was studying abroad in England, community was my primary motivation for attending church. I didn’t know anyone when I arrived in Sheffield. I was looking for friends. In the end, I can trace nearly all the friends I made in England back to the little church that I attended.

I know there are other reasons folks go to church. People are looking for many things when they attend church. One woman at the previous church that I served recounted how her father went to church to make business connections, to network, to expand his list of clients and garner the goodwill of more powerful businessmen in the community.

Today we’re celebrating Epiphany, which literally means “appearance.” If Christmas is about God becoming flesh and dwelling among us, about a little baby being born, then Epiphany is about the moment when this little baby is revealed to outsiders, when God appears to the wider world. One story that we traditionally tell at Epiphany is the story of the wise men, the magi, who travel to Bethlehem from a land far, far away in the east. They have seen a star in the sky. What exactly are they looking for? A newborn king, yes. But why? Are they looking for profitable political connections? Is that why they come with gifts, intending to pay the king homage? Are they looking for the approval of someone—perhaps their parents who raised them to pay attention to the stars, or perhaps God himself? Are they looking for a meaning in life they have not yet found?

Scripture: “Come and See”

They (the two disciples of John the Baptizer who have started to follow Jesus) said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” ³⁹ He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. ⁴⁰ One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. ⁴¹ He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). ⁴² He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

Whatever the motivations of Jesus’ new followers, whatever they are looking for, Jesus insists that they keep their eyes open. “Come and see,” he says.

I remember once going on a hike with my family in Canada. The destination of the hike was a grand vista of the valley below, where a lake was cradled between several mountains. But the highlight of the hike for me was not the vista. It was several hundred yards before the vista, where we stopped to eat lunch on a pile of large rocks. While we were eating and everyone was silent, we heard animals scurrying about. There, camouflaged among the rocks, we spied a family of marmots gathering grass and vegetation for their own lunch. A half hour later, we stood at the top of the mountain and enjoyed the grand vista that we’d been looking for. But as we walked back down the mountain, I realized that the real treasure for me had been eating on the rocks with the marmots. It wasn’t the reason we’d gone hiking. It wasn’t what I’d originally been looking for. But our eyes were open enough to see this unexpected phenomenon, and it became for me the most cherished memory of that hike.

When Jesus says, “Come and see,” I think he’s inviting his new followers to look for whatever they’re looking for, but to look with their eyes open. He’s inviting them to seek, but to seek with a heart open to something even better than whatever they have in mind.

I’ll be honest… I have sometimes been a bit of a theological snob, judging my old self and other people for all the less than pious reasons that they have attended church. I’ve thought to myself, “Most people just go out of habit. Most people just go because that’s what you do if you want to be a well-respected member of the community.” It’s a narrow and ungenerous critique; I’m certain that we are all here because, whatever other reasons we might have, we genuinely are looking for a fuller, better, more abundant life with one another and with God. In truth,  our motivations are always mixed, some good perhaps, some less healthy perhaps. But that doesn’t seem to bother Jesus so much. “Come and see,” he says, inviting us to keep looking, but with the plea that whatever we’re looking for, we keep our eyes open to see something different than we expect.

Scripture: “No Deceit”—
Or, Honest and Open

⁴³ The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” ⁴⁴ Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. ⁴⁵ Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the Law and also the Prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” ⁴⁶ Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

Nathanael’s skeptical question sounds rather snarky, doesn’t it? There’s good reason, however, to believe that his skepticism may have come from a reasonable place. Nowhere in the Old Testament do we hear of Nazareth. It is literally a no-name town. Nathanael may just be honestly expressing his doubts about the messiah coming from a place for which there are no prophecies, a place from which no one expected the messiah to come.

Philip said to him, “Come and see.” (The gospel of John loves wordplay. It’s no accident that Philip here invites Nathanael with the same invitation that Jesus earlier invited the disciples of John the Baptizer. “Come and see” is something of a motto for the gospel of John, a slogan that both invites seeking and at the same time an openness to something different than whatever is being sought.)

⁴⁷ When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!”

