Rich harvest

‘Now the hour has come

for the Son of Man to be glorified.

I tell you most solemnly,

unless a wheat grain falls on the ground and dies,

it remains only a single grain;

but if it dies,

it yields a rich harvest.

John 12:23 - 24

Language, image and touch are what we rely on to experience the world we live in. Language itself needs a myriad words to express the richness of that experience. As we move from concrete and literal to the intangible, figurative and symbolic a skilful and deep appreciation of metaphor, myths, legends and religion is obligatory.

So when we use the language of religious experience there are layers upon layers of meaning. Religious writings, particularly scriptures are not (meant) to be read literally. They may be poetry, song, historical narrative, miracle story, parable. John's Gospel in particular calls the reader to employ their fullest faculties. These two verses from this coming Sunday's readings reveal Jesus' ultimate destiny. It is now propitious that he make this revelation now - Jesus has just 'triumphantly' entered Jerusalem to celebrate the festival of the Passover - for it appears time is short, and he is to be 'glorified'. In this sense, 'glorified' is the resurrection but in order to be resurrected, Jesus must first die. Then using the metaphor of wheat, Jesus describes how his death and glorification will lead to something even greater.

This week saw the death of two members of my extended family, Tina, my nephew's sister-in-law aged 47, and my uncle Karl, aged 84. Two of God's beautiful creatures with their own extraordinary stories, families, work lives and good lives that were generous and lived well. We need John's stories to make sense of loss, of pain but which possess the hope and anticipation of something yet to come. We don't have enough words that would explain 'something yet to come' beyond that wreath of religious words, transformation, transfiguration, redemption, salvation, Kingdom of God, parousia, eschaton.

I do know that in life we can experience moments of such clarity that we are surprised and exhilarated. My first such moment occurred as a 20 year old, sitting on the shore of Lake Taupo in the early evening celebrating Eucharist with a dozen youth leaders. Everything made sense, everything had meaning. Years later the birth of our children gave me the most brilliant and sensational awareness of God's awesome presence.  

Year later still, when I walked up the stairway of Sacré Coeur at Montmartre, I could hear the angelic voices of the Benedictine Nuns singing. The sung Mass was followed by Vespers and I was transported to another time and place. The congregation of worshippers and sightseers was taken up with the majestic splendour, despite the distractions of guards and the constant movement about the Basilica. It was an hour to savour being in the presence of God, being in the present with God. I remember so clearly the minutes fleeing and I wanted it to go on.

These moments are, I believe, small incursions (or maybe excursions) of the divine into our lives. Perhaps they are rare in the world we live in, or maybe some are more open or receptive to such moments. But it is clear that these moments are just a taste of the rich harvest that Jesus promises. But it is also evidently clear that the true banquet will not occur until we too have let go of this life and our heavenly reward - whatever that may be - may be ours.

Peter Douglas