Paul DeCelles gave this talk at the 2002 Leaders’ Conference for Men. It was based on the Scripture passage, “He who has seen me has seen the Father” (Jn. 19:4). He examined the life of Jesus with the goal of seeing our Father. He noted how Jesus is always dealing with the reality of people’s freedom, always planning and always giving everything he has. The second part of this talk can be found here: https://peopleofpraise.org/file-library/868/.
Transcript
This document is a direct transcript of an audio recording, and may contain transcription errors and other minor edits for the sake of clarity.
[Tape begins after Paul has already begun speaking.]
PAUL: . . . You may want to take some notes on the Scripture references. And I’m going to make—I hope they’ll be somewhat pithy comments about a variety of things. But you will—if you read—if you look up and read carefully those Scripture passages with—maybe with the echo of my voice, it may lead you to a much better understanding than we’re able to get while we’re talking.
So I’d urge you to pray about these passages, and take a look at them from a different perspective than you might’ve been prev- —looking at ’em in the past.
So, I’m going—I’d like to talk about our Father. And it’s awkward to talk about him, because it’s hard to know what to call him. I could say that I want to talk about “God,” but that doesn’t quite capture what’s on my mind. I want to talk about the First Person of the Blessed Trinity. I could refer to him, as St. Paul often does, as “the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” He does this in Romans 15:6, 2 Corinthians 1:3 [and] 11:31, and Ephesians 1:3. So I could talk to him—refer to him the way Paul does, or more simply, as Jesus does after the resurrection. . . .
[Inaudible comment from man in the audience.]
PAUL: Yes.
I can see this isn’t going to work. I’m going to have so many. . . . [Paul and all laugh.] Maybe I should publish a little list of ’em.
[Scattered inaudible comments from the audience, which continue, interspersed with Paul’s remarks in the next two paragraphs.]
PAUL: Let’s do that; okay. Is there some way we can do that? Let’s see. [Laughter.] We’ll do that; we’ll do that today. Okay. We’ll do that today. Okay. We can get it done today. Okay.
So then, you don’t need to jot ’em down. Although you might. . . . Okay. [Laughter.] You’re free! You can do whatever you want to! [Laughter.] No jokes in this one.
So, we could say—let me go back a bit—we could call him—we could say “the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” That’s a little awkward. I mean, however true it is, it’s not exactly—I mean, it certainly describes—it’s talking about exactly what I’m trying to talk about, but that’s a very awkward way to talk. Or, we could say what Jesus did after the resurrection, “my Father and your Father, . . . my God, your God” [Jn. 20:17]. I plan to refer to him a lot in this talk, and I just don’t think it will work to be constantly repeating “the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ” or “my Father and your Father.”
So, how shall I refer to him? The Father? Our Father? Father? Dad? Have you ever heard any homilies on “Abba, Father,” what “abba” means, you know? Dad? Daddy? “The Father” doesn’t seem quite right. Can you imagine Pat or Jim Pingel talking about [their father] Ed, saying, “The father is going to watch the game tonight”? [Paul and all laugh.] It just doesn’t quite capture the father–son reality, nor the reality of their brotherhood. Besides, referring [to] “my Father and your Father” as “the Father” seems to remove him from the scene. It’s as if he isn’t an actor in what’s going on. “The Father,” out there, you know, at a distance from us.
“Our Father” is better, but, again, can you imagine Pat saying to Jim, “What’s our father doing tonight?” and Jim responding, “Our father is watching the game”? I think they are more likely to say, “What’s Dad doing tonight?” and “Dad’s watching the game.” I’m not, however, going to refer to “my Father and your Father” as “Dad.” It just doesn’t work. [Laughter.] “Father” is better, but it’s also unnatural for us at this point.
