Sermon: Left Alone in the Aftermath

Isaiah 6; 1 John 5:1-12

Durham Cathedral Matins

‘What would it be like to have the most profound experience of your life when you were that young, to have witnessed what he had witnessed and then be left alone in the aftermath?'  That question, about John's encounter with Jesus as a young man, spurred Niall Williams to write his latest novel in which he turns his poetic prose to the story of John the Evangelist whom we remember today. He writes about John in very old age in exile and examines what he describes as ‘the lifetime of consequence' from that first encounter.

We first hear of John as a disciple of John the Baptist. A fisherman like his brother James and his father Zebedee, he became - with James, who was probably his older brother, and Peter - one of the inner group of three disciples with whom Jesus chose to share some of the most intimate moments of his ministry; for example these three were present at the raising of Jairus' daughter and at the Transfiguration. Jesus seems to have surrounded himself with strong characters, Peter often spoke first and thought afterwards and Jesus nicknamed James and John ‘Sons of Thunder' and we have to assume that was with good reason. Certainly we have some vignettes of their hot-headed reaction to things and of their ambition, both of which upset the other disciples at times. But they were also intensely loyal and faithful, willing to commit themselves to Jesus without counting the cost. If, as may be the case, John was the disciple whom Jesus loved, then he had a particularly close relationship with Jesus and, alone of the disciples, was present at the harrowing events of the crucifixion and at Jesus' request he took Mary into his care.

In the Acts of the Apostles we find this same group of three, Peter, James and John, working together in the proclamation of the gospel. The murder of James by King Herod must have affected John deeply because the two brothers appear almost inseparable. After this, the Acts of the Apostles focuses on Paul and his companions rather than the original disciples and John fades from the scene, at least in the biblical books, although we know that he attended the Council in Jerusalem which was called to sort out the conflicts in the early church arising from the conversion of Gentiles to Christianity - an issue that was more divisive for them than our over-publicised disagreements today. Tradition tells us that John later went to Asia Minor and settled in Ephesus, but during the persecution under the Emperor Domitian was exiled to the island of Patmos where, at some point, he had the visions that are recorded in the Book of Revelation. He was the only disciple to live to old age and die a natural death, probably back in Ephesus once his exile had ended. While there he knew Polycarp, later Bishop of Smyrna, who in his own old age passed on John's eye-witness accounts into the second century. Scholars are uncertain whether the various Johns in early church history are one and the same person - John the Evangelist, John the disciple, John of Patmos - and whether one John is the author of all of the biblical books that bear his name: the Gospel, three Epistles and Revelation. However, these books share an emphasis on love and have traditionally been ascribed to him.

The bible and tradition combine to paint a picture of a man who out of love for God made an early commitment to follow first John the Baptist and then Jesus with whom he shared many profound and mysterious experiences, took on the care of his elderly mother having watched, with her as her son died a horrific death, and then gave the rest of his life to proclaiming the resurrection from the dead of Jesus Christ, accepting imprisonment, persecution and exile as consequences.

Niall Williams novel picks up John's story in exile on Patmos and takes him back to die in Ephesus, a city where so much had changed since he lived there as a younger man and where the Gnostic heresy was wreaking its havoc in the church. Flashbacks and quotations from the Johannine writings illustrate John's internal wrestling with his memories and immersed me in Williams' question about the consequences of having a profound experience at a young age: to have witnessed what he witnessed - Jesus at close quarters - and then be left alone in the aftermath while the Gnostic heresy denied vociferously what he knew from experience to be true about Jesus but, because of his infirmity and exile, could no longer counter actively. It is a story of fidelity to past certainties in the face of present frailty, or what Williams describes as ‘the living history of love, for love is measured in hurt here, love is what remains, a grieved longing that has outlasted time.' Not only is John the only one of the twelve still living, but he bears the ignominy of exile on an island with a few companions - in the novel even they are leaving him for the Gnostic heresy. This is a man whom the world has forgotten: the other disciples had their moment of terrible stardom in martyrdom, but John has been literally put out to grass on a tiny island in the middle of a large sea. Was it for this that he gave his life so readily to Jesus as a young man?

