"I've Been Meaning to Ask: Where Are You From?" Part 2

The First United Presbyterian Church of Loveland

“I’ve Been Meaning to Ask: Where are You From?”

Rev. Amy Morgan

June 20, 2021

John 1:35-51

35 The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, 36 and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, "Look, here is the Lamb of God!" 37 The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus.

 38 When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, "What are you looking for?" They said to him, "Rabbi" (which translated means Teacher), "where are you staying?"

 39 He said to them, "Come and see." They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon.

 40 One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother. 41 He first found his brother Simon and said to him, "We have found the Messiah" (which is translated Anointed).

 42 He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, "You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas" (which is translated Peter).

 43 The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, "Follow me." 44 Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter.

 45 Philip found Nathanael and said to him, "We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth."

 46 Nathanael said to him, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" Philip said to him, "Come and see."

 47 When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, "Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!" 48 Nathanael asked him, "Where did you get to know me?" Jesus answered, "I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you."

 49 Nathanael replied, "Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!"

 50 Jesus answered, "Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these." 51 And he said to him, "Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man."

Roly-poly. Famous Amos. Amy-Whan Kenobi. These are all nicknames I’ve born throughout my life. But to just hear them, on the surface, you might not understand what they mean. They might require some translation. 

Roly-poly means my dad liked to sing to me when I was a pudgy infant. Famous Amos means my Papa thought I’d make it big someday. Amy-Whan Kenobi means my 6^th grade homeroom teacher was clever and really into Star Wars, and he turned my odd last name into something fun and memorable. 

My nicknames have faded out in recent years, but I still go by different names. Mom, wife, sister, daughter, aunt, niece, granddaughter. Pastor, friend, colleague. I’ve been a patient, and I’ve been a caregiver. I’ve been a student, and I’ve been a teacher. I’ve been an employee, and I’ve been a supervisor. 

And even these names can require some translation. How I understand myself as a mother is very different from how my grandmother bore that name. I carry the name Pastor in a different way than my male colleagues, and I am a teacher in a way that is different from, say, a public school teacher. 

We all bear a variety of names, and much of the time, those names require some translation. 

The first chapter of the gospel of John is filled with a variety of names for Jesus. Word of God. True light. Lamb of God. As the first disciples begin to encounter him, Jesus is called Rabbi, Messiah, Son of God, King of Israel, and simply, Jesus, son of Joseph, from Nazareth. Jesus refers to himself as the Son of Man. 

The names of several other people come up in this chapter as well. John, Andrew, Simon, Phillip, and Nathanael. Cephas, Israelite. Disciple, brother, son. 

And some of these names are given a translation in this text. Rabbi means Teacher. Messiah means Anointed. Cephas means Peter.  

But most of these names don’t get translated here. We have to read the rest of the story to find out what they mean. Lamb of God means Jesus will be a sacrifice. Rabbi means he will teach what no other human has the ability to teach – the grace and love of God that knows no bounds. Son of God and Son of Man means that Jesus embodies both divine and human natures. Peter means “Rock,” and will mean he is the foundation of the Church. Nathanael means “gift of God.” The disciples who follow Jesus will have a very different experience of that name than someone who was a disciple of Socrates or even a disciple of John. 

Our names require some translation, and that translation comes through hearing more of our story. And so we’re going to have a chance to do that today, in just a little while. We’re going to talk about our names, and where they come from, and what they mean to us. 

But we’re also going to talk about some of the turning points in our story, those important moments that changed the direction of our lives in some way. 

As I mentioned to our morning prayer group on Wednesday (and I told them this wasn’t going to make it into my sermon, but I was clearly mistaken), this story in John’s gospel is filled with movement. Not just movement, but the contrast between movement and stillness. The first part of this story begins with John and his disciples standing, and it ends with them staying with Jesus. In between these two points of stillness, you have Jesus walking by, the disciples following Jesus, Jesus turning to see them, the invitation to “come and see,” and the disciples came and saw. 

