We might say that there are two kinds of people in life. In the first group are people on a quest for fulfillment. They’re deeply hungry for meaning, and whether they admit it or not, there’s some dissatisfaction with their lives. They sense that there’s a void there, but they don’t know what will ultimately fill it. These people are on a perpetual search to find whatever will. But for them, it’s just not God. It's their hobbies, their careers, their workout routines, their success, their money, their wealth. You name it.
In the second group, are also people on a quest for fulfillment. Like those in the first group, they’re deeply hungry for meaning. They, too, are dissatisfied with something in their lives. They recognize an emptiness within their souls, and they want someone, rather than some thing, to fill it. And truth be told, because they are human, they still try to fill the void in their lives with hobbies, careers, workout routines, success, money, and wealth. But unlike the first group, the people in this second group profess that God is really the one who will give ultimate meaning to their lives. We claim to be in that second group, don’t we? It’s why we’ve come here today. It’s why we come here week after week.
We’re often told that our world is polarized. There are those who don’t believe in God, and there are the ever-dwindling rest of us, who’ve not given up on God. But it seems to me that humanity is simpler than we wish to imagine. In all our diversity of beliefs, there’s a single deep desire that is driving our lives forward, and it can be summed up in one statement: Sir, we wish to see Jesus.
This seems odd, because we’re told more often than we care to hear that increasing numbers of people have no interest in seeing Jesus. We might wonder ourselves today where all the people are who want to see Jesus. True, we know that we’re here to see Jesus. But how can all those others, who prefer brunch to church and sports to religion, want to see Jesus?
And yet, there’s a simple but profound desire that drives the restlessness of our world. It’s what still draws some people to church and to the Eucharist. It’s what compels others to give to the poor, clothe the naked, and feed the hungry. It’s what drives some to nature or to silence. It’s an overwhelming desire to have the voids of our lives filled. And although many will never articulate the answer as we Christians would, for us, that universal desire can be boiled down to only one thing: Sir, we wish to see Jesus.
But for those of us of faith, it’s followed by an equally urgent question. Where do we find Jesus? This incisive question is what brings people to the parish priest, wanting to know if they’re on the right path. It’s what prompts some to reconnect with church later in their lives, as they see their years wane and fear for their souls. It’s what the dying person says at death’s door, as she begins to see beyond the veil between this world and the next. It’s what every Christian wants to know because, sir, we wish to see Jesus.
The desire in our own lives, and the unarticulated desire in the lives of others in this world, is the same desire that draws a bunch of Greeks to Philip, who then goes to Andrew, who then finds Jesus. These Greeks, who aren’t Christian, let alone Jewish, instinctively sense that this person about whom they’ve heard will add something to their lives that they’ve never had before. Sir, we wish to see Jesus, they say.
But when their stated desire reaches Jesus’s ears, he offers a less than desirable response. It’s an odd response, to tell the truth. It doesn’t clearly address the stated desire of the Greeks who wish to see him. It’s a kind of parable. And it’s a parable that seems to present a stumbling block for those of us who recognize and admit that we wish to see Jesus. It’s equally a stumbling block for those who wouldn’t characterize their own desire in such a way but who nevertheless are longing for ultimate meaning in their lives. And we, of course, know that it’s only Christ that will fill that gaping void.
Jesus responds to the Greeks’ quest to see him with a refrain that has become all too familiar to us this Lent. It echoes through all the Gospels. He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Put another way: unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
This odd response may be the reason why so many of us still think we haven’t found Jesus. It may be the source of anxiety and frustration in our lives. It may be the reason some have given up on the Church. It may be the reason some have forsaken Jesus, too, even if they’re still unconsciously searching for him. This stubborn, vexing Lenten refrain just won’t go away, but it nevertheless remains the gateway to finding Jesus. He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. We must die to self in order to truly live.
This refrain, which is a thorn in our side, is about death, but it’s also about much more than death. It’s really about letting go of everything: letting go of our egos, our need for control, our longing for clear answers, our material things, our money, our sinful ways, our lives, and even of our very desire to see Jesus himself, as St. John of the Cross would remind us. And that may be the most perplexing revelation of all.
The reason we keep uttering our own refrain, Sir, we wish to see Jesus, is because we think we haven’t yet found him. And we think we haven’t yet found him because we haven’t been able to relinquish even that very desire to see Jesus. We haven’t been able to let it go because even though we tell ourselves otherwise, we really want not Jesus the Christ but Jesus of our own making.
We want a Jesus who will make us feel good about ourselves and affirm even our most sinful habits. We desire a Jesus who will tell us we can hoard our wealth and still follow him. We desire a Jesus who will assure us that we’re saved although we ignore the poor and unhoused. We desire a Jesus who tells us that we can keep our lives just as they are and still follow him. Simply put, most of the world wants a Jesus who lets them have their cake and eat it, too.
But the real Jesus, the Christ, the one who is our Lord and Savior and who lives among us as the source of our life, this Jesus tells us that to follow him, we must be willing to give up everything for his sake: our lives, our goals, our material possessions, even our desire for him, because in doing so, we will keep our lives.
And when we have the courage to let go of it all to find Jesus, we will not only find him. We will also find our truest selves, known and loved by God. When we arrive at the foot of the cross, on our knees and unencumbered by all that we once thought dear, we will see Christ as if for the first time. We can only see and know him fully when he is there, lifted high on the cross, “towering o’er the wrecks of time,”[1] as the hymn puts it. And lying among the wreckage of time there is all that we have had to part with, all that has given us false security, all the things that have become our golden calves. We can only know and love Christ as he reigns from the cross because the cross has transformed our imperfect desire into true love.
It’s there at the foot of the cross that we have prostrated ourselves and flung all our cares, desires, and worldly loves. And it’s there that we discover the most amazing thing of all. All this time, we had thought we were like those Greeks who came to Philip. Sir, we wish to see Jesus. That seemed to be the supreme motive driving our lives. But when we have finally cast off all our imperfect desires, we find ourselves naked and bare before the One who created us and called us good. And we finally realize that it was he, the living and true God, who brought us there in the first place. It was he, reigning from the tree in Christ, who had drawn us all that long way to the cross. It was he, who still draws all of creation to himself, both those who want to see Jesus and those who won’t admit that. It is he whose love was there before we ever knew it existed. And in that moment, on our knees at the cross, utterly vulnerable, known, and loved, we find who we really are. We discover that we’re finally meeting Christ for the first time, not because we have found him, but because he has found us.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Fifth Sunday in Lent
March 17, 2024
[1] “In the cross of Christ I glory by John Bowring (1792-1872), Hymn 441 in The Hymnal 1982