A Good Sermon is Hard to Find: March 2012

Monday, March 19, 2012

"I am the Good Shepherd"

John 10:11-18

11 "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. 12 The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. 13 The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. 14 I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15 just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. 16 I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. 17 For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. 18 No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father."

On May 21, 1980, one of the greatest movies of all time premiered in theatres across the U.S. It was (and still is) a movie that goes against the conventional wisdom that sequels are never better than the original. The official, full-length name of that movie is Star Wars: Episode V—The Empire Strikes Back. Now, most followers of the Star Wars saga (which consists of six live action movies, an animated series, a feature-length animated movie, along with countless novels and fan-made films) believe The Empire Strikes Back is the best movie in the series, and I think I know why. Not only is Empire filled with wonderful special effects and thrilling action, it is known for having one of the most surprising plot twists in all of cinema. For those of you unfamiliar with the Star Wars saga, I’ll do my best to fill in the gaps.

There is a scene in Empire where the protagonist, Luke Skywalker, is in a climactic lightsaber (think laser-sword) battle with the greatest villain of all time, the half-human/half-machine, Darth Vader. At a devastating point in the fight, Darth Vader severs Skywalker’s right hand from his arm. Luke recoils from Vader, clinging to the smoldering, singed wound made by his enemy’s saber; he retreats all the way out onto a dangerous antennae-looking structure overhanging a deep chasm of blinking lights. After offering Luke the chance to join him on the “Dark Side,” Darth Vader asks if Skywalker knows about his father, and Luke says, “I know enough…you killed him.” Then Darth Vader says five of the most famous words in modern movie history, “No. I am your father!” (I suppose one could say that is a secular “I am” statement of its own.)

The first time a public audience heard those words was in May of 1980, nearly four years before I was born. They are words that have become a meme in our culture; they have been parodied or redone time and time again in many different ways by many different people. So, by the time I actually saw The Empire Strikes Back, I already knew what Vader was going to say to Luke—I already knew that he was his father. The original impact, the weight, the shock of those words was lost on me. All I can do is imagine what it must have been like to sit in the movie theatre and watch that scene—hear those words—for the first time, to hear the collective gasps of shock and surprise from those watching. I suppose you could say that my familiarity with this scene has robbed it of some of its original power and meaning.

I think those of us who live here in the “Bible Belt” can say the same thing when it comes to many sayings and scenes from Scripture: we’ve become so familiar with them, seeing and hearing them everywhere around us, that we’ve grown somewhat callous towards their original power and meaning. It’s as if we’ve been oversaturated and desensitized by their presence all around us. In fact, in many cases, they’ve become little more than inspiration for poorly written music and cheap artwork.

I have a friend back home who is, well let’s just say, not a shining example of Christian morality. He does, however, own a nice house, complete with nice furniture and sensible decorations. There are, though, a couple of items in his living room that are a bit odd to those of us who know him. There sits, on his coffee table, a cheaply bound, black, fake-leather, Bible. If it is ever moved it is only when curious guests come to visit or if the coffee table needs dusting. Then, over on the far wall, there hangs on the painted paneling a rather interesting piece of art. In a wide, gold-trimmed frame there’s the printed image of a sunny, wind-swept meadow, and in the foreground, a soft-haired, smiling man clad in red and blue, cradling a little ewe lamb. The caption beneath it in barely visible calligraphy reads, “I am the good shepherd.” These are the first words we hear from Jesus in our text this morning in verse eleven, words that perhaps we’ve heard so often (like those from Empire), words with which we are so familiar, that their original power and meaning are just a little lost on us: “I am the good shepherd.”

