Be kind. Work hard. Make good choices.

I have a ritual with my children. Every morning as they get ready for school, I pack their lunches, I make sure they have their books and their water bottles and as Child #1 walks out the door, and as I leave Child #2 at the gates of the school yard, the very last thing I say is this:

Be kind. 

Work hard. 

Make good choices. 

Remember that I love you.

It’s been like this for ages:

Be kind. 

Work hard. 

Make good choices.  

Remember that I love you.

Sometimes they roll their eyes.  Sometimes they say it back to me, “No, Mama. You be kind, work hard and make good choices.” But. I know it is more than a routine. It is a ritual. If I’m distracted and Child #1 is about to leave, he will stop, turn to me and exclaim, “SAY THE WORDS!!”

Be kind. 

Work hard. 

Make good choices.  

Remember that I love you.

It’s very important to me that the last thing my kids hear before leaving my care is something loving.  My friend once said it is an incredible act of trust parents participate in every single day—to just leave their kids in the care of others, hoping they are nourished and safe.  

I get that. When the time came for Child #1 to head off for his first day of Junior Kindergarten, I was very ready to have a break from wrangling both a toddler and a preschooler all day, every day. I was not teary as I waved goodbye (although my husband is a different story). However, I was struck by the fact that I didn’t know a single person in that school. I didn’t know the teacher. I didn’t know the principal. And here I was, just leaving him there.  I hoped he would be okay.  I wondered if he had what he needed to make it through that first day away from me. 

But my anxiety extended even further than this.  I will tell you, it is my biggest fear that something is going to happen to my kids while they are in school. Maybe that makes me a bit neurotic, but I suspect I share that neroses with other parents of school aged children.

Be kind. 

Work hard. 

Make good choices.  

Remember that I love you.

This is all a very different context than our gospel text this morning. I was going to say the stakes are so much higher for Jesus and his friends, but I think my stakes—our stakes—are pretty high too. 

Side note: Jesus uses a lot of words.  Like, a lot of words come out of his face. Especially in the Gospel of John.  We’re in the farewell discourse and as I mentioned this during Lent, it takes Jesus five whole chapters to say goodbye to his disciples with mic drop after mic drop of scriptural greatest hits.  Earlier in the discourse we have Jesus’ instructions on loving:  “Love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”  

This week, there’s still love, but we also hear things like, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”  John gives the impression that the disciples don’t fully grasp what Jesus is going on about.  So many words, Jesus. So many words…

Any time I have seen this farewell discourse dramatized,  Jesus has been portrayed as speaking all these words in a very stoic manner.  Like, maybe he’s giving a university lecture or something: Jesus listing all the reasons not to let hearts be troubled, and the disciples writing everything down, wondering if it’s going to be on the final exam.

Except, this isn’t merely a theoretical exercise.  This is the night before Jesus is executed.  Judas has left.  In a few hours Jesus will be betrayed, arrested and sentenced to death. Throughout this text we have all kinds of trinitarian language; talk of father, talk of Jesus and the Advocate (or the Holy Spirit) and the relationship between all three. Although Divine, Jesus is also very much human—with a very human body. A very fragile body.  A body that feels pain, anxiety, and fear.

So, in this light, I have to wonder if Jesus would be speaking these words—and all the words we find in chapters 13-17–less like a university professor, and much more desperate. More frantic. Like a man who knows that this is his last chance to impart everything he can—everything his friends need to know—in order to take care of each other and keep the Jesus movement going…even when he is no longer there to guide them, comfort them, or protect them.  It may be Jesus’ death we see on the horizon, but the work of those gathered around Jesus will be no picnic.  And so Jesus just pours out. Everything. All of it. Everything, everywhere, all at once. All the things that need to be said.

What is the most important thing that Jesus is trying to impart?  That although everything may feel overwhelming and scary, and though the world can be overwhelming and scary, they are not being sent out alone. The Holy Spirit is with them in a very, very real way, to comfort, to guide, and to remind the disciples (to remind us?) of everything Jesus has told them.  Everything he taught. All the ways he was in the world; living with and among his people.  As the disciples move into the world, the Holy Spirit is right there with them: Guiding. Reminding. Opening hearts. Sharing this Good News about a love that was so powerful, so big, that not even death could silence it.  The Good News that the peace of a world that never fully embraces all of God’s beloveds is not the same as God’s peace. 

I was told once that there is really only one story in the Bible. This may come as a shock because, I’m sure you have noticed, there are rather a lot of pages in our bibles.  Again, so many words.  But, there is really only one story in the Bible.  It is a story in four parts, and it gets told over and over again, by many different people, in many different contexts. And it goes like this:

We are so gloriously alive.

We are so weepingly lost.

And yet, an aching love rolls on. In fact, it refuses not to roll on…

And again, we are so gloriously alive.

Earlier in the service, we both witnessed and participated in the baptism of H. I love baptisms, and not just because I love holding babies.  But when parents and caregivers present their children for baptism—to name, intentionally, that they wish for their children to be acknowledged as part of this worldwide Christian community—it is an opportunity for all of us to remember our own baptisms, our own connection to this Christian legacy that leaves with us certain calls to how we are to be in the world and with one another.  It is one of the beautiful things about the sacraments we celebrate together.  Baptism and communion aren’t simply a ritual we play out in the present.  They are not only about the here and now.  They are a connection to the past (those saints who have come before us) and the future (those saints who are to come, or who are already here and soon to be flourishing within the world. They are our children.  And not just our biological children.  Our community’s children. And then their children.  And then their children.  On and on it goes.  And we get to decide— fact, I believe we need to decide—what are the things that need to be said?  What wisdom do we wish to impart?  What peace do we give? What peace do we leave? What is our part in aiding this aching love to roll on?  

I wonder if much of Jesus’ parting words to his disciples can be summed up as an even deeper version of the parting instructions I have for my kids every morning:

Be kind. Work hard. Make good choices. And (most importantly) remember that I love you.

Be kind — Love one another as I have loved you. Love your neighbour as yourself. Love…as Jesus loved. Kindness…not just niceness.  Kindness implies empathy. Kindness can hold boundaries, too. Kindness sees our connection to one another. To creation. Kindness.  Kin-ness.  We are all kin. We are all neighbours.

Work hard — There is much work to do in bringing about the kin-dom. Jesus sends out his friends to make more disciples. To share the Good News that is this wholly undefeated love. The Good News that the lies of Empire do not win—not ultimately—because we continue to work hard in order that it not be so. The work in sharing the fact that we are all neighbours, and we are all enmeshed. We are all kin to the point that nobody is truly free, unless we all are.

Make good choices  — Whom are we serving? Who benefits? Who is left behind? Do we spend our money in ethical ways? Do we spend our time in ways that put love into the world? That provide for rest and self-care?  That open space for others to do the same?

And most importantly…

Remember that I love you — God loves you.  You do not need to do this alone. You aren’t left to do it alone.  The Holy Spirit continues to move through us, with us, and for us.  This is a love that rolls on.  Refuses not to roll on.  And so, over and over again we become gloriously alive.

Remember that I love you. That is a love story that doesn’t make me cringe.  That is a love story I am pleased to tell over and over again.  Because it is True. It is Truth.  It is God.

Let us pray:

Oh God,

There is much that needs to be said,

Much that needs to be shared,

Grateful for the presence of the Spirit, Your spirit,

We also ask for guidance as we discern the kindness, words, choices…and love…

That furthers the coming of your kin-dom.

Amen.