Just as Nathanael’s skeptical question may have sounded snarky, so too Jesus’ first words upon seeing Nathanael. But another possibility is that Jesus is genuinely praising Nathanael for his honesty. In the gospel of John, “deceit” is a trademark of the devil, whom Jesus calls “a liar and the father of lies” (John 8:44). For Jesus to call Nathanael someone without “deceit” is high praise indeed. He appreciates Nathanael’s honesty. Yes, on the one hand, Nathanael’s honesty predisposes him to disregard anyone coming from Nazareth. But on the other hand, it appears to incline Nathanael to take everyone seriously, to acknowledge that his own perspective is limited. And so the flipside to Nathanael’s honesty is a kind of openness. Instead of writing off this possible messiah because he does not come from where Nathanael would expect, he asks questions. Just as the encouragement “Come and see” invites a person to keep his eyes open, so Nathanael keeps his own eyes open for something other than what he expects.

Scripture: “Heaven Opened”

 ⁴⁸ Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” ⁴⁹ Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”

I began that hike in Canada as someone looking for a grand vista. The irony is that the real treasure of the hike all began not with what I saw, but with what saw me. Before I or anyone else saw the marmot family, they assuredly saw us, the loud human interlopers unfurling our backpacks and supplies on their rocky home. But they did not hide. They carried on with their own lunch, and eventually we saw the creatures who had first seen us.

Philip had said to Nathanael, “Come and see.” But when Nathanael comes and sees, he hears Jesus say, “I saw you!” Nathanael had come with Philip with the intention of seeing Jesus, only to discover that Jesus has first seen him.

This unexpected reversal is the same surprise at the heart of Epiphany. We’re all looking for something. Churchgoers like us are looking for something when we go to church. Shoppers are looking for something on the other side of a mouse-click or the other side of a cash register’s ring. Drug addicts are looking for something in every hit that they seek. Some philosophers would suggest that, religious or not, we’re all looking for God in each of these ventures, our motivations always mixed, never quite what they might seem on the surface.

But the surprise of Epiphany is that we discover in our seeking that we are actually being sought. The surprise of Epiphany is that even as we never find exactly what we’re looking for, we are nonetheless found by something even better than what we were looking for.

Listen to how Jesus explains this to Nathanael:

⁵⁰ Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” ⁵¹ And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

“Heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending” is an unmistakable reference to what we often call “Jacob’s ladder”—that is, the dream that Jacob has in the wilderness of angels going to and from heaven. If you’ll recall, when Jacob wakes up from his dream, he exclaims, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!” (Gen 28:16). Jesus seems to suggest a similar experience for us who are honestly seeking God. When we are honest, when we keep our eyes open for more than what we know or expect, then we might well find ourselves face to face with heaven, exclaiming, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!” So it was for Nathanael, who stood face to face with a messiah hailing from a no-name town.

I can’t help but think of how Jesus will later insist that the kingdom of God is already among us. For Jesus, it’s not so much a matter of building the kingdom of God or controlling the world around us, but rather a way of seeing the world differently. When Jesus bids us, “Come and see,” he bids us keep our eyes open to see the unexpected glory of God. With our eyes thus open, he shows us again and again how heaven has already been opened. And we discover that heaven’s opening is not found amid wealth, power, or status. Contrary to the world’s expectations, heaven’s opening is found in places like our enemies, whom we come to see are God’s children too. Heaven’s opening is found in our need, yes our neediness, where we can finally receive the grace of God. Heaven’s opening is found in simplicity and sharing, where we discover abundance means being rich in relationships, not things.

The band U2 had a hit song in the 1980s, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking for.” Their lead singer, Bono, once described the song as a gospel song. A lot of religious folks scratched their heads. What kind of faith would say, “I haven’t found what I’m looking for”? But I think what Bono meant is what we see in today’s scripture. The good news isn’t so much that we ever find what we’re looking for, but that in the honest looking, we discover we are found. And in being found, we discover that heaven has already been opened. Or as Jacob puts it: “The Lord is indeed in this place—and we didn’t know it!”

Prayer

Loving God,
Who seeks us
Even as we’re not so sure
What we are seeking ourselves
…
Grant us open eyes
To see you already seeing us,
To see heaven already opened
In the way of Christ,
Our lord and savior: Amen.