Mission Accomplished?

May 28, 2017

The Rev'd Richard Smith, Ph.D.

By the way our patron John the Evangelist tells today’s gospel story, you’d think it was “mission accomplished”.

It’s the night before Jesus dies, and he’s summarizing his whole life and its meaning. Jesus is praying, and he says to his Father, “I glorified you on earth by finishing the work you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory I had in your presence before the world existed.”

You’d think Jesus had lived his life from one glory to another, and if that’s what St. John is trying to say here, then I'd like to know what he was smoking when he wrote this story.

Because by most accounts, Jesus’ life was not what you’d call a glorious success. The religious elite did not accept his message. One of his disciples betrayed him, another denied him, the rest fled. He was executed with criminals, mocked by both soldiers and priests, abandoned and alone, his body writhing in pain. This is the social truth of Jesus’ life, and it’s not a pretty picture, certainly not one of glorious accomplishment.

It might have been different had he died pain-free, in the fullness of years, with trophies lining the fireplace mantle, applauded by his contemporaries, with family and friends all gathered around, and leaving an abundant inheritance. That would be an accomplished life. But that is hardly the story of Jesus.

So this passage opens the question of how to measure a life. Deep down, what does a successful life look like?

My guess is John in this gospel is pushing us to measure our lives not in the social and economic terms we generally use, but in spiritual terms. Measuring life in such spiritual terms requires some radical rethinking about life and what counts as success.

Because life is not about the length of days or the magnitude of accomplishments or money. There’s the story of Alexander the Great who, after conquering all the known world, sat atop his horse and wept, because there was nothig left to conquer. At our deepest level, we are spiritual creatures, and our hearts can’t be fully satisfied by the number of our accomplishments or toys or kudos.

Our mission in this life is to release divine love into the world. This is the criterion by which we measure a successful life: by how we love.

Perhaps you saw the Facebook photo of 23-year-old Taliesin Myrddin Namkai-Meche, a recent graduate of Reed College. The photo shows a smiling young man with flowing red hair, mortar board on his head, and wearing his graduation gown, just setting out on his adult life. Next to the photo, his mother posted these words: “My dear baby boy passed on yesterday while protecting two young Muslim girls from a racist man on the train in Portland. He was a hero and will remain a hero on the other side of the veil. Shining bright star I love you forever.”

Taliesin, along with two other men, had come to the defense of two teenage girls--one black, the other Muslim wearing a hijab. The assailant pulled out a knife and stabbed the three defenders, killing Taliesin and one other man.

Taliesin’s considerable potential for contributing to the world was only partially realized. How can we say of such a life, “It is finished, it is complete”?
 
I know almost nothing about Taliesin, the young man in Portland, but from a spiritual perspective, his death was an hour of revelation, a moment when God’s love was released into the world. That young man’s life, like that of Jesus, was so short, with so many dreams left undone. And yet, on the deepest level his life was a complete success, because, like Jesus, Taliesin loved. He accomplished what he was sent here for. He loved.

Each of us is a beloved child close to the heart of God. This is our deepest identity, who we are at the core, beloved children of God. The adventure of life is to live out this identity.

This identity may shine out once or many times. Whenever we live out this identity, whenever we release this love in the world, whether at the hour of death like Taliesin or at any hour, it is a divine revelation; we have in that moment accomplished the work we were sent here to do.

As strange as the words of Jesus’ prayer may sound at first, they are words our hearts eagerly await. They reflect something more than the usual measures of success our culture offers.

The prayer of Jesus in today’s gospel shows a hidden spiritual reality difficult to see amid the rat race and noise of our social lives: that each of us, every person, is a mission of love meant to stir love in others. When this happens, God is glorified, the mission is accomplished, life is complete.

Can we believe this?