May is The Cottage birthday month! For the entire month, The Cottage offers the deepest discount of the year — 20% off an annual subscription for new subscribers, give a gift subscriptions, or upgrading from free to paid.
This week, I’m testing a new Cottage perk for paid subscribers — sending Sunday Musings to paid subscribers on Saturday!
Free subscribers will continue to receive Sunday Musings on Sunday. This complicates my writing schedule, but some readers responded enthusiastically to last Saturday’s email snafu and wanted to receive the posts early. (That response was mostly from pastors — preachers at the Cottage have long asked for this, but there’s no way to divide the list into ordained and not. Sorry. The only way to send a post in two steps is paid and free.)
Today is the Sixth Sunday of Easter. The season of Easter is coming to an end. On Thursday, May 9, Christians will celebrate the Ascension of Jesus. Then, ten days later, Pentecost begins.
At the beginning of the Easter Season, I mentioned that the upcoming weeks would emphasize new life, community, and love. Sometimes Christians think that these post-Easter stories are about “proving” the Resurrection in a historical, biological, or scientific way. But John’s gospel (the primary source of recent readings) is far more interested in how the Resurrection creates a new body — a community of friends constituted by love — to carry forth the work of Jesus in the world.
Today’s gospel portion is one of my favorites in the entire New Testament. Sink into it, let it embrace you.
John 15:9-17
Jesus said to his disciples, “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.”
Today’s gospel passage is full of memorable lines from Jesus: “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you,” “This is my commandment, that you love one another,” “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends,” and “I do not call you servants any longer. . . but I have called you friends.”
These words are like a gentle surf at the beach — with warm, rhythmic waves caressing your body. With each watery rise, any stress or sadness you hold ebbs away; you become one with the ocean itself.
And that’s the point of Easter. Remember all those weeks ago? In the midst of fear and grief, the risen Jesus breathed on his disciples: “Peace be with you.” Peace.
But this beautiful reading is even more than the undulating swell at the edge of the sea. The words also beckon us to dive in to what may be under the surf — and experience something deeper.
The Resurrection is, of course, about Jesus. It is about miraculous, unexpected, new life born in the tailings of injustice and death. And it is about his body — that mysterious spiritual body — more than mere ghost, yet beyond what is known — as recognized (after a few stumbles at least) and experienced by his closest followers.
However, Easter isn’t primarily about an individual body. Not Jesus’ body. And not your body and whatever will happen to you after you die. Easter is about the birth of a new body, a corporate body of humankind, a community of Resurrection.
Today’s passage from John is a continuation of last week’s reading. There’s no break in the text. Instead, if flows as a single thought from John 15:1 through verse 17:
I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. . . Abide in me as I abide in you. . . As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. . . Love one another as I have loved you. . . You are my friends. . .Go and bear fruit, fruit that will last. . . Love one another.
Last Sunday’s musing pointed out that the author of John is making a deliberate comparison with Genesis — rewriting Genesis in light of the Resurrection. (This isn’t a kind of diminishment or replacement of the Hebrew creation story. John’s gospel is, instead, a mystical-theological reflection on that ancient text, drawing new spiritual insights from the Jewish creation story in poetic harmony with their early Christian experience of the empty tomb. John is affirming Genesis by this reimagining.) As I wrote: “The Gospel of John often spiritually echoes Genesis. John draws from the story of the first creation to unfold a vision of the new creation that was birthed in the life, death, and Resurrection of Jesus.”
The first part (John 15:1-8) of this two-week reading emphasized the rebirth of the Earth. In effect, Jesus poetically described the new vineyard and its fruitfulness. It is a clear allusion to the garden in Genesis. The new vineyard is the new Eden.
The second part (John 15:9-17) of the reading emphasizes the new community of the vineyard, complete with a divine directive to “be fruitful and multiply.” It is a clear allusion to the creation of humankind in Genesis. The new community, as was intended in the original creation account, will be constituted in love and be marked by friendship and companionship.
A few years ago, when writing Freeing Jesus, I realized that friendship was central to the biblical narratives:
The first story in the Bible is about friendship. In the opening chapters of Genesis, God is lonely and wants a friend. . . So God creates, almost as if at play in the cosmos. All sorts of things come forth: day and night; water and sky; oceans and earth; plants and trees; sun, moon, and stars; all the fish and animals and creatures of every kind.
The last creative flourish is humankind; God made male and female to be friends, companions, and lovers and to bring forth children, just so no one will ever be lonely again. What was a brooding, chaotic universe becomes a commonwealth at play, one in which everything and everyone is harmonious, a circle of friends caring for and with all.
And God said it was very good.
Often religious people read Genesis as deadly serious, maintaining that it is about sin and punishment, but when I read those first pages, I always laugh. God made man from the dust of the ground, watered by a spring, and gave him everything. But the man is not happy even when he has all of creation at hand. . .
So God made a new friend for him, the woman Eve, whose name means “life.” When he sees her, Adam proclaims, “Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh!” (2:23), a pronouncement that may be the best description of true friendship ever. Adam was incomplete without a companion and partner, the one whose friendship finally gave him life.
