'Do not let your hearts be troubled'

Sermon Notes Easter 5 3rd May by Desiree Snyman

“Do not let your hearts be troubled…”. I find that comment troubling. The time when I am most troubled is when I am told not to be troubled. It reminds me of a youth worker I mentored many years ago. I would ask him if he had completed some task. He would reply, “No worries, I’ve got it covered.” Invariably he hadn’t done what he had committed to do, and something would fall apart. “Do not let your heart be troubled.” “No worries.” “I’ve got it covered.” These words often precede disaster in much the same way that “once upon a time” precedes a fairy tale.

Mentoring this young youth worker was effective training for parenting boys. An unusual silence in the house, which other humans might have enjoyed, was usually the precursor to putting out fires, some literal and some figurative. When the twins could speak, the phrase “Don’t be angry Mum, but…” also heralded some creative disaster. When they became teenagers, the comment “Just relax” produced the least relaxed condition possible. “Do not let your hearts be troubled. No worries. I have it covered. Do not be angry. Just relax.” These are hardly words to induce peace or rest.

Similarly, in John 14 Jesus the Christ is about to be crucified, and the early peace movement he established is about to be blown apart. His friends are agitated and disturbed. They are experiencing a kind of churning of the soul familiar to many of us. Without denying the storms within or without, Jesus invites them to trust.

The word trust here is not intellectual assent but an experience, an experience of resting in relationship. When Jesus says trust, he invites us to lean into his relationship with God, to float in his presence much as we might float in a still, supportive ocean. Trust here is about surrender.

The invitation to receive the embrace of love is deepened further by the next encouragement: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” Although this is often translated as “many mansions,” the root of the word meno means to indwell or abide in God. This is not simply a pie in the sky future heaven, but a participation in God available now, not merely some future reward. It suggests a spaciousness in God where everyone can find belonging. The doorway is to allow ourselves to be loved, to surrender to love.

When Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth and the life,” he is saying that the doorway to this indwelling is not belief, knowledge, or skill. The doorway is love, more precisely, allowing yourself to be loved. This is the mistake Thomas and Philip make. Thomas asks, “Show us the way,” and Philip says, “Show us the Father.” They are asking for knowledge, but the door to abiding in God is participation, not information. It is about receiving love.

When Jesus says, “I am going to prepare a place for you,” it does not imply building something from scratch, but rather unveiling and demonstrating. Jesus demonstrates how to receive love and participate in God. Without denying the storms, the turmoil, the depression, the pain, or the challenges we face within and without, Jesus offers a deeper way to exist. “Do not let your hearts be troubled; trust in me, lean on me, abide with me in God,” not because there is nothing to fear, but because there is a deeper reality in which you can dwell.

When you are in the ocean and huge waves approach, the safest thing is often to go as deep as possible beneath the wave and allow it to pass overhead. Ever notice how peaceful it is beneath the churning water? Similarly, “do not be troubled” is not a denial of the waves, but an invitation to abide more deeply in God whenever they come.

Many of you are familiar with Rublev’s Trinity icon. An icon is a kind of window into the kingdom of God. Many people use icons as a form of prayer. Merely gazing at an icon, as you may be doing now, can itself become prayer. Prayer is about allowing the mind to descend into the heart while standing in the gaze of God’s love, allowing that love to saturate you.

Rublev was a monk in the Monastery of the Holy Trinity and St Sergius in Russia. He and his fellow monks lived in a time of great uncertainty, civil unrest, wars, anxiety, and stress. He created the icon as a gift of love for his friends so that they might find a safe place to dwell amidst the political turmoil surrounding them.

The icon depicts God as three persons who love one another so deeply that they become one. What is most significant about the icon is not simply the three visible angels, but the invisible flow of love, the circular movement uniting them. As you gaze at the icon, you are naturally drawn into the open space at the front of the table so that you too may become part of the circle of loving and being loved.

This is how we abide in God. This is how we trust God and participate in God, by allowing ourselves to rest within the life of the Trinity. We are not untouched by the dangers and storms that face us, not because we deny them, but because we allow trouble itself to become an invitation to return to God, to abide, to trust, and to participate more deeply in love.