Now, the image of Jesus as the good shepherd is as old as any image ever used to represent Christ. It is the image that is found on the ancient walls of the catacombs, beneath the roads of the Roman Empire. It’s the image that is wonderfully crafted in some of the oldest icons of the Eastern Church, showing Christ as a shepherd with a sheep across his shoulders. Countless stained glass windows across the Western hemisphere glow with the image of Jesus the Good Shepherd, pasturing his flock as they graze on a field of green glass. Then there are all of those paintings, paintings like that one in my friend’s house. I’ve seen them everywhere: in church vestibules, in funeral home parlors, even on the walls of doctors’ offices. It’s an image that is so familiar to us that it has been made into clock faces, throw rugs, and even lampshades. It’s an image that saturates our collective Christian conscience. But does it truly capture the power and meaning of Jesus’ words in the text before us today?

In these verses, we encounter the fourth ἐγώ εἰμι (“I am”) statement from Jesus. It comes immediately after the third such statement (which we heard last week) in verses seven and nine of this same chapter. Jesus has recently healed a man on the Sabbath, who had been born blind. Some of the Pharisees have confronted Jesus about his apparent lack of concern for the Law, and Jesus responds with this extended shepherding metaphor here in chapter ten, a metaphor that includes his claim to be “the gate [by which] Whoever enters…will be saved.”

One of the driving themes in this “figure of speech” (as the evangelist of the fourth gospel calls it) is the inclusiveness of Christ’s flock. You’ll remember in verse nine that Jesus promised, “Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” That same concept of inclusion is repeated in Jesus’ words in verse sixteen before us today: “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.” He said this in the hearing of those Pharisees in order to make sure they understood that Gentiles and other non-Jews would also be included in the Messiah’s kingdom—in the Christ’s flock. So perhaps our image of Jesus as the good shepherd ought to include more than just the one, cute, little ewe lamb in his arms, but a multitude of sheep—sheep of all colors, races, and nations. Maybe that goes a little way in filling out our image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, but does it fully capture what Jesus is driving at in these verses?

Perhaps one of the more problematic and controversial things that Jesus says in this passage comes at the beginning of verse fifteen: “…the Father knows me and I know the Father...” Throughout the fourth gospel it is Jesus’ claim that he is the Son of God, sharing a special relationship with the Father, which often leads to trouble and accusations of blasphemy. He says those words in the context of verse fourteen: “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.” While it may be difficult to put those words into an image, they do help us, I think, to fill out this image of Jesus as the good shepherd, one who is known by God the Father and one who knows each of his sheep. He is a shepherd with divine connections who is personally invested in his sheep. Still, is this the best image we have for Jesus the Good Shepherd? Can we still only see him as the gentle, caring man in the meadow looking tenderly after his sheep? Or are we missing altogether what Jesus is truly saying when he claims, “I am the good shepherd?”

Jesus first says those words in verse eleven: “I am the good shepherd,” but he continues in that same verse: “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” He says similar words in verses 17 and 18: “For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again.” The good shepherd is more than gentle. The good shepherd is more than kind. The good shepherd does more than simply look after the sheep. “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep…in order to take it up again,” and “No one takes it from [him], but [he] lay[s] it down of [his] own accord.” How does one even begin to picture a shepherd who willing lays down his life for the sheep? Can you still picture him in the warm grass of a meadow? Does he still smile with a calming look of affection? What does this shepherd who willingly lays down his life look like?

In Cullman, Alabama, in the most unlikely of places, is one of the most beautiful sites my eyes have ever seen. When I was in college and running around on Sundays with other Samford students around the state preaching, one particular Sunday we happened to pass one of those brown signs on I-65 that marks an exit for a park or tourist attraction. The sign said “The Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament” this exit. My friends and I were feeling a bit adventurous that day, and since we apparently were in no hurry to get back to Samford, we took the exit in search of this so-called shrine.

We drove for what felt like miles until what little civilization there is in that part of Cullman County disappeared, and we found ourselves on a little two-lane road driving past seemingly endless fields of grass. All of the sudden, as if out of nowhere, there were a few houses on both sides of the road, and just a little farther we found ourselves at the gates to this “Shrine.” As it turns out, The Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament is a Catholic Church and monastery; it’s the home of Mother Angelica, famous for her appearances on the Catholic television network EWTN. So, we drove on through the gate, parked in the lot, and made our way up the concrete stairs and across the brick-paved courtyard to the heavy wooden doors of the church.

