Introduction
In Collegeville, Minnesota, at Saint John’s Abbey, hanging over the alter is a crucifix. That’s not especially noteworthy—all Catholic churches have such. But this one is unique because it is a crucifix that satisfies both Catholic and Protestant appreciations for liturgical symbolism. And how does it do that?
First, this cross can be rotated 360 degrees on its vertical axis, so that Jesus on the cross can face those in the choir stalls for daily prayers and liturgies, or it can be turned around and face the sanctuary for Sunday services and larger celebrations. One of the Abbey’s monks will take a forked poll, about 4 or 5 feet long, grab the bottom of the crucifix and turn it 180 degrees to face the desired direction. If I were a monk, that’s the job I would want— very cool.
Next this cross is large (as is everything in the Abbey), but Jesus is small and abstract, probably no more than 2 feet tall, seemingly ready to ascend from the cross at any moment. And, as it turns out, that’s exactly what he does. Jesus on the Saint John’s Abbey cross is magnetic. He sticks to the cross securely, but can taken down off the cross—typically during Lent. Magnetic Jesus— what a concept.
I can’t help but wonder what magnetic Jesus does when he’s not hanging the cross? Does he hold up monastic art projects from the church children on the refectory refrigerator? Maybe he’s holding up the church’s monthly calendar and all its important dates. Or maybe just that list of items to get from the store—bread, wine, more bread, more wine.
Beyond my sacrilegious thinking, the concept of Magnetic Jesus is, well, compelling, I think. It is both a reminder of Jesus’ death on the cross for our sins, and it can be the reminder that Jesus overcame death on the cross through his resurrection.
And such makes sense to me because I can recall a time when my experienced church-going mother would pull from her pocketbook various items carefully selected for the pacification and entertainment of her fidgety and bored youngest son in church. From sugar free Velamints, to Matchbox cars, to Star Wars figures, to connect the dot puzzle books. But one day she handed me two magnets, and I was immediately and endlessly fascinated by the drawing and snapping together when configured one way, but if turned another way they repelled each other.
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Our relationship with the Divine can be visualized by a pair of magnets. We are spiritually equipped with hearts that are God-magnets—drawn to the divine when we are focused on the divine. But we have hearts that when turned self-ward cannot approach God.
The curious concept of Magnetic Jesus brings into view the words of Augustine at the beginning of his Confessions when he expresses this dynamic saying: “My heart is restless until it finds its rest in Christ.”
When we turn our hearts outward, we attract the divine from every place imaginable, and it draws us closer to the place our hearts are meant to be—connected fully to where it is God wants us to be.
Move 1
Jesus was magnetic—drawing people to him and his ways. Such is the case in our text where Jesus has entered Jerusalem for the Passover festival, and some Greeks approach the Disciple Philip and say to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” (v. 21) They have heard of him and his ways, and they are drawn to him.
Philip relays their words to Andrew, and then the two of them take the request to Jesus. He agrees to honor their request to draw closer to him, but they get something from Jesus they weren’t expecting. Jesus tells them— in so many words— soon he will die.
Now Jesus was known to speak of his coming death often to his Disciples, and to others, and one of these times is in today’s text, “I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.’ He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.” (32-33). He then he compares himself to a seed. “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (v. 24).
Now these Greeks have grown up with Aesop’s fables, so they know the power of a simple story to teach a moral lesson. But in this case they don’t get his point. Jesus goes on to say, “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” (v. 25) In other words, although death is very close for Jesus, he tells them his own literal death is a metaphor for understanding how those drawn to him must live every day: they must live by dying. When they do, like a seed in the ground, they will grow and bear fruit.
As you might imagine, the Greeks were confused—and maybe a bit repelled by Jesus’ talk of death because they know the dead tend to stay dead. But Jesus is telling them fruitfulness comes from going into the ground, and a loss of life leads to eternal life. And then he drops this line about his death: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” (v. 32) When he is lifted up on the cross, he will not repel people. Instead, he will draw people to him in the most fruitful and life giving way imaginable. Magnetic Jesus— what a concept.
Move 2
Fruitfulness and eternal life. Both are connected to the power of the cross, a cross that Jesus says we must embrace as an instrument of our own metaphorical death for when we do, we will bear fruit and live.
Jesus is saying the cross becomes not an exit but an entrance— an entrance to a new level, a new way, of living. Fruitfulness and eternal life are both found in the daily cross we bear. But the Greeks who came to see Jesus saw the cross as a scandalous death and a humiliating defeat. As the Apostle Paul said to the Corinthians, “Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified.” (1 Corinthians 1:22-23).
We Christians proclaim Christ crucified because we know the cross is the clearest sign of just how far Jesus will go to show us the love of God. Jesus died so we could receive forgiveness and new life. He gave himself for us to demonstrate the value of a life of self-denial. Such a life is powerfully attractive, and people continue to be drawn by the power of the cross.