But there was a time in some of our lifetimes, maybe 50 years ago, when “Father” was what children called their father, and they’d say, “Father’s doing this,” [or] “Father knows best.” It wasn’t simply a title or a role; it was—that was who he—it was like “Dad.” But that’s foreign to us. So we need something halfway between “Dad” and “Father.” At any rate—I don’t want to get hung up on this altogether, but I do want to get at the underlying problem that all those other things create for us. There is this remoteness from God our Father, and a distancing, and a formalizing of the relationship between us and him, which is unnatural in the family, in the family of God.
So, most often, I will refer to him as “our Father,” because at least that emphasizes our brotherhood and our union with Jesus, the firstborn of many brothers. But don’t get hung up on language and spend the rest of the day thinking about this.
Okay. So, let me begin with the structure of the talks. I’m going to give two talks. This is the first—it’s one talk, but it’s rather long and we’ve cut it in two. So, let me say a word about what I’m doing here.
As I’ve said, the topic is our Father. So, where do we begin? And—with Jesus, of course!
In John 5:19, Scripture says, quoting Jesus: “The Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing; for whatever he does, that the Son does likewise.” That is to say, the Son is not—the Son, meaning himself, can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing; and whatever the Father does, that the Son does likewise. So, if you want to get a picture of the Father, look at the Son.
Again, in John 14:24: “The word which you hear is not mine, but the Father’s who sent me.” So, [Jesus is saying,] “He who listens to me is listening to the Father. My word is—it’s my word, but it’s not my word; it’s the Father’s word. We really are one. You’ve got to get this point, okay?” he’s saying. “The Father and I are one.”
So—but the emphasis here is, if you want to know what the Father is saying, you listen to what Jesus says. We begin with what Jesus did and what he said, because his works and his words are our Father’s.
Now, I want to warn you. The method I’m following here is pretty radical, actually. Or, a better word for it would be “fundamental” or “foundational.” When talking about our Father, most people don’t begin with what Jesus did and said. They begin, rather, with philosophical descriptions of God: he is omnipotent, for example, or he’s omniscient.
This is a little aside, but the word that’s used in Scripture for—that’s translated as “omnipotent” and translates into that—“almighty,” for instance—actually, the Jewish word literally means “the one without peer.” Nobody’s better than him.
That’s not what I’m going to do, though. I think you’ll all agree with me, though, that my method is a good one. After all, John said, “No one has ever seen God. The only Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known” [Jn. 1:18].
Again, Paul said of Jesus—he said Jesus is “the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1.15). So, look at Jesus to see the invisible God.
And, as you all know, Jesus himself said to Philip, “He who has seen me has seen the Father” [Jn. 14:9].
Okay, so that’s my—that’s the structure of the talks. Now I want to talk a little bit about—now, this is a—we’re looking at Jesus to see the Father; don’t lose track of what we’re doing here. I’m talking about the Father; I’m going to talk about Jesus. I’m talking about the Father, right? I’m going to talk about Jesus. ’Cause if you look at Jesus, you can see the Father.
Both Kerry [Koller] and Craig [Lent] have talked about freedom here. Freedom, of course, as they both said, is a fact of life; it’s a reality that you can see in the gospels, and it’s a reality that Jesus dealt with. So, let’s see: I’m only going to do this once. That is to say, this [freedom] is [also] a reality that the Father has to deal with, because he who sees Jesus sees the Father. You see Jesus dealing with reality; the Father’s dealing with reality. That’s the way the Father deals with reality. Okay?
Let me give you maybe the most poignant example in the story of the rich young man. In Mark 10 it says:
And as he was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the Commandments: Do not kill. Do not commit adultery. Do not steal. Do not bear false witness. Do not defraud. Honor your father and mother. And the boy said, “Teacher, all these things I have observed from my youth.” And Jesus looked upon him, loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing; go sell what you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven, and come, follow me.” At that saying, his countenance fell and he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.
