“But, Where Are You From?”

“But, Where Are You From?”

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church (North Quincy, Massachusetts)

Year B, The Fifth Sunday of Lent, John 12:20-33

Sam Melton, MDiv ‘19

As someone who grew up in the Midwest, or St. Louis more specifically, and like many, having come to Boston for school, I have gained an acute awareness of where I’m from and how this has affected my time in Boston. For example, after the third nor’easter this month, as I shoveled my car out yet again, I was reminded that I am definitely not from New England. I’ve been reminded of my Midwestern roots, when I realized that people here don’t just smile at each other for no reason or start small talk on the bus.

Having lived in a variety of places, there is one piece of culture that I didn’t realize was unique to St. Louis until I moved away for college. There is a running joke at home, that the typical St. Louis introduction will go something like “What is your name,” followed quickly with the question, “Where did you go to high school?” People well into their 30’s, 40’s, 50’s and even older will ask each other this question: “But, where did you go to high school?” A unique question that I haven’t often encountered in other parts of the country. Seems like an innocent enough question though, right?

For St. Louisians, asking about your high school is simply a subtle way to learn about the other person and of course, an even quicker way to stereotype them. For example, your answer may reveal that you attended a fancy and expensive private Catholic school, a nice cushy suburban public school, or a school located in the middle of a cornfield with less than great test scores. It is this way of gaining information about the person that in the Midwest, you might not be so brave to ask outright. These answers, where you went to high school, often reveal your class and family’s income, your religion, what neighborhood you grew up in, and your education level. All this information gained from such a simple question. In St. Louis, where you went to high school, or perhaps more accurately, where you are from, matters. And it matters, a lot.

The thing is, I know these type of questions matter elsewhere too. For example, here in Boston, I hear these subtle stereotypes given to people from the South Shore, those from Cambridge, or Somerville, or Southie, or Dorchester. I assume that the same assumptions that are made about my high school attendance, are similar to the stereotypes assigned to neighborhoods here in Boston. In a way, this seems like the adult version of asking what table do you sit at in the high school cafeteria? Weather it's human nature, curiosity, or perhaps a bit of posturing, one thing that is found in common in the cafeteria, and in the Midwest and in Boston is that it matters where you’re from.

It seems that this was also true for our Gospel writer, John, today too. Our passage opens with John telling us exactly who is traveling to worship at the festival in Jerusalem. He says, “Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks.” But why is it so important to point out these Greeks? This passage begins by telling us about this group of Greeks that are traveling to Jerusalem for the Jewish celebration of Passover.

Now, if we remember, Passover is an eight day celebration that commemorates the liberation of the Israelites from Egyptian slavery. This is a celebration that continues to be celebrated by our Jewish siblings today, and in fact, will be celebrated just as gather for Easter this year.

So as Passover is approaching in our own lives and in this very story, it is important to also remember what comes before this passage. Jesus has also traveled to Jerusalem for Passover, like the Greeks, however he knows that he has come for the last time. And just like the first time he came to Jerusalem for the Passover, he comes from a very intimate gathering of close friends in the countryside, to this crowded urban setting. It is hard for me to resist the imagery of Jesus traveling from the Midwest to Boston, coming here to this crowded city from a intimate small town in Missouri. But, while in Jerusalem he has already visited his friend Lazarus and his feet have been anointed with perfume by the woman. So, we enter into the story at this point, when the crowds are growing and following him and waiting for him to fulfill his last signs on this Earth before his crucifixion. They watch with anticipation.

John writes to us that these ‘Greeks’, who are also traveling to celebrate the Passover, approach Phillip and ask to see Jesus. I wonder, why does John feel the need to clarify who these people are? Why doesn’t he just say, “Some people, some men, or some Jews, were traveling to the passover?” It is important to notice here that he intentionally chooses language that specifically names them as Greeks. It reveals to us that these Greeks are not simply Gentiles or just any other group of Jews traveling to Jerusalem, but instead he tells us specifically, that they are dispersed Jews. They are Jews found in diaspora, meaning they are specifically living outside of Israel, away their homeland. They are far from home, searching for something. They are foreigners, people who don’t belong and John knows this and wants to be sure that we know it too.

There seems to be so much to focus on in this short story, but I think we have missed so much if we simply skim over this first introduction. These Greeks set up this entire story for us because they are people we can relate to. They are looking for something, even though they have come to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, they are still in search of something divine. There are outsiders, they don’t belong here, and they’re something of an oddity. Their unbelonging though, is precisely, why they find themselves asking Philip for Jesus. Where is this man they have heard so much about?