Now, as a Baptist college student, who had just preached in a small, rural Baptist church, what I saw inside those doors was breath-taking: stained glass windows, wonderful carvings depicting the Stations of the Cross lining the sanctuary, gold—gold everywhere. The place had an air of holiness about it. I remember feeling like I was breathing too loud, as if I would shatter the holy atmosphere with the volume of my exhaling. What caught my attention in that room, however, was the altar. There were two images flanking the center of the altar. On the left, an almost life-sized sculpture of Mary, the mother of Jesus. I didn’t look too hard at it, for the image on the right side is what arrested my attention. There, in what I can only assume was painted porcelain, was the crucified Lord. There was Christ, hanging on the nails of the cross.

I suppose as Protestants, particularly as Baptists in the Southern U.S., we don’t see such things in our sanctuaries. We prefer the clean, triumphant power depicted in the empty cross, but there, in that sacred place, I was confronted with the corpse of the Son of God. I don’t know if it was the intent of the artist, but it was difficult to discern if the figure of Christ was meant to be dead or near the brink, but when I saw it, I saw the lifeless body of Jesus. I saw there, on the cross, the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep.

Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” It is in the image of Christ on the cross that I find the full power and meaning of those words. It is in knowing that, before we can celebrate the victory of resurrection on Easter Sunday, we must acknowledge the pain of death on Good Friday. It is in knowing that, before we can glory in the joy of eternity, we must deal with pains of sin and evil in this world. It is that image of the Good Shepherd, the One who lays down his life for us, that I find hope in the darkest of times in this world. For Christ, our Good Shepherd, has willingly laid down his life—felt the pain of death—for us, so that we may live.

Let us look to the Good Shepherd, the one who knows us, who calls us by name, the one who saves us. Let us look to him not only as a gentle shepherd of the field, but as the Good Shepherd with arms willingly outstretched on Calvary’s cross for our sins. May we hear his voice and take comfort in his willing sacrifice on our behalf. Let us look to the Good Shepherd.

Let us pray…

Sunday, March 11, 2012

"I am the Gate"

John 10:1-10

1 "Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. 2 The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. 3 The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4 When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. 5 They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers." 6 Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them. 7 So again Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. 8 All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. 9 I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. 10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

“I am the gate,” or “I am the door.” Doors. Have you ever given any thought to how many doors you walk through in a given day? It’s likely you walked through several doors inside your home this morning, only to walk out the door to get into your car or on the bus (through a door). Then you entered through two sets of doors to get into this room and at least two other doors if you were here for Sunday School. I counted the other day and, not including cabinets, we have thirteen doors in our home (and our house isn’t very big): thirteen doors, three of which are exterior doors.

Have you ever given any thought to what a door actually does? I suppose we’re so used to them being there, so used to them opening at the turn of a key and the twist of a knob, but doors are actually quite vital to our current, comfortable way of life. You see, doors keep things out, things we don’t want inside with us. Imagine if your home didn’t have a door—just an opening; you’d likely wake up in the morning with squirrels in the pantry, mosquitoes swarming the bathroom, and neighborhood dogs digging through your trash in the kitchen. If your home didn’t have a door it would be vulnerable to thieves and criminals when you’re away. Doors also keep out the weather; they allow us to change the temperature and humidity inside our homes and keep them where we want them. Doors keep out the wind and the rain, the cold and the heat. Inside our homes, doors even keep curious dogs with a chewing habit out of our closets! Doors are vital in preserving our way of life, our comfort, because they keep things outside that don’t belong inside.