Thus, Adam and Eve become spouses. But this story is about more than an exclusive friendship of two. In the beginning, God walks with Adam and Eve in mutual delight. These friends share the same spirit — the breath of God — and a vocation to tend and attend creation. And the two are also friends with God. In Genesis, a sacred community of friends forms within the circle of creation, in the joy of uncomplicated trust; the first act of biblical history is the oneness of three, mutual vulnerability with no shame. Kindred souls, playmates, friends. Man, woman, God.
The narrative arc of the Bible is tragically clear — the friendship of the Garden is broken; henceforth, only a few extraordinary patriarchs and prophets are called friends of God. The rest of us were directed to obey, worship, and serve God. We might be faithful or blessed. But friends with God?
This story lies behind Jesus’ vineyard reflection, words he shared with his followers shortly before his death.
Jesus said, “I do not call you servants any longer. . . but I have called you friends.” Again, Jesus mixed his metaphors: God, the vinegrower, has reached toward us, not as a fearsome master or judge, but as a tending and nurturing friend. As the new garden grows, our tendrils reach back to the source of its life — love. Vinegrower, true vine, branches — an interconnected community of fruitfulness. We are not slaves or servants in this vineyard. This isn’t a plantation. More like a homestead, maybe a community garden. We are friends.
Friends.
Memories of Eden flood the heart with that ancient longing for friendship with God. The exile is ended, the embrace endures. Abide here. Take up residence in love. Bear fruit; the fruit that will last.
Once, we were created by that hand that reached to dust and rib; now that same hand joins ours, the clasp of the unfailing friend, pulling us up from the grave of violence and death to new life. We rise to the light of a new sunrise: Love.
This is Genesis for the community of the Resurrection. Eden’s curse is broken. Once you realize the connection between Genesis and John, the gospel isn’t subtle. Indeed, John’s is the only Resurrection account placed in a garden, complete with Mary Magdalene as new Eve (nerdy side note: notice that unlike the original Eve, Mary Magdalene reaches for the “fruit” but does not pluck it) and Jesus as the new Adam. The last two readings from John 15 foreshadow Easter’s ending with the metaphors of vines and abodes, and with images of love and friendship.
At Easter, we begin again. We retrace creation, and find ourselves in an ancient story anew. In a vineyard. Friends with God and one another. See, touch, embrace. Be fruitful. The creative breath blows still: Peace be with you.
And, in this garden, the only command is love.
INSPRIATION
Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone….
— Maya Angelou, "Alone." Please read the entire poem HERE.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn’d,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv’d;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv’d:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.
— William Shakespeare, “Sonnet 104”
The Arabs used to say,
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he’s come from,
where he’s headed.
That way, he’ll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you’ll be
such good friends
you don’t care….
— Naomi Shihab Nye, “Red Brocade.” Please read the entire poem HERE.
Friendship, first of all, is a joyful, free attraction between two people: a friend is someone you like and someone who likes you. Children usually know a friend instinctively: a friend is someone fun to play with — and someone you can trust. Attraction, joy, freedom, trust: a friendship is a relationship that at one level is simply mutual delight in the presence of each other.
— Sallie McFague
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts…
Practice resurrection.
— Wendell Berry
UPCOMING OPPORTUNITIES
📣FOR PAID SUBSCRIBERS
SAVE THE DATE — May 16 at 4PM (Eastern) on your calendars. Brian McLaren is on a book tour and will be with us live at the Cottage to talk about his brand new release, Life After Doom.
Links will be sent out to all paid subscribers on May 16 a few hours in advance of the online gathering. This is just a save the date.
Don’t worry if you can’t make the live event. A recording will be sent out to everyone in the paid community afterward.
📣FOR EVERYONE AT THE COTTAGE
“God is not an American, Jesus loved his enemies, and the Spirit continues to speak life into and beyond the church.”
Join me, Tripp Fuller, and Tim Whitaker for a pop-up “summer school” class: FAITH AND POLITICS FOR THE REST OF US in June.
This is how it works — PLEASE READ:
These classes are PRODUCED by Tripp Fuller at Homebrewed Christianity. I’m a co-creator and co-host.
You MUST SIGN-UP SEPARATELY through the Faith and Politics LINK. You are NOT automatically enrolled as part of the Cottage.
All technical support, payment, and content questions about Faith & Politics should be directed toward Homebrewed, and NOT the Cottage. All class related email will come from Tripp Fuller. I don’t know the answer to these questions. 🤷♀️ I can tell you that in advance. 😁
You don’t have to attend live. All material will be available for later viewing. And there’s some way (Tripp knows) to use this material in group settings or for adult ed programs later (like next fall in your church).
Homebrewed classes are completely donation based and proceeds go to Homebrewed (not The Cottage) to cover tech support, editing, and honoraria for lecturers. But you only pay what you want or can from free to $999,999 (the payment processor won’t accept a million bucks). If you opt not to donate, when you reach the payment page, click “Cancel and return to Homebrewed Christianity.” You will still be registered for the class. You’ll then receive a welcome email from Tripp Fuller in your inbox with more information regarding the class.
F&P starts June 4. FOR MORE INFORMATION AND REGISTRATION, VISIT THE FAITH AND POLITICS WEBPAGE or click on the picture below.
Was God really lonely?..
When I read or hear this gospel lesson from John, I feel the arms of Jesus, my friend hugging me.