“And Jesus, looking upon him, . . . loved him.” Just capture the moment in your imagination. The invitation is hanging in the air. Jesus is helpless to determine the outcome. Jesus knew that man was free. He knew that man would do what he wanted to do. There was nothing he could do to cause that man to accept what he was offering: his life, the very life of God. Maybe Jesus could have tried to persuade the man with a long argument or maybe he could have tried to sway him by a moving declaration of his hopes and dreams for him. But he didn’t. Because Jesus loved that man, he wasn’t trying to control him. He wasn’t going to overpower him with persuasive words or smothering affection. He wanted a disciple, not a hireling.
Let me read you another passage, from Luke 19 [verses 41–44]:
And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “Would that even today you knew the things that make for peace! But now they are hid from your eyes. For the days shall come upon you when your enemies will cast up a bank about you and surround you, and hem you in on every side, and dash you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave one stone upon another in you; because you did not know the time of your visitation.”
Jesus was sent by the Father to his own people, to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. He was trying to save Jerusalem from destruction. He did everything he could. He did mighty works for them to see. He taught them in parables in order to get under their radar and prick their hearts. He tried meeting Jerusalem’s leaders on their own ground, by engaging them in legal arguments. He tried giving them strong rebukes. But nothing worked. They just became more and more hostile. They took offense at Jesus. They didn’t like what he was doing: healing on the Sabbath, eating with tax collectors and sinners, healing Gentiles, casting out demons. And they certainly disagreed with what he was saying: making himself out to be God’s Son, for instance. Jesus made them mad. He didn’t fit into their preconceived categories of what the messiah should do and say. His best was not good enough for them.
Jesus wanted to save Jerusalem, but the outcome of his mission was in the people’s hands. His mission to Jerusalem was going to be a triumph or a tragedy, depending on how the people responded. By the time Jesus enters Jerusalem, he can see the handwriting on the wall and so he weeps. His desires for Jerusalem are going to be frustrated.
If you look at the gospels carefully, you can see that all throughout his ministry Jesus is dealing with the reality of people’s freedom. Jesus had something in mind for his first miracle; we don’t know what. All we know is that he changed his mind because of an encounter with his mother. They are at a wedding in Cana and the wine gives out. And Mary, his mother, says to him, “They have no wine,” and Jesus says, “O woman, what have you to do with me? My hour has not yet come.” Despite his original reluctance to do anything, Jesus turns the water into wine.
And Matthew tells a somewhat similar story in Matthew 15 [verses 21ff]. Jesus and his disciples have retired to the region of Tyre and Sidon. It doesn’t look like Jesus planned on doing any miracles while he was there. But one Canaanite woman was so persistent and so full of faith that Jesus relents.
Here’s another example of Jesus changing his plans on account of what another person does. Early on in his public ministry—this is—you can see this in Mark 1 [verses 21ff]—Jesus goes to Capernaum. And he preaches in the synagogue on the Sabbath. And he delivers a man with an unclean spirit, heals Peter’s mother-in-law of a fever. That evening, after the sun went down, the town brings him their sick.
Now it’s interesting, isn’t it, that the people bring their sick to Jesus when the sun goes down, which means after the Sabbath is over. They’re playing it safe, but Jesus doesn’t hold that against them. He heals them anyway.
Jesus heals their sick and the next day the people are looking for him again, but he tells Peter, “Let’s go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also; for that is why I came. That’s my plan.” It looks like Jesus has a plan: he wants to go from town to town throughout Galilee. It looks like that is what he did—at least until he had an encounter with a certain leper. The leper came to him, begging him, “If you will, you can make me clean.” Mark says that Jesus was moved with pity and healed him.
And then, he [Jesus] said—he sternly charged that man to say nothing to anybody about what happened to him. But then the leper went out and began to talk freely about it, and broadcast the news everywhere. And Scripture says “. . . so that Jesus could no longer openly enter a town,” but had to go out into the country; “and people came to him out into the country from every quarter” [Mk. 1:45]. So because of his encounter with that leper—you could say, because of his encounter with that leper’s freedom—Jesus had to change his modus operandi. Instead of going from town to town, sneaking in without anybody quite realizing that he was there, and all of a sudden appearing in the synagogue, apparently, telling them, “Hey, you know, I’m here to heal the blind, the lame, raise the dead, preach the good news to the poor,” you know, so he could get away with that without them having been braced for him, he now had to stay out in the countryside because everybody was alert to his strategy.
