Apr 01 | “The Rose Within” (Sermon, April 1st)

“Slowly blooms the rose within, slowly blooms the rose within.”

Some time ago, the Anglican mystic Cynthia Bourgeault wrote a beautiful evening liturgy for one of the days in Holy Week, which included readings from the Song of Songs, the ritual anointing of our neighbours’ hands with oil (as Mary of Bethany did with Jesus’ feet in yesterday’s reading), and music including this chant. It was a moving and sensual experience that explored the mystic implications of the crucifixion.

Today’s passage reminded me of it, because, as I’ll show you, this story from John is masterfully told – even more than you might already think. The structure is so perfectly interlaced that it might be one of Marilyn’s Celtic knots…or a rose, a rich mystical symbol that suggests divine unity.

Let’s explore it together.

This story has a frame which we don’t hear in this particular passage. Think of it like the sepals, the little green leaves that give the blossom something to sit upon. These are composed of teaching; Jesus showing us how to behave, leading us by example. Here, several verses before our reading, Jesus washes feet. In the next chapter, several verses after our passage, he begins a discourse, which goes on for several more chapters. Scholars call it the Farewell Discourse. I call it, “Goodbye, I love you.”

Both of these actions are also about death. There are clues in John that show us this. Jesus’ feet have been anointed by Mary of Bethany, and Satan has “put it into the heart of Judas” to betray Jesus. The forces to begin the ending are already in motion. So Jesus takes off his cloak. That’s a bad translation. He lays down his cloak – as he will later lay down his life.

He does this purposefully, with complete control. Not for John’s Jesus the desolate cry from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” John’s Jesus says only, “It is finished.” He is in control.

Likewise, the Farewell Discourse – “Goodbye, I love you” – is a last will and testament.

The sepals teach us that the Christian life is constantly shadowed by kenosis – pouring out in order to be filled.

Now we’ve come to the next layer. This is the layer we would rather not think about, the one that keeps us up at night. These are the shadows between the petals.

The first shadow is Judas. After the washing of those precious feet, we have a heart hosting Satan. The lectionary we use is unfair to Judas, because we hear today’s story before we hear the foot-washing story, which we don’t hear until tomorrow. This, I think, tries to avoid the fact that Judas also had his feet washed. The foot-washing happens before Judas leaves.

How does that make you feel?

Personally, it takes my breath away.

And yet, still, with clean feet, Judas scuttles out – having been commanded by Jesus to do so.

Like Judas, we all have these shadows. As much as we’d like to pretend it is otherwise, we have them. We don’t have to scour our minds thinking about who we betrayed. It is just as easy, and probably far more common, to discover that we have betrayed ourselves. Do not despair. It’s our story. There’s no use crying over a bitten apple.

The second shadow is Peter. As usual he impulsively blurts out his commitment to stand by his love to the end, and of course, Jesus bursts his bubble, also as usual.

Once again, this is our story – if not to someone else, then to ourselves.

This too is our shadow, our darkness.

But what does the Gospel of John say about darkness?

Now we come to the petals, and peeling them back come to the very centre, the very heart, of the Christian life.

I’ll show you three petals.

First petal: A magic Johannine phrase (ring your bells – no, hammer them): And it was night.

Sounds like shadows again. Ah, but we’re not finished.

Second petal: Jesus says, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified.”

Now? After the worst part of this story?

That’s why we call it the Mystery of Faith.

And we’re still not finished.

Third petal: “I give you a new commandment: to love one another.”

Beautiful. Can’t we just end there? But remember: this is all layered with shadows. After the command to love, there is the whole-hearted intention to abide by that commandment: “Lord, I will lay down my life for you!” And then, of course, that harrowing truth of denial.

But shadows do not negate petals. They have no power over the existence of this plant, its scent, its colour, or its beauty.

They are a part of what makes it beautiful.

The light is shining in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it.

And that is not just a truth of God. It is a truth of the human heart: a fragile piece of flesh imprisoned within a cage of ribs, beating – and loving – in utter darkness, hidden but not negated by our precious flesh.

This Holy Week, stare down the darkness of the world reflected in this story, and sing with me.

“Slowly blooms the rose within, slowly blooms the rose within.”