This sermon was preached at Grace Episcopal Church in Medford, MA for the fifth Sunday of Lent. The sermon texts were: Jeremiah 31:31-34, Hebrews 5:5-10, John 12:20-33 and Psalm 51:1-13.
Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
I feel so fortunate to be able to return to Grace a few times every year and I’m honored to be invited to share the Word with you this morning. I’ve been tickled to hear about all that you are up to and to admire from afar all the numerous ways this church continues to flourish since I served here as an intern two years ago. I have scarcely been more proud of this church than this past week, hearing about our teens and youth from our parish and Diocese. They joined countless other young people in walking out of classrooms, petitioning legislators, and demanding meetings with gun manufacturers--even when all this pesky snow got in the way.
Although they deserve every ounce of our admiration and praise, this sermon is not about the bravery of this nation’s high school activists. As one senior from Marjory Douglas Stoneman High School proclaimed to Florida lawmakers last month, the students do not want to merely be patted on the head and told how courageous they are. What they truly want is to be heard. Most of all, they want change. This, then, is a sermon about what we, the adults, must face in the truths they speak. This is a sermon about how we react when we are forced to confront what change really means, what Jesus warns us it means.
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
In this passage from the Gospel of John, Jesus faces his coming death with purpose and clarity. Jesus’ words to Andrew and Philip remind us that change, true transformation, requires destruction and letting go. And as Jesus’ own death on the cross will show to us next Sunday, love of humanity taken to its ultimate extreme asks everything.
At the heart of Jesus’ words is a profoundly Lenten question. What do you need to let go of or destroy in order to truly live? Or to allow the life of another to flourish?
In the wake of the school shooting in Parkland, FL, gun-owners took to social media with their answer. In one viral video, a gun owner named Scott Pappalardo sits in front of a camera in a patio chair. Resting in his lap is an AR-15, a legally registered rifle of the same make and caliber as the weapon used to such deadly effect in Parkland, San Bernardino, Sandy Hook and countless other mass murders. After assuring us of his devotion to the second amendment to the point of having it tattooed on his arm, Pappalardo admits that on the day of the Sandy Hook school shooting in 2012, he turned to his wife and said, “I’d gladly give this gun up if it would save the life of just one child.” But now, over 200 school shootings and 400 deaths later, Pappalardo still had not acted. “I guess my words were just empty words in the spur of the moment,” he says. “So when do we change?”
Pappalardo said that he did consider selling his gun, but knew that he could never live with himself is his gun ended up as a tool for evil. “I’ve decided today, I’m gonna make sure this weapon will never be able to take a life.” Standing up and walking over to the end of his patio, Pappalardo lowers the blade of a chop-saw into his gun. “People have said there’s so many of them out there,” he says, showing the broken halves to the camera. “Now there’s one less.”
And it’s not just him. A police officer in Florida turned in his rifle to be destroyed, a blue-haired woman in Washington took power tools to hers. In another video, a young woman named Amanda tapes herself sawing through her handgun. She, too, turns her ruined gun in front of the camera, pointing out the useless pieces. “There,” she says, “you can see daylight through the holes.”
Unless, unless, a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if, if, it dies, it bears much fruit.
How far would you go to save a child’s life? What are you willing to let go of, or destroy, to heal this hurting world?
For some of us this Friday, Washington, DC is how far we’ll go when we board Episcopal City Mission buses to the March for Our Lives. For others, it’ll mean making signs here at Grace and heading over to Boston Common for a sister demonstration. For some of us, our answer may indeed be ripping apart tools of death. For others, it may mean taking a hard look at how we vote, advocate, and give our money. Or truly examining why it is that we mourn the violent deaths of white suburban children differently than poor urban children of color.
Whatever our answer is, Jesus calls us to face the hard things that need to be done with purpose and clarity. To know, however troubled our hearts may be, that the hour for change has come.
At the baptism later this service, little Aubrey’s parents and godparents will answer six life-changing questions on her behalf. Before pledging to her to the service of Jesus Christ, Aubrey’s sponsors will first renounce the evil powers of this world. See, integral to the very act of baptism is the belief that following Christ first requires turning our backs on all that oppresses and destroys goodness, love, and life in the world and in ourselves. When we renew our own baptismal covenant in a few moments, it will be our turn to face the same question and what it truly means in our lives:
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
This is no small vow. But that’s why we say, with God’s help. I will, with God’s help.
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
In today’s passage, some standing near Jesus merely heard the sound of thunder. But through the ears of faith, Jesus’ followers heard the voice of God.
Through the eyes of faith, a small grain of wheat holds the promise of fresh, green stalks of spring. A shameful death on a cross is transformed into victory.
A broken gun becomes a seed.
With God’s help, may we bear much fruit.
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