And this is how our life, and especially, I think, our experience of the spiritual life, works. We have these resting points, these moments of equilibrium, that get disrupted in some way and lead to movement until we find a new resting point. 

It’s amazing to me to watch birds along the trail at Devil’s Backbone resting on the head of a yucca stem as though perched on rock-solid ground. They can be so still, as though they plan to stand there frozen, forever. And then, suddenly, a sound or movement startles them, and they take to flight, flitting from perch to perch for a while until they come to rest again somewhere else in that perfect stillness. 

I wonder if many of us didn’t feel this way at some point in the last year. I know that I felt that I was just hitting my stride here in ministry. We had settled into our home, I was comfortable in my relationships with our church family and folks in the Loveland community. Jason was loving his work and Dean was getting involved in activities he enjoyed. There was this lovely stillness that came from not feeling like we had to move anything, change anything, plan for what was next. We could just be in this great place with all these great people and do some live-giving ministry. 

And then the pandemic disrupted our stillness is many ways – some really obvious and some very subtle. The killing of George Floyd instigated movements of individual perspectives, community action, and corporate responsibility for the dismantling of structural racism. The insurrection at the Capital in January scattered us from our perches of complacency around political division. 

These major events were coupled with the day-to-day disappointments and frustrations, discoveries and challenges that kept us moving, at least in our minds and spirits, through the last 15 months. We have watched and walked and followed and come and gone through a constantly changing dynamic. 

And the question I’ve been asking, and I think a lot of people have been asking, is “Where is God in all this?” 

It’s really curious to me that the first question anyone asks Jesus in the gospel of John is “where are you staying?” They don’t ask Jesus about who he is or where he’s going. They don’t probe him with theological questions. They want to see his digs. They want to know where he is. They want to know where they might land with him. 

And so, as we continue flitting about, being moved off our comfortable perches by all the chaos of these times, it seems like a good question to ask is not just “Where is God in all this?” but “Where is Jesus staying?” Yes, God is likely showing up in new places and doing a new thing. But Jesus is also staying somewhere in this, holding a safe and constant space, where we can ultimately land with him and regain a sense of wholeness and rest. 

So as you think about turning points in your story, I’d invite you to consider those times you felt at rest and were thrust into motion, or times when you were moving and seeking and then found a place of rest. 

Like last week, I’m going to invite you to gather with one or two other folks, ideally people you don’t know well or haven’t talked with in a while. Remember our ground rules for conversation, stay curious and be compassionate and engaged listeners. Share what you feel comfortable sharing and allow for space and silence. And remember to maintain confidentiality and follow up later if you desire. 

Our first question this week is: Is there a story behind your given name or your surname? If you have a nickname or a chosen name, how is this name meaningful to you?

Our second question to day is: Consider the major events or turning points in your life so far. If you were to write your autobiography, what would the chapter titles be? Another option would be to think about these turning points like a map, and you might describe that map or path. 

Closing Poem:

We Are Not Strangers

Prayer by Rev. Sarah Are | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org

If you ask me where I’m from,

I’ll tell you about the South—

about sweet tea, church pews,

slow drawls, sultry summers.

And if you pause,

then I may go on to tell you

how I’m from a family of preachers,

how I stand on the shoulders of generations

who believed that love could be the answer.

And if you’re still listening even then,

I’ll tell you that I’m from strong women

with tall spines who have carried the weight

of inequality on their backs with children on

their laps.

And then I’ll tell you about

the kitchens that I’m from,

which have always cooked enough

food for unexpected guests—just in case.

Or I could tell you about the car

that carried us into the mountains,

summer after summer

so that we could breathe again.

That’s part of where I’m from.

And if you haven’t given up yet,

then I may even mention the dirt—

the earth that catches me,

the earth that holds me.

The earth that reminds me of growth.

The earth that will eventually welcome me home.

You and I aren’t really strangers after all.