At one point while he was wandering around Galilee, Jesus gets into a boat and goes across the Sea of Galilee into the country of the Gerasenes. This is in Mark 5 [verses 1ff]. And it looks like he is making a foray into a new territory. This is, you know, on the other side of the sea; it’s called the Decapolis. When he gets there, out of the boat, the first person he meets is a demoniac.
Now this guy—you know the story well—lived among the tombs. And the Scripture says, “And no one could bind him anymore, even with a chain; for he had often been bound with fetters and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart and the fetters he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day, among the tombs and on the mountains, he was always crying out, and bruising himself with stones.” So this guy was not exactly your local tourist attraction! But everybody knew he was there. [Laughter.] Everybody in the neighborhood must have known him. People in the nearby village probably often heard him as they went about their business.
So Jesus delivers the guy. And when the people of the region came to see what was going on, they saw the demoniac sitting, clothed and in his right mind. The people were afraid. They heard about what happened, and what do they do? Scripture says they began to beg Jesus to depart from their neighborhood!
So Jesus begins to get back into the boat. He had done the best he could. He’d done everything he could. But the people closed the door to any further work on his part. But something unexpected happens: the demoniac begs to go with him—which is very interesting. You can almost see the light bulb go on in Jesus’ head. He couldn’t make any headway with the people of the region. But this guy could! Everybody knew he was a demoniac: he was stark raving mad and stronger than anybody else. Everybody knew—in the region knew about it, and so he’s going to leave him here! So he refuses the guy, and instead says to him, “Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.” This time, on account of another’s freedom, Jesus’ mission is furthered.
That’s not always the case, however. Jesus wants and needs help with his work, but he encounters a lot of excuses. People all have family responsibilities and business responsibilities. “Let me go first and bury my father.” “Let me first say farewell to those at my home” [Lk. 9]. “I have bought a field, and I must go and see it.” “I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come” [Lk. 14].
So you can see, all throughout his public ministry, Jesus is dealing with people’s freedom. It’s not like he has “a plan”; rather, he is always improvising, changing, going from plan A to plan B to plan C. He doesn’t have a plan; rather, he is always planning. It’s not as if he has a set course. It’s not as if he is running down a bobsled run, moving inevitably toward the finish. What happens is not programmatic. What happens in the gospels is shaped by each encounter along the way.
Okay. The next part [of the talk]: Others have power over Jesus.
What else did Jesus do and say? Are you “translating” this, still? “He who sees the Son sees the Father”? “He who sees Me sees the Father”?
Others have power over God the Father, you could say.
So, what else can we say about Jesus? He experiences anger, joy, compassion, sorrow, desire. This is very important to remember. It’s not as if Jesus is walking through Galilee and Judea untouched by what’s happening. He doesn’t exist above the fray. Translate: “Father,” okay? He’s chosen to enter the fray. He isn’t indifferent. What is happening around him matters to him.
When Jesus arrives at Lazarus’s tomb, it says in John 11, the RSV [Revised Standard Version] and the NIV [New International Version] say that he “was deeply moved.” Actually, that translation sugar-coats what the Greek actually says, which is—the verb describing his reaction is embrimaomai, which refers to the snort of a warhorse, or, for humans, an outburst of anger: “I won’t put up with this!” he’s snorting. Can you see Jesus standing before the tomb snorting like a warhorse, angry at what was happening to his friend?
As Jesus drew near the gate of the city called Nain, a man who had died was being carried out, “the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.” And when Jesus saw her he was moved with compassion and raised her son from the dead. In Luke 7, we’re talking about [verses 11 ff].