But doors don’t just keep things out. No, in fact they perform another function that is altogether contrary to keeping things out: they let things in. Think about it this way: what would your house be without a door? It would be a box, a box with no way in and no way out. It would essentially be an oversized terrarium! Without doors we wouldn’t be able to welcome friends and family into our homes; we would be unable to invite guests into our sanctuary for worship. Without doors we would be unable to come and go as we please. So I suppose in a way, doors provide us with a certain level of freedom as they allow us to keep out the things that don’t belong inside and allow us to bring in and keep the things we do want inside. Doors (along with gates) are simultaneously the tools of exclusion and inclusion: their function is somewhat of a contradiction.

It’s this same sort of contradictory identity that I often struggle with when it comes to the Christian faith: faith in Christ is simultaneously exclusive and inclusive.

It’s that simultaneous exclusiveness and inclusiveness that led to many of Jesus’ conflicts with the religious leaders of his day. In the ninth chapter of John, we hear how Jesus healed a man who was blind from birth—a man who would have been excluded from the normal circles of society due to his infirmity (which would have been believed to have been caused by his or his parents’ sins). As if Jesus’ healing of this man was not enough to catch the attention of the Pharisees and everyone else who was around that day, it just so happened that is was the Sabbath, and one didn’t go around healing folks on the Sabbath—it was forbidden by the Law! After these Pharisees catch wind of what Jesus did, they drove the man who had been blind away. Jesus found him, and after a brief conversation with him, Jesus turned his attention to the Pharisees and their own spiritual blindness at the end of chapter nine. It’s after this exchange with the Pharisees that Jesus spoke the words we have heard here today.

Now, I can understand if some of the imagery Jesus used is lost on us. After all, I don’t think many of us here today are shepherds, at least not in the Near Eastern tradition, but Jesus spoke with words and images that had meaning to those who were gathered around him to hear. In verses one through five we get a glimpse into the way of life for a shepherd in ancient Judea as Jesus’ words tell about thieves and bandits (which were very serious threats to the shepherds of the Ancient Near East), gates, and the ways in which sheep could discern the voice of their shepherd over the voices of strangers. You see, flocks would often graze together in the same pasture, but when it was time for one flock to move on, the shepherd of that flock would call to his sheep (yes, sometimes even by name) and the sheep knew to follow their shepherd.[1] Because of such a system, strangers couldn’t simply sneak away with extra sheep in their flocks. With this “figure of speech,” Jesus tries to take a jab at those Pharisees and other religious leaders who had tried in the past to lead God’s people in the wrong direction. He tries to show them that he is (as we will see next week) the Good Shepherd, but the gospel writer tells us in verse six: “Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.” I get the feeling it was like Jesus was trying to tell them a joke and they just didn’t get the punch line.

So after they fail to understand Jesus’ words, we hear Jesus try to speak to them again in a different way in verses seven through ten. In this version of Jesus’ “figure of speech” with the Pharisees, He references again those thieves in verses eight and ten: “All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them…The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” Those who would steal sheep from a flock had no real interest in caring for them, only selling or killing them—they only had selfish intentions. Here, Jesus attempted to take another verbal swing at the nature of those Pharisees and other religious leaders who opposed him: they had no genuine concern for the spiritual condition of the people, only a concern for strict adherence to a list of rules and regulations.

The words in this passage, however, that catch our attention today are found in verses seven and nine: “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep…I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” This is the third of Jesus’ ἐγώ εἰμι (“I am”) sayings in the Fourth Gospel: “I am the gate” (or as it says in other translations, “I am the door”). It was not uncommon in both ancient Greco-Roman and Jewish cultures to think of the entrance to heaven as a gate.[2] So perhaps in using such a word, especially to describe himself, Jesus conjured up all kinds of images and emotions in those who heard his claim.

“I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved.” Think about those words for just a minute. Is Jesus making a claim regarding the inclusiveness or the exclusiveness of salvation? On the one hand he says, “Whoever enters” implying that there isn’t a necessary requirement for eligibility, yet at the same time in saying “by me” implying that there is only one way. Is Christ being inclusive—allowing all to enter, or exclusive—allowing only those who come through him to enter? The answer is “Yes.”

