As I Have Loved You
January 14, 2024
Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek
Scripture Reading
John 13:31-38
31 When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him. 32 If God is glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself, and glorify him at once. 33 Little children, yet a little while I am with you. You will seek me, and just as I said to the Jews, so now I also say to you, ‘Where I am going you cannot come.’ 34 A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. 35 By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
36 Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, where are you going?” Jesus answered him, “Where I am going you cannot follow me now, but you will follow afterward.” 37 Peter said to him, “Lord, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.” 38 Jesus answered, “Will you lay down your life for me? Truly, truly, I say to you, the rooster will not crow till you have denied me three times.
We’ve been teaching through John’s gospel on and off for the last year. Not to be silly about it, but there is a connection with a certain television show and all the passages we’re preaching between now and Easter. Some of you will remember the television show called 24. The premise of the show was that each season of 24 depicted one day or 24 hours. These were no ordinary days. They were full of surprises; a lot happened before Jack Bauer saved everyone. Before streaming, viewers experienced a new hour in the day every Thursday night during a season. Preaching through this part of the gospel of John is like that. The first three years of Jesus’s ministry make up the first half of the book. The last half of the book, the half we’re in now, encompasses one week, but especially one night, of his life. So in a way, as we gather each Sunday from now until Easter, another hour or so will move forward as we journey with Jesus to the cross.
Let’s pray as we begin.
“Dear Heavenly Father . . .”
There are three surprises in this passage I want us to see. The first surprise is the surprise of our inability—not ability but inability.
1. The surprise of our inability
Last week, Pastor Ron started his sermon with a painting of the Last Supper. I want to start this week with a few pictures. This first picture is of Eliud Kipchoge. He’s the best marathon runner in the world. This particular picture is from an event where he broke the two-hour barrier in the marathon. He ran 26.1 miles in less than two hours. That’s the pace of every mile in 4:35 seconds. To be even more specific, that’s running just faster than 13 miles per hour. Most treadmills at gyms only go up to 12 miles per hour.
You can go to the next picture. This is a giant treadmill that an organization brought to an expo. And they put it at Kipchoge’s marathon pace and let people run at that pace. The goal was to help people appreciate the difference between Kipchoge and even good amateur runners. Amateur runners can’t run one mile at that speed. And average athletes can’t run at 30 seconds at that speed. But when they do try, they look not smooth and fast like Kipchoge but awkward and painful. For example, this is a screenshot I took right before this next picture. You can put that up. Poor guy.
Just so the illustration doesn’t get lost in the humor, in these pictures, one of those guys is Jesus, and one is Peter. Or maybe I should say, one of those guys is Jesus, and one of those guys is us. We’re prone to underestimate the difference between Jesus’s love and devotion and our love and devotion. That’s what happens to Peter in this passage. Let me reread vv. 36–38.
36 Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, where are you going?” Jesus answered him, “Where I am going you cannot follow me now, but you will follow afterward.” 37 Peter said to him, “Lord, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.” 38 Jesus answered, “Will you lay down your life for me? Truly, truly, I say to you, the rooster will not crow till you have denied me three times.
I might have started with a light-hearted, humorous illustration of Kipchoge and the treadmill. But this was serious. When Peter says, “I’ll lay down my life for you,” I think, as far as he knows, he will. And as much as he can mean it sincerely, he does. He doesn’t know yet what he’ll know soon, what all the disciples will know, what all of us should know. Peter tells Jesus, “I’ll lay down my life for you.” A few chapters later, Peter takes out his sword and tries to kill Roman soldiers (18:10–11). And not long after that, he makes three denials, in the last one using curse words and saying he doesn’t even know Jesus. A surprising change in just a few hours.
This would have been so sobering for Peter, especially as a leader of the group. He doesn’t know yet how big of a gap there is between Jesus’s love and devotion and his own love and devotion to God. The gap is surprisingly large.
Do you know this gap? I mean, do you know it not in some abstract way, as some sort of theological assertion—like, oh sure, Jesus is better than me—but do you know this gap deep in your bones? Do you know being face down on the treadmill in front of a crowd? Do people around you have a sense that you know this gap, or is there more of a righteous swagger? There is a kind of confidence that is of God and a kind that is not.
In all the political banter coming this year, will the world look at Christians and say, “Christians know the world needs to be different, and they also seem to know that they are part of the problem or could be part of the problem if it were not for the ways God changes them.” Is that how we’re perceived? Is that how you’re known in the workplace? Is that how your family perceives