With that in my mind, recall the familiar words of Isaiah's response to his vision of God in the temple. Here is another young man having his equivalent of John's encounter with Jesus: ‘Whom shall I send and who will go for us? Here am I, send me', ‘Jesus called them and they left their father in the boat and followed him.' Both are the actions of young men caught up in something that is inherently compelling to which they respond with the enthusiasm of youth.

But, if we read on in Isaiah we hear how his commitment was met with the call to preach a message that would be rejected, time and again, by people who would never understand, who would become dulled and enervated rather than enthused and energised by his words. Right at the start of his vocation, Isaiah received the uncompromising warning that this situation would go on interminably, until cities lay waste and the people were exiled, until, in that evocative phrase, ‘vast is the emptiness in the midst of the land'. For Isaiah the impulsive commitment of youth became a lifetime of costly commitment as all around him was devastated and wave upon wave of desolation left nothing but a burned tree stump. At the very end of this litany of despair, ‘the holy seed is its stump.' Yes, in that desolation was the holy seed of God's presence.

The same could be said of John. His desolation was the impotence of old age in exile as he lived with his memories. In his youth, he had seen and known Jesus and in old age still believed him to be the Christ in whom God gives us eternal life. He knew Jesus Christ to be fully human and fully divine. But, as Niall Williams portrays so powerfully, he was tested by the Gnostic heresy that separated the material and the spiritual and denied that Christ has come in human flesh. Had he been mistaken? Had his whole life been predicated on a lie? Sidelined in exile and facing the long loneliness of feeling a burden to his followers and insignificant on the wider canvas, it would be so easy to let his lonely mind wander into doubt of God's love or the wisdom of his youthful passion. But no, Williams describes his relentless fidelity that takes every ounce of his failing strength and issues in the resounding affirmation, that, ‘Who is it that conquers the world but the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life.' That is the bench mark for this faithful old man: not how useful or active he is, not whether he can look after himself, not whether all his prayers are answered. What matters is that Jesus is the Son of God and that he has life in God's Son; that the impetuous youthful trust he placed in Jesus has been vindicated and has sustained him to this isolated end. After an active lifetime, here in the aloneness of the aftermath he has the courage to remain faithful. Like Isaiah's stump which was the holy seed, when all was pared back in John's life there too was a holy seed that would bear holy fruit.

It is appropriate that we celebrate John the Evangelist so close to Christmas because he gives us the eye-witness testimony of the truth we sing about, that Emmanuel, God is with us. John is someone who, perhaps better than anyone else, knew Jesus as a human being and came to the radical realisation that he was indeed God. Our final hymn, dating from three centuries after John, insists on this truth in phrase after phrase, it is a paean of theological praise that affirms the divinity and humanity of Jesus Christ, a truth for which John was prepared to face exile. But don't let us forget that for both Isaiah and John, their youthful call by God was lived out into old age amidst the national power-play of tyrants and their armies. So too was the birth, life and death of Jesus. Tomorrow, Herod's massacre of the innocents, an horrific but integral part of the Christmas story, will remind us that Christmas is no protection from suffering, life goes on hurling things at us. Some people here have celebrated Christmas in the face of suffering and may be asking if your faith from the past can sustain you through its present battering and into the future. The truth we celebrate at Christmas, the truth that Isaiah and John knew as young men who lived lovingly and faithfully to old age, is that God's glory is seen by human eyes because God in Christ has made his home with us.  Knowing that, John could say certainly but not glibly from exile, ‘Who is it that conquers the world but the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?'

That is our inheritance in the faith because, ‘though an infant now we view him, he shall fill his Father's throne.' Alleluia.