St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL

John 12:20-33

This sermon was part of The Year of the Bible—a yearlong initiative in which all sermons, classes, and formation for all ages followed a parish-wide journey through the entire Bible. With the bishop’s permission, we used a custom lectionary: two readings drawn from that week’s section of Scripture, plus a psalm and the regularly appointed gospel of the day.

We have made it—
finally—
to the Gospels.

After months of trekking through
Genesis,
Exodus,
Leviticus,
and every da-da-da in between,
we are now, at last,
to the Jesus part.

You’ve been asking me all year,
“When do we get to the Jesus part?”
And every time I’ve heard that question,
I’ve thought of today’s Gospel,
where some Greeks come to Philip and say,
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

They weren’t the first to ask that question,
and they certainly won’t be the last.
I remember that question
rattling around in my head constantly
during the pandemic,
when everything was closed,
and we couldn’t gather in church.
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

But of course,
it doesn’t take a pandemic
to make you feel far from him.
Life has a way of doing that all by itself.

And so,
if you have ever asked that question—
if deep in your gut
you’ve ever wondered where he is—
you are in good company.

Because today,
in this Gospel lesson,
we meet people just like you—
outsiders, travelers, tourists—
Greeks who don’t even belong to the tradition,
but who come seeking,
yearning,
asking,
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

They approach Philip—
the disciple with the most Greek-sounding name—
and say they want to meet Jesus.
They are thinkers.
Philosophers.
They are seekers after truth.

But Jesus doesn’t give them a straight answer.
Because Jesus rarely gives a straight answer.

Instead, he says,
“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”

Now remember:
Up until this moment,
Jesus has been saying,
“My hour has not yet come.”
Over and over again.

But now—
finally—
he says,
“My hour has come.”

So everybody leans in.
They think he’s about to rise up in glory.
Take power.
Overthrow Rome.
Set things right.

But instead,
he starts talking about . . .
seeds.

“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains a single grain.
But if it dies,
it bears much fruit.”

Not quite the mighty, miraculous answer they expected.
Not quite the philosophical enlightenment they came for.

And I suspect many of them walked away disappointed.
They came hoping for signs,
for proofs,
for power—
but instead, they got seeds.
And dying.
And surrender.

But what about us?

We come, too,
asking in our own ways,
“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
We come looking for answers.
We come looking for peace.
We come looking for hope
that will not disappoint.

And Jesus says:
“Unless a seed falls into the ground and dies,
it cannot bear fruit.”

God’s greatest miracles
almost always begin with something being lost,
something being broken,
something being surrendered.
Even Jesus had to die
for resurrection to take hold.

No one wanted that.
But look what God was able to do through it.

This is the mystery we walk into next week.
Holy Week.
Time begins to bend.
God’s time and our time become one.

On Palm Sunday,
we will walk with Jesus into Jerusalem—
literally—
right down Call Street and into this church.

On Maundy Thursday,
we will kneel for footwashing
just as he knelt for his friends.
(An “all may, some should, none must” kind of moment.)

On Good Friday,
we will kneel before the cross.
And maybe—just maybe—
our prayers on that day
in God’s eternity
strengthen Jesus in his suffering.
(Yes, that might be a step too far.
But it’s a mystery I’ll gladly lean into.)

And then—

On Holy Saturday night,
in the dark,
we will light the new fire.
We will hear the old stories.
We will wait with the early church.
We will baptize new believers.
And then—
kapow—
resurrection.

“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
And we will.

We have all been asking,
“When do we get to the Jesus part?”
Well, the Jesus part is coming.
He’s coming to you.
He’s already been here all along.
But just you wait—
he’s about to show off all over again
in the most unexpected ways.

And as we step into spring,
as the pollen pollinates,
as the flowers bloom,
as the rumors of resurrection grow—
I cannot help but wonder:
What new thing will God do among us?

We are ready, Lord.
We wish to see you.

Amen.