Experiential knowledge does not just inform, it transforms. That is why the message Jesus preached to the crowd was one that proclaimed he would be “lifted up” and would “draw all people to myself.” Christ’s story is not yet finished. We are called to complete the story of Christ by spreading the Gospel. We are called to help lift Christ up before the rest of the world. The living experience of “seeing Christ” must ignite a fire in us that compels us to make Christ known to others. We “keep the faith” by “spreading the faith.” But how do we make Christ known?
Following Christ, drawing closer to Christ, and not repelling ourselves from Christ demands we relinquish the control we pretend we have over our lives. But how do we do that?
Move 3
A graduating student at United Theological Seminary in Dayton, Ohio, had just received his appointment from the bishop. He was cantankerous about the church appointment he had been given, feeling it didn’t fit what he felt he deserved.
A fellow student, lovingly but unsympathetically, patted him on the back and said, “You know the world is a better place because Michelangelo didn’t say, ‘I don’t do ceilings.’”
And that’s how it’s done. That’s how we follow Christ, that’s how we draw closer to Christ, and not repel ourselves from Christ.
The world is a better place because a German monk named Martin Luther didn’t say, “I don’t do doors.” The world is a better place, because an Oxford cleric named John Wesley didn’t say, “I don’t do fields.” The world is a better place because a founding father of our Disciples of Christ denomination didn’t say, “I don’t do open communion tables.” The world is a better place because a black preacher from Atlanta didn’t say, “I don’t do dreams.” The world is a better place because a nun from Calcutta didn’t say, “I don’t do lepers.”
Go from the beginning of the Bible to the end, and you will see over and over again the story of men and women who have in their bones, and sealed upon their hearts, the magnetism of the ways of God exemplified in Jesus.
The world is a better place, because: Noah didn’t say, “I don’t do arks.” Moses didn’t say, “I don’t do rivers.” David didn’t say, “I don’t do giants.” Ruth didn’t say, “I don’t do mothers-in-law.” Jeremiah didn’t say, “I don’t do weeping.” Amos didn’t say, “I don’t do speeches.” Rahab didn’t say, “I don’t do carpets.” Mary didn’t say, “I don’t do virgin births.” Mary Magdalene didn’t say, “I don’t do feet.” John didn’t say, “I don’t do deserts.” Peter didn’t say, “I don’t do Gentiles.” Paul didn’t say, “I don’t do letters.” Jesus didn’t say, “I don’t do crosses.” And we, faithful followers of Christ don’t say, “I don’t do the ways of Jesus.”
Conclusion
When we have faithful hearts, willing to be directed in the way that makes them drawn as if magnetically to Christ—the world is a better place.
When we have hearts focused only on the ways we want to go—the magnetic polarities repel us away from Christ. Which is why we must always be asking ourselves: Are our hearts turned outward and attracting the divine from every place imaginable? Are we connected fully to where it is God want us to be?
Or are our hearts turned inward, making a force that pushes God away?
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Jesus calls us to do a hard thing—die to our old ways; die to the ways of this world. But he makes us the promise that if we allow our hearts to be drawn to him and his ways, then the loss will lead to a fruitful life for us and others. And it will make the world a better place for all.
That’s the truth made possible by magnetic Jesus. Amen.
Pastoral Prayer, March 21, 2021
The days are getting longer, Lord. The sun’s rays are higher in the sky bringing more light to our world. Warmth begins to flood over the colder portions of our nation. Spring and its new life is drawing closer and closer. And so is Easter—the day when our wilderness wandering ends and we are surrounded by the bright and glorious dawn that reveals new life from an empty tomb.
But Spring is not quite here yet. And neither is Easter. There remains a chill in the air and cold rains are sure to come. There remains the final entry into Jerusalem, and the cold realities that will come.
Suffering God, you told us to deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow Jesus, but we’re still not sure we want to go that far. We had hoped that becoming followers in this day and age would be a more rational business; we had hoped to fit our religion in the spare corners of our lives. It wasn’t supposed to be an inconvenience.
Yet you continue to call us to share the Good News of Christ by dying to the ways of the world. And we continue to squirm uncomfortably.
So teach us to respond gratefully to your invitation. Show us again how sacrifice leads to fruitfulness, not only for us, but for others.
Take what we can give right now, transform it into an offering of our deepest selves, while leading us to a deeper and even more faithful walk with Christ.
We long for the warmth of your mercy and love pour to over us O God.
As we have gathered this day to celebrate the Good News that has drawn us to Jesus, help us to see again that it is our purpose to offer that Good News to others, not only in words but in deeds of love and mercy, peace and justice so that others might have their hearts turned to you, and be drawn from the cold ways of this world and into the warmth of new life found in Christ Jesus.
Hear now the prayers of our hearts as we share them in this time of Holy Silence.
All this we pray in the name of Christ Jesus, our Lord and Savior, who taught us to pray, saying, “Our…”