You see, Jesus as the Gate, or Door, is the only way which we may enter into the salvation of God, but he is the only way by which all may enter into the salvation of God. Some will try to tell us there are other ways; some will try to tell us that not all may enter. But Christ the Gate is the way by which all may enter; he is the only way by which we may all enter into the glory of an eternity spent in the presence of God. And what’s more is that Christ the Gate is the way by which we may have life, for Jesus says in verse 10, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” As much as the inclusive exclusiveness of faith in Christ is about the eternal reality of heaven, it is about the present reality of the here-and-now. As much as faith in Christ is about freedom from the punishment of impending judgment, it is about a life lived in the freedom afforded us by Christ to “come in and go out and find pasture.” There is freedom in knowing that Christ is the only way by which all may enter into the salvation of God. There is a comfort to be found in knowing that Christ the Gate came to die so that you and I may have life—and not simply a life of existence, but a life of abundance in him.

Perhaps you are here today and you believe that not all are welcome. Perhaps you’ve carried into this place a heart of exclusion and prejudice. May you hear the voice of Christ calling his sheep and realize that there are many who hear his voice. May you come to find that your brothers and sisters come from different nations, races, languages, and walks of life, that the sheep of his fold as many and diverse. May you hear the voice of Christ leading you in the paths of righteousness and follow after him.

Or perhaps you are standing outside the sheepfold today, outside the grace of God and the freedom found in His Son. Perhaps you are concerned that you aren’t qualified to enter through the gate. May you hear these words of Christ Jesus today with new ears: “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” May you come to believe that Christ has come to save you so that you “may have life, and have it abundantly.” May we all find the inclusive exclusiveness of faith in Christ the Gate so that we may live an abundant life in the freedom of following Jesus in the work of God’s kingdom.

Let us pray…

[1] Beasley-Murray, George R. Word Biblical Commentary: John. Waco, Tex.: Word, 1987. p. 168.

[2] Kostenberger, Andreas J. Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament: John. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker, 2004. p.303.

"I am the Light of the World"

John 8:12-20

12 Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life." 13 Then the Pharisees said to him, "You are testifying on your own behalf; your testimony is not valid." 14 Jesus answered, "Even if I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is valid because I know where I have come from and where I am going, but you do not know where I come from or where I am going. 15 You judge by human standards; I judge no one. 16 Yet even if I do judge, my judgment is valid; for it is not I alone who judge, but I and the Father who sent me. 17 In your law it is written that the testimony of two witnesses is valid. 18 I testify on my own behalf, and the Father who sent me testifies on my behalf." 19 Then they said to him, "Where is your Father?" Jesus answered, "You know neither me nor my Father. If you knew me, you would know my Father also." 20 He spoke these words while he was teaching in the treasury of the temple, but no one arrested him, because his hour had not yet come.

Recently, it has occurred to me that we live in a culture dominated by sound-bites. In the never-ending news cycle a word or phrase spoken by a celebrity or politician during a speech or an interview can be hashed and rehashed over and over again until we associate his or her complete ideology with that singular phrase. Advertisers spend millions of dollars to create and print slogans or write quick jingles that are designed to stick in our minds, words that not only seek to inform us about a product, but attempt to persuade us to buy it. Sound-bites even dominate our ways of communicating: text messaging, with its limited number of characters per text, is quickly becoming the most popular form of communication among young people, and social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter limit one’s thoughts and opinions to status updates and 140-character “tweets.” Perhaps it is the collective reality of an ever-shrinking attention span, or perhaps it is necessary in a fast-paced world that doesn’t seem to be slowing down, but we do seem to be in the midst of a culture dominated by the sound-bite.