It wasn’t, however, just the plight of the individuals that stirred Jesus. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. So, here is Jesus, moved with pity for this poor widow, the only source of income for her, her whole future dead before her. He’s moved with pity. He really cares about her. Jesus’ compassion again leads to action. He calls his disciples together, gives them authority over unclean spirits—right there, as we’re talking about, [in] Luke 7—to cast them out, and authority to heal every disease, and then he sends his disciples to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
And when his disciples came back from their mission, telling Jesus all about what they’d accomplished, Jesus rejoices about what is happening. He takes great joy in it. It matters to him. “I’m really happy! This time it worked!” “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to babes!” [Lk. 10:21]. He’s filled with joy that his disciples are catching on and that they can join him in his mission. Read: “Father.”
And, as we have already seen, he weeps over Jerusalem. It would have been easier if he could have walked through Galilee and Judea doing some good while remaining detached, always giving and never desiring anything in return. That is not, however, what was going on. Although all that Jesus gave to people was free, it’s not as if their response didn’t matter to him. It mattered very much!
You can see this most clearly when Jesus speaks to his disciples at the Last Supper. He’s longed for this moment. He has so much he wants to tell them and so much he wants to reveal to them. He’s had to hold back a bit—a lot, in fact—because of their limited capacity to understand and receive what he is saying.
But now the moment is ripe for a further revelation. He doesn’t just want to do good to those he is speaking to. He desires more. “Abide in me,” he says. “Let us become like a vine and its branches, with the same life coursing through our veins.” He desires even more than that! In John 17< it is as if he says, “Abide in us, the Father and me!” Jesus prays most earnestly that his disciples “may all be one; even as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us. . . . I in them and you in me.” He yearns to live one life, the Father—the life of the Trinity, with his disciples.
Of course, the fulfillment of his desire depends on his disciples. That’s the way love works. It’s amazing. It’s even shocking. Because Jesus loves them, he gives his disciples a certain power over himself. It’s the power to make angry or make glad; the power to cause grief or joy; and, ultimately, the power to frustrate or to fulfill his desire.
Okay. The next topic is: Jesus Gives All. Read: “Father.” All.
Now, I’m going to compose a couple of snapshots of Jesus’ ministry. The first is taken from Mark 1 [verses 21–37] and the second is from Matthew 14 [verses 12–34]. I’m not going to read these passages; I just want to open your eyes to what Jesus’ life was like.
So, in Mark 1: Jesus teaches in the synagogue, and the people are astonished. He delivers a man from an unclean spirit, but not before the evil spirit makes a scene, crying out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God!” Then he goes to Peter’s house and heals Peter’s mother-in-law.
Don’t forget, this is in Mark 1. We forget that there was a first time Jesus stood up and taught in a synagogue. There was a first time he performed a deliverance. There was the first time he healed someone. Mark is telling us about the “firsts.”
So can you imagine how tired Jesus must have been? “Then at sundown,” after all this, “they brought to him all who were possessed by demons.” The whole city was gathered about the door. Not only did he cast out many demons, he also healed many who were sick. Mark doesn’t tell what time after sundown they all left, but we do know that it was a short night.
In the morning, a great while before day, Jesus got up and went out to a deserted place to pray. He wasn’t by himself for long. Peter and his guys were looking for him—the rest of the guys—and when they found him, Peter said, “Everyone is searching for you.”
Jesus’ life was no longer his own.
It was Jesus’ first experience of the crowds pressing in upon him, demanding his time and his attention. It was the beginning of what was to become a way of life for him. Read: “Father.”
Take, for example, Matthew 14. Jesus hears about the gruesome death of John the Baptist. He withdraws by boat to a lonely place apart. But when the crowds realize what’s happening, they follow him on foot, arriving at Jesus’ destination before he does.
So, get the scene in your mind: Jesus is grief-stricken. He wants to be alone, but when he pulls ashore, he’s greeted by a great throng of strangers. So what does he do? He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work, doing everything he can for them. He heals their sick.
