Where the Spirit of Truth Makes Christ Known in Those Who Keep His Word A Sermon on John 14:15–21 On the night before the Cross, the Lord Jesus does not gather His disciples into a theater of sacred ideas. He gathers them into a room of love, fear, nearness, and impending loss. The hour is heavy. The betrayer has gone out into the dark. The powers of the world are drawing near. The Lamb is moving toward the altar of His own self-offering. And in that charged and trembling hour, Christ speaks of love, commandment, Spirit, indwelling, and manifestation. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” He does not say, If you admire Me, you will understand. He does not say, If you are interested in sacred things, you will receive. He does not say, If you stand near enough to the mystery, you will possess it. He says, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” Here the Lord opens a door that cannot be opened by curiosity alone. He discloses that the Spirit of truth is not received by...
I stand where winter wood loosens and the first bud clenches its green wound. Lord, not yet flower, not yet leaf, not yet the dark branch persuaded into fruit, I have come with my beautiful lie of wholeness folded under my coat like a stolen skin. Take it. No— You have already taken it. The bark of me splits before I consent. Sap starts where shame had sealed itself. My throat, long schooled in completion, fills with thaw-water and iron. I wanted to be seamless for You, one clean vessel, one polished cup, no crack where the old frost entered, no missing handle, no bruise under the glaze. But You, Christ of the pierced side, You do not drink from my perfection. You put Your mouth to the fracture. You breathe where the clay gave way. A terrible tenderness begins there. Not above me. Not after me. There— in the unfinished rib, in the branch rubbed raw by weather, in the scar that would not close because it had become a door. You press Your thumb into my lack and call it ground. You name t...