“There’s so much left I want to tell you,” Jesus says, “but you can’t handle it right now.” You see, Jesus is going away. And before he goes, there are things he wants to tell his friends. But looking into their faces, seeing their eyes, he knows that to say all the things that he wants to say would crush them beneath the weight of the words.
Originally, when reading this week’s selection from John’s Gospel, I thought that these words were very appropriate for Trinity Sunday. Most of us cannot bear the difficult concept of this mysterious God who is one but at the same time is three. That Jesus was this one but was also in relationship with the one. Indeed, we say, we can’t bear that right now especially during a holiday weekend.
But as I thought about it, I began to think about this statement in the context of Jesus’ goodbye. I’ve so often thought of these words as implying some teaching or point of faith or revelation of the mystery of the Divine that Jesus knew would blow the disciples’ (and probably our) minds. However, listening to those words while I am in the midst of saying my own goodbyes to the people and places that have made up this chapter in my life, I hear them differently.
I think about the moments of late when I have stood face to face with a friend who, for reasons of geography, I may never see again. Standing there, usually with some chaos going on around, I find myself wanting to cram in months and years worth of words. I want to say how much they’ve meant to my journey, to my life. I want to tell them that they’ve been important to me and been a part of the changes I’ve undertaken during my time here. I want to say how hard it is to imagine that between here and the next world I may not see them again. I want to tell them that they are loved.
Yet, as I begin to say some of these things I can see in their eyes and written upon their face perhaps the same thing that Jesus saw in his friends. I see shoulders that cannot bear the weight. I see tears on the edge of falling. I see a heart fragile enough to break. And, out of caution, I know that though there are things that I want to say they cannot handle them right now.
Perhaps Jesus still holds back the words sometimes. Maybe those moments when it seems the Heavens respond only with silence are like those moments I’ve experienced of late. Rather than there being nothing to say, Christ has too much to tell us. And no matter how much Our Beloved longs to tell us, Jesus knows that we are not ready, at that moment, to hear how wonderfully we are loved.
One God who is also three, teach us to live in communion as you live amongst yourself. And help us to love as we are loved.
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