I wonder whether each time Jesus healed someone, he felt power go out of him, as he did when the woman with the hemorrhage touched his robe? If so, imagine how drained he must have been after healing everybody in the town.
He fed them by multiplying the loaves and fish. Still, he wanted to be alone. Finally he was able to dismiss the crowd and to send his disciples off in the boat. And he went up the mountain to pray—and what happens? He sees the boat on the water being beaten by the waves. The disciples are in trouble! So he goes to them, walking on the water. When he gets into the boat, the wind stops. They arrive at their destination and it all begins again, with the crowds bringing him their sick.
At one point in Mark’s gospel, Mark describes Jesus (in chapter 4) [verse 35] as asleep on a cushion in the midst of a storm. The storm’s so bad that the disciples are afraid for their lives. And Jesus is asleep! It’s no wonder he was able to sleep through a gale. He was utterly exhausted! Read: “Father.”
He was literally pouring himself out for his people. Besides pouring himself out and healing and delivering people, he is teaching constantly. As it says in John 15 [verse 15], “For all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.” It must have taken an enormous effort to communicate everything his Father taught him.
Jesus withholds nothing. He doesn’t have a home and he’s left his family. He’s poor. I don’t think Jesus was poor because he was following some ideal of poverty: that poverty is a virtue. If Jesus had a dime in his pocket and he met somebody who needed it, he gave it to him. He had given everything away. He was poor because he was constantly giving. He wasn’t holding anything in reserve.
Did he raise every widow’s son? I doubt it. Did he heal every leper? Probably not. But you know what? He was doing the best he could; he was giving all.
Jesus was taking a tremendous risk. He was giving all. But all can be given in vain. Any parent or any lover knows this risk. Jesus was keenly aware of this. Jerusalem looks like it isn’t going to open its eyes. The future lies with the small band of disciples around Jesus. Jesus knows that; he can read the signs of the times. He’s no fool. He can see what’s going on here. Still, he asks, in a very poignant moment, “When the Son of Man comes . . . ”—that is, when he is crucified and is raised—“When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” [Lk. 18:8]. Will this all be for nothing? Could it be that nobody will catch on?
Depending on the response of those around him, it was possible that his self-gift could be rejected, and the work of salvation would have been at an end.
In fact, Judas does reject Jesus. There in the garden on the fateful night, Jesus was confronted with the tragic failure of his mission. His job was to save the world, and he couldn’t even hold together a band of 12 men! He’d been pouring out his life for three years, and it looked like his mission was going to end a tragic failure. He was at the end of his rope. What happens?
Because he must, because the situation demands it, he finds more that he can give and more that he can do. He can give his life. He can die.
But he’s not retreating; he goes after death and takes it captive. It’s an incredibly bold, risky move on his part. He still can’t make people do what they [don’t] want to do. But he can turn the tragedy of death into victory.
So, let me summarize. All throughout his ministry, Jesus was dealing with the reality of people’s freedom. He alters his plans on account of what other people do. He doesn’t have a plan; rather, he is always planning. What happens in his public ministry is shaped by each encounter along the way. The outcome of his mission is the people—is in the people’s hands. He is offering them life, but ultimately there is nothing he can do to cause people to accept what he is offering. He did the best he could. He did everything he could. But for some, his best wasn’t good enough.
What is happening all around Jesus matters to him. He isn’t walking through Galilee detached, always giving and never desiring anything in return. He was always giving, and what he gave was free, but people’s response to him mattered! It mattered very much. Because Jesus loves them, he gives his disciples a certain power over himself. The fulfillment of his desire is in their hands.
His life was not his own. He was literally pouring himself out for his people. He was utterly exhausted. Jesus withheld nothing. He was doing the best he could. He was giving all. Read: “Father.”
He was taking a tremendous risk, depending on the response of those around him, and it was possible that his self-gift would be rejected. He gets to the end of his rope, when all seems for naught. And he finds more he can give, and more he can do. At the end of his rope, he finds his greatest victory.
Amen.
[Applause.]
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