I wonder if you may begin to ponder a time in your life when you find yourself looking for something greater? Or thinking of a time when you felt you didn’t belong, a time that makes you remember what it felt like to be in a new place, a place that maybe made you feel like an outsider? In a moment, we’ll have a chance to share with a partner about this experience, so I do ask you to actually think about it and try to recall a time in your life when you felt like this and one that you would be willing to share.

The beauty of this passage is that it begins by challenging us to remember where we are from. It tells us that where we are from is important. That it does matter, but not for the reasons we think it does. In St. Louis, when I tell someone my high school, the importance does not lie in the information one may assume about me based on my answer, like how much money my family has, how nice our house is, or how well educated I am, but instead, it matters because where I went to high school, where I grew up has shaped me into the person I am today and I would believe that the same is true for both you and the Greeks.

As a group of Jewish people who grew up outside of Israel, they have been shaped into people that are willing to explore and encounter the divine in unique ways. It is precisely because of their foreign identity that they have the courage to speak to Philip. And it is where they are from that molded them into the courageous souls and eventually allowed them the chance to see Jesus. As they go off the beaten path and seek him out, they are afforded the privilege of hearing Jesus’ promise for them. It is through Jesus that the Greeks are met with help and grace from Jesus and his people and it is through Jesus’ promise of death and resurrection that they are named beloved by him.

Just as these Greeks are on a journey to the festival of Passover, we too are on our own kind of journey. We begin to look forward into our Lenten journey and finally have the chance to see our destination, while still knowing we aren’t quite there yet. I wonder how your Lenten journey is going so far? As we work our way throughout Lent, John reminds us that the Greeks find a reminder of God’s promise to them along their way as they encounter Jesus. And even as they travel to the festival, they are reminded of Jesus’ love for them. Though they too look forward to the cross, as Jesus’ people we get to experience a bit of grace in the midst of our journey too. As Jesus’ people, we don’t have to wait until we get there to know that God calls us beloved.

As Pastor Alissa and I met this past week, we checked in with one another about our Lenten commitments and we both admitted that what was a daily commitment at the beginning, has since dissolved into a practice we do maybe four or five days out of the week. It seems about that time on the long journey, that we begin to look forward to the resurrection, that we need a reminder of God’s love for us to push us forward to the end. There’s still a lot of work before we get there, but the reminder that we are loved, no matter where we are from, helps get us there. We’re almost there, but not quite yet.

This feeling of ours is mirrored in our reading today too within the words of Jesus. We hear of a Jesus that knows this is his last time celebrating the Passover and a Jesus that is gravely aware of the short time he has left before the hour of his death. He knows he is on his way to being reunited with God, but isn’t there quite yet. Jesus reveals to us the beauty that we are all from God, that we are loved and deeply cared for, and that his grace isn’t just found at the end of the journey, but is found along the way too.

This Lenten season, as a church, we have engaged deeply with one another in holy conversations. We’ve done this at Mugs and Muffins, on Wednesday nights at Soup, Song, and Sacrament, and have heard from many of you during service each week about your own holy conversations with scripture. Though our intentional time of holy conversations begins to come to come to a close, I invite you to practice together again what we have been thinking and learning about during all of Lent.

In a moment, if you are able, I invite you to move pews, I know it’s hard, but I believe in us. Move pews and find someone who you maybe don’t speak to all that often, or someone who you would like to learn more about. And I want you each to share about a time in your life when you felt like an outsider. Speak about a time you felt out of place or like you didn’t belong. The challenging part of this conversation is to talk about what this actually felt like. What does it feel like to be an outsider, to be out of place, or to not feel as though you belong? After you talk about this feeling, I invite you to ponder with your partner where you may find glimpses of Jesus and reminders that we are loved in these moments and think together what this may look like for each of you. I’ll give you each about 2-3 minutes to share and then we’ll switch and afterwards, we’ll end with a prayer.

Ending Poem:

Beloved Is Where We Begin

If you would enter

into the wilderness,

do not begin

without a blessing.

Do not leave

without hearing

who you are:

Beloved,

named by the One

who has traveled this path

before you.

Do not go

without letting it echo

in your ears,

and if you find

it is hard

to let it into your heart,

do not despair.

That is what

this journey is for.

I cannot promise

this blessing will free you

from danger,

from fear,

from hunger

or thirst,

from the scorching

of sun

or the fall

of the night.

But I can tell you

that on this path

there will be help.

I can tell you

that on this way

there will be rest.

I can tell you

that you will know

the strange graces

that come to our aid

only on a road

such as this,

that fly to meet us

bearing comfort

and strength,

that come alongside us

for no other cause

than to lean themselves

toward our ear

and with their

curious insistence

whisper our name:

Beloved.

Beloved.

Beloved.

—Jan Richardson from Circle of Grace