'You did not choose me but I chose you.'

John’s Gospel 15.9-17: A Sermon

‘You did not choose me but I chose you.’

I wonder what you think when you hear these words of Jesus. ‘You did not choose me but I chose you.’ Perhaps you feel comforted, hearing these words as a classic reassurance from Christ. Perhaps, though, they are too comfortable. They are comfortable like an old jumper, and we find it hard to attend to them at all. Or, differently, perhaps they are words with dangerous or threatening undertones. If we do not choose Jesus, but he chooses us, then what becomes of our free will, our freedom, our own preferences and dreams about our lives? If we have no control, and God has it all, what are we saying about God, and can we really trust this God? Do we want to? Of course, many other responses are possible, and in truth we may each be a bit of a bundle of all of them.

‘You did not choose me, but I chose you.’ These are words I have quite a lot to do with. Let me explain. I trained for ordained ministry at Westcott House in Cambridge, and the chapel there is quite simple, austere even. It is not full of colours, images and symbols. It does though have one icon. It is of Christ (unsurprisingly), and Christ is holding and pointing to a Gospel text. That text – you’ll have guessed – is (slightly different translation): ‘Ye have not chosen me but I have chosen you’. And before I was ordained, I acquired my own icon of this image. And it is the icon I pray before twice a day, or whenever I pray formally at home.  

So, what is the right way to understand this much-used, much-heard, much- read text? Well, today we have allowed ourselves to hear it in context. We do need to hear the whole:

‘As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love… You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.’

Well, that’s not the ‘whole whole’, as it were. That’s my summary of the passage. The ‘whole whole’ would have to be the whole Gospel of John. But I am suggesting this gives us enough to get a richer sense of what is meant. Christ is telling us of his love. He is telling us of his friendship with us. It is a friendship where Christ converses with us, talks with us, uncovers truths for us, tells us intimate truths about ourselves, our world and God. So, whatever is going on, this is not some stern master, telling us we are his possession, for him to do with as he will. We are not merely useful instruments in someone else’s game. When Christ chooses us, it is not because of what he can get out of it. It is not for any ulterior motive, actually. It is out of delight.

Although Christ’s choosing us is not for any purpose as such, it does change things. It does mean that, the more we know that we are chosen, the more natural it is for us to bear fruit. This is not, notice, in the first place about us rushing around urgently doing good. It isn’t that we have to be driven by duty or guilt, in response to this knowledge. Yet still we are called upon to act, change, grow, engage with those around us and the world. It does involve effort, yes. But it is the kind of effort that can be described as bearing fruit. I’ll say that again: We are called to the kind of effort that can be described as bearing fruit. In other words, we don’t become different people - and we do not have to. On the contrary, we are learning how to be true to ourselves. We let our roots grow down deep into the earth of our own lives, and we grow - we let grow - the fruits which are our fruits, the fruits of our lives.

I hope that’s a reassurance for us. I am also pretty confident that there is something here which can encourage those around us, the wider world. I think many people would be intrigued if not excited, if they got some sense that there was a way for them to become more themselves. To grow into the life you were always meant to live, to live your own life, to bear the fruit which is properly yours, to be yourself. This is what Christ is offering. Can it not be what the Church offers?

‘You did not chose me, but I chose you.’ I chose you, because I love you, and because I want you to be – not my slaves, or servants or even my workers – but my friends, intimate friends. And I go on choosing you – until you realise – really get it - that I am your friend. And I choose you so that you can bear fruit. So that all your efforts will be true to you.

It happens that I heard this text very recently, on Friday. I was at a funeral mass, where this was selected as the gospel reading. Not surprisingly, the preacher said the passage is about love, and the love of Christ reflects and is reflected in the love of the woman who had died, and in particular in her motherly love for her son. Now, we all talk about love a lot. Preachers do it more than most. We do have to. We can’t quite stay silent on love. But the danger is that we soon cheapen the whole concept. Or – here’s a different point – the danger is that we give the impression we think we know what we are talking about. As if I can teach you about love!

But! But on this one occasion, I do think the preacher got something right about love. He said that the mother had loved the son, in always wanting and willing the best for him. To love is to will the best for the other. Yes, there’s emotional love. Yes, there is physical love. Yes, there is love for an ideal, or a cause, which can also be passionate and real, and do good. But the simplest way to think about love may well be: it is willing the best for the other – even if, of course, or especially when this means that along the way you yourself don’t get what you want.

To will the best for the other. Brothers and sisters, I am not claiming to be an expert on love, not human, nor divine for that matter. I struggle with the idea that God loves me, just as you might. It is not an idea that can make instant and utterly convincing sense in one go. We come to church – we become the church – because we know we need some kind of schooling in how to make sense of God’s love for us, those around us, strangers, our enemies and all creatures. But if perhaps we cannot yet bear the words of Christ: ‘You did not choose me, but I chose you’, then it may not be a bad thing if we hear instead: ‘I am choosing you because I want the best for you’. ‘I am choosing you because I want the best for you.’

If we really thought that God in Christ were choosing us now – here and now, even as he comes to us in word and sacrament – choosing us now, because he wills the best for us, how then would we live? That is how we are called to live.