Of course, this catchphrase-driven phenomenon is not exclusive to the worlds of politics, advertising, or the internet. No, in fact it seems that our modern, Christian culture is tailor-made for sound-bites: pastors have their own catchphrases they like to use when preaching or counseling; we have bumper stickers with abbreviated Bible verses scrawled on them; one can even buy jewelry with slogans and mnemonic abbreviations (remember WWJD bracelets?) to show the world you’re that kind of Christian. I believe, however, that perhaps the most troubling evidence of our faith being driven by the sound-bite comes in the form of what is often called proof-texting. Proof-texting is when someone takes a verse or passage of the Bible out of its context in order to prove a point. It isn’t always done maliciously, but it is almost always done poorly. Whether it is proof-texting, jewelry, or bumper stickers, it seems that modern Christianity is custom-made for the sound-bite.

I suppose one could make the argument that the “I am” statements in the fourth gospel would make for seven, wonderful sound-bites. They are clean, crisp, uniform statements made by Jesus himself. They are straight-to-the-point and complete with wonderful images of bread, light, vines, and shepherds. However, we should not be so quick to fall into the trap of simply taking these “I am” statements and running out to get them tattooed on our arms or stitched on some throw pillows. These words of Jesus, like all the words of Scripture, are made clearer and even more powerful if we allow them to speak to us from their context. After all, as we saw last week, Jesus didn’t just randomly choose a time and a place to say to an anonymous crowd, “I am the Bread of Life…” Jesus spoke those words after having recently broken enough bread to feed thousands and after having a conversation about manna—the bread that came from heaven for the Israelites as they wandered in the wilderness. When he said “I am the Bread of Life” it had a deeper meaning for those who had just witnessed his actions in the feeding of the five thousand.

The same is true of our text this morning and Jesus’ statement in verse 12: "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life." On its own, this is quite a powerful statement, rich with all sorts of symbolism and meaning. Jesus’ words here, however, do not come to us as if they were printed on a tiny strip of paper in an after-dinner fortune cookie. In fact, John gives us some context for Jesus’ words here in verse 20: “He spoke these words while he was teaching in the treasury of the temple…”

Now here’s where those wonderful maps in the back of some of our Bibles come in handy. The temple of Jesus’ day was Herod’s temple—an extravagant complex that was said to shine so brilliantly in the sun that it could be seen miles away from Jerusalem. Herod’s temple was more than just a building; it was an enormous religious center, divided into several sections. Just inside the first wall was the court of the Gentiles: anyone could be in this area, but Gentiles (i.e. non-Jews) cold go no further. Through the next set of gates Jewish worshippers would enter the court of the women: Jewish men and women were permitted into this area, but women could go no further[1]. It was here, in the court of the women, where the temple treasury was located, so when John tells us that Jesus was teaching in the treasury of the temple, we can safely assume that he is speaking to Jews who have come into the temple to worship. But the location of Jesus’ teaching isn’t all that John tells us.

Back in chapter seven, John tells us in verse two: “Now the Jewish festival of Booths was near.” Now, I understand as Baptist Christians living in Alabama in the twenty-first century the ancient Jewish festivals may be a bit lost on us. We’re somewhat familiar with the festival of Passover; most of us have seen the Cecil B. Demille epic The Ten Commandments, and we still carry a bit of the traditions of Passover in our observance of the Lord’s Supper. When it comes to the other festivals of Judaism, however, we’re not as familiar. The festival of Booths (or the festival of Tabernacles) was originally a harvest festival that recalled God’s provision for the people of Israel during their wandering in the wilderness after the exodus from Egypt. The festival lasted for seven days with an eighth and final day of great celebration. The festival was so popular among the Jewish people that it was simply known as “the Feast,” and it came to have an intense association with eschatological hope.[2] As if this electric atmosphere of hope and anticipation were not enough to give Jesus’ words meaning, what took place during the festival would have served as a remarkably powerful image for those who heard Jesus proclaim, “I am the light of the world.”

