“So What of This World”

“I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one (v.15).”
So here we are. May 20th, 2012. Here we are—it’s the 7th Sunday of Easter (for whatever that means)—It’s another beginning to another week. Another Sunday in church—a place where we have gathered. So—here—we—are. If we leave it at this—if we only allow ourselves to stay at the surface—if we only allow ourselves to talk about the obvious…then we’ll miss the point—we’ll miss the point of life—we’ll miss the point of relationship—we’ll miss the point of Jesus’ prayer this morning—we’ll miss the point of this gospel.
So let’s go deeper. Let’s plunge below the surface. Let’s go into the realities that some of us would rather avoid. Let’s face the truth of Jesus’ prayer—let’s face the truth of what He’s trying to get at this day.

A widow sits in her chair, staring out the window each morning. She made it through another night. She made it through the loneliness. Slowly but surely, she allows herself to sprawl out in the emptiness of the ‘once-shared’ bed. But she’s awake…she’s wondering what lies ahead this day.

Or maybe…maybe, the man stands looking out the tiny 4 inch wide window—looking between the meshed, shatter-proof glass—the clearest view he’ll ever see of the outside world again. His life is now dictated by what the officers and warden say he can do. He goes to the shower when he’s told. He eats when he’s allowed—he eats what’s given to him. He’s one of the many who no longer has visitors. He is on his own—he is secluded more than anyone can imagine, even though he’s surrounded by hundreds of other men in the same confined situation—he is still more alone than anyone can imagine. He is haunted by a decision he made years ago—a decision that has taken him away from everything he ever knew.

The teacher clears out her classroom for the summer…the teacher who planned her curriculum months ago—the curriculum for the year. She saw kids every single day. She gave them the lessons they needed to make it through their education—but truthfully, the curriculum she spent hours studying and preparing—is the last thing she really wished she could have taught these kids. She’s confident that there were so many life lessons that she wished she could have shared—lessons that she wasn’t allowed to talk about due to rules and regulations. But she knows that one of her students will probably end up pregnant this summer. One will climb behind the wheel of their car, even though they’re drunker than a skunk. Another will take up an addiction to a drug that will inevitably take control of the rest of their future. And yet, another will witness Mom and Dad go through a terrible divorce—a divorce that might even leave this student as the most responsible person in that family relationship. But as the teacher—she couldn’t teach what she knew, needed to be taught the most.

Or maybe we enter into Joseph’s life…Joseph who we’ve been supporting these past two years. At first, it was contemplated whether or not this little church, off in South Dakota could afford to pay the extra $3-500 a year to some young man off in Africa. But Joseph smiles as he reads an email from some pastor he’s never met. He reads this email from a computer with the sketchiest internet service—a service that might crash at any time. But Joseph smiles as he is informed that there is another check waiting for him at the Western Union location. He smiles because he knows that he will be able to continue his classes. He smiles because he will actually get to graduate in July—he will get to serve his community in the name of God because of the assistance he received by people he has never met.
But this is the satisfying moment of his day—because the truth is, each day is a struggle. Each day is hit or miss when malaria strikes a member of his family. He wakes up before the sun rises on the horizon—he wakes so that he can make the 8 mile hike to school—an 8 mile hike that is far from safe.
Joseph tells this pastor, who he emails back and forth with, that war is coming. Joseph tells how the rebel forces are rising up again like they did in the Congo—like they did in Rwanda. Joseph tells how one of his classmates and family are now taking refuge with Joseph and his family—taking refuge and sharing meals together—meals that are far from filling for the 12 of them gathered in one home. Joseph writes that their only hope is in the protection of the government soldiers—though it isn’t real hope because these same government soldiers come into their towns on the weekends and kidnap women so that they can have their way with them before they head back into the brush to fight the rebels once again.
But somehow—somehow, Joseph finds strength in the gifts God has given him and his family. Somehow…Joseph can look past the presence of the “Evil One” that Jesus refers to in his prayer in this morning’s text. Somehow, despite the threat of sickness, robbery, rape, and even death—somehow, Joseph testifies to this pastor how gracious God has been to him and his family through the gifts of some small church in South Dakota.