So, something you probably don't know about me. I am a huge fan of Plantagenet history. From Henry II up through the Wars of the Roses, I will eat up anything written about those days in Merry Old
England.
So it shouldn't be surprising that one of my favorite movies is Becket, staring Peter O'Toole and Richard Burton.
For those who don't know the story of Becket, Thomas Becket was Henry II's most trusted companion. He rose quickly in the ranks and was made, essentially, the Chancellor of Henry's government, running the entire Angevin Empire in England and France.
So, when Henry began to fight with the Church – and when the Archbishop of Canterbury died – Henry thought it would be just the perfect thing to make his best friend the new archbishop.
But something happened. When Becket put on the archbishop's miter, he changed. The burden of the church weighed heavily – and seriously – on Becket.
The Spirit of God seemed to have broken through all the cynicism of his lavish, secular life of privilege – of living off the hard labor of the peasants – and Becket realized that he had no option but to fulfill his vows to God – which meant that he would have to stand against his former friend and patron, Henry.
And in one scene, Becket acknowledges just what he's taken on, when he is praying, and he says, “I wonder, Lord, are you laughing at me?”
I wonder, Lord, are you laughing at me?
Do you ever think this? Do you think the apostles ever thought it?
Here we are in the Book of Acts. It has been a roller-coaster of a ride for the men and women in the early church. They are out in the field, doing hard work. Remember, this is all new for them. They don't have 2000+ years of theology at their beck and call. They are sussing it out on the fly. And for the most part, they are doing this by simply telling their individual stories of how this Risen Lord has affected their lives, and how this wild and freeing Spirit is pushing them along, building God's kingdom, using their hands and feet, their hearts and souls.
This is crazy stuff for people who are mainly just that – people. And one of those people, Silas, finds himself yoked to a firebrand. He's helping Paul among the Gentiles.
We don't know a whole lot about Silas. He was picked to replace Barnabas when Paul and Barnabas had a falling out. And that should have given him his first warning that this was not going to be an easy life. But still he went – that Spirit wouldn't let him say “no,” wouldn't let him just do nothing.
And go he did – from port to port, from Jerusalem to Macedonia, over to Turkey and back to Greece. If these were frequent flyer miles he logged, he'd have easily gotten an upgrade to first class. Tagging along with Paul, being bombarded with all that energy. And then finding himself plunked in jail. All his work, all his effort, and this is how it ends? Prison? And when miracle of miracles happens and the jail is suddenly flung open, Paul insists they stay.
I bet Silas did not bargain for any of this, and I wonder if, sitting there in jail, he ever laughed along with God at the joke of picking such a nobody to begin spreading the faith.
Because spreading the faith is tough work. Especially in an empire that treasurers power and wealth over compassion and faith. And Silas was not a “rock” like Peter...
...or the beloved apostle like the author of the Gospel today.
And he wasn't blinded and totally changed like Paul, who's story he probably heard over and over again.
But most of us can identify with him...just this guy who had followed Jesus during his time on earth, had sort of been there on the fringes, serving the poor and loving the Lord. Just this guy, doing his thing. Not a hero, not particularly remembered for anything special.
But then he was called by the Holy Spirit to stand up to power, and he put on the mantle of discipleship and hunkered down and went to work doing just that. Hard work. What could have prepared him, what could have sustained him?
In our Gospel reading, Jesus is finally finishing up his Farewell Discourse with what is known as the Priestly Prayer. It's Thursday night in this part of John's account, the evening before Jesus' crucifixion.
He knows he will soon be leaving his disciples to fulfill his mission by being crucified and wants them to be prepared. And so Jesus has been teaching his disciples about his nature, mission, destiny, and about their role and future in all of this. And now, out of his love he prays for them.
And what does he pray for? Not that it will be easy. He knows it won't. Because this world is currently captive to a spirit alien to God's spirit. It is animated by a sense of scarcity instead of abundance, fear instead of courage, and selfishness instead of sacrificial love.
This is the reason the world hates Jesus and will hate those who follow him. So Jesus doesn't pray that it will be easy, but rather that God will support the disciples in their challenges.
But Jesus doesn't only pray for his disciples back then. And this is important.
He prays for all of us, for all of us taking on the burden of this faith, for all of us here today: "I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one"
And that's the thing: Jesus, on the night before his death, prays for you, and you, and you, and me. Prays that you and you and you will stand up and do what's right in this land of so much wrong.
This is awesome in its scope and in its simplicity.
He asks for the same things that we ask for when we pray the prayer he taught us -- that we may find God's support and encouragement as we work for a world that prizes love above...whatever it is we are currently treasuring today.
That we will find the strength to bear witness to this strange and almost laughable alternative gospel of grace, courage, compassion, and love that is ours with Jesus.
It is ours for the taking, this crazy, different, life of standing up and standing for, of standing between those who enjoy crushing and those who are in danger of being crushed. Like Silas, we answer the call; like Becket we take up the mantle. Like so many who came before us, we let ourselves be changed through the grace of Jesus' ongoing, never-ending prayer of love.
And WE pray in return that God is indeed laughing at us, because God sees the look of surprise in our faces when we realize that this grace we are offered is real. That loving God and loving our neighbor actually works. That compassion can win the day.
So today we pray, please, God, in this world of such pain, let that laughter be infectious. Let us be the cause.
AMEN.