During each night of the festival, four giant lamps were positioned in the court of the women (you know, that place where Jesus was teaching by the treasury…), golden bowls of oil were placed on these lamps, while wicks made from the discarded clothes of the priests were lit. People would celebrate, sing, and dance by the light of these lamps all night long; it was said that the light would cover all of Jerusalem. The light served as a reminder of the pillar of fire that led the Israelites through the wilderness. When the night was over and the light of the lamps were burning out, two priests would come down the steps of the court of the women, turn towards the Temple and say, “Our fathers who were in this place turned their backs to the temple of God and their faces eastward and threw themselves down eastward before the sun; but we direct our eyes to Yahweh.”[3] With the celebration of Booths/Tabernacles, the Jewish faithful were proclaiming their trust in God as the one true God—the light from the lamps reminding them of His presence even in the darkness of night.

It was in this context that Jesus speaks the words in verse 12: “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” Is it any wonder that, in perhaps the shadow of those smoldering lamps, the Pharisees say to Jesus, "You are testifying on your own behalf; your testimony is not valid"? Of course they’d want to challenge such a statement! While it was common in those days to call the Torah, the Temple, Moses, or even some of the more popular prophets and rabbis “the light of the world,” for Jesus to make such a claim in close context with the festival of Booths was too much. Where did he get off making such a radical pronouncement of self-identity?! “I am the light of the world”? “Don’t you get it Jesus? This lamp, this festival, they remind us that God, YHWH, is the light of the world. Where do you get off making such a claim without any further testimony?”

Where did Jesus get off making such a claim? He responds to the Pharisees accusations in verses fourteen and following: "Even if I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is valid because I know where I have come from and where I am going, but you do not know where I come from or where I am going. You judge by human standards; I judge no one. Yet even if I do judge, my judgment is valid; for it is not I alone who judge, but I and the Father who sent me. In your law it is written that the testimony of two witnesses is valid. I testify on my own behalf, and the Father who sent me testifies on my behalf." In other words, Jesus says that his words have validity because God the Father testifies as his required second witness.

The Pharisees, of course, misunderstood what Jesus was saying. They ask him in verse 19, “Where is your Father?” They think Jesus is referring to an earthly man, perhaps a man of authority, someone they would recognize or someone they could ridicule for Jesus’ claim. Perhaps they were even attempting to sting Jesus a little; after all, the father he knew on this earth, Joseph, is nowhere to be seen in the gospels after the nativity. Yet Jesus responds to their question "You know neither me nor my Father. If you knew me, you would know my Father also." They completely miss it! With all the show, all the celebration of the recent festival of Booths, with all their knowledge of the Law and the Prophets, these Pharisees still miss it. They are still in the dark!

"I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life." Just as the light from the lamps lit the night during the festival of Booths, just as the pillar of fire lit the way during the night for those wilderness wandering Israelites, Jesus, the Light of the World, lights the way through the darkness that engulfs this world. He lights the way through the dark nights of grief. He lights the way through the dark valleys of depression. He lights the way through the enveloping darkness of sin, revealing the way of redemption. Jesus is the light of the world, and whoever follows him will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life. The Almighty God has testified to the power of Christ. He has testified to his power by raising him from the dead, and He has testified to his power by granting salvation to those who seek to follow the Light of the world, those who seek to be freed from the darkness.

Are you walking in darkness today? Christ, the great I am, the light of the world, calls you to come and follow him. May you hear his call today and begin the journey following him, out of darkness and into the light of life.

Let us pray…

[1] You can find an illustrations of Herod’s temple here:

http://www.bible-history.com/jewishtemple/JEWISH_TEMPLEHerods_Temple_Illustration.htm

[2] Andreas, Kosten J. Baker Exegetical Commentary :John. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2004, P.229.

[3] George , Beasley-Murray R. Word Biblical Commentary :Volume 36 (John). Waco, Tex.: Word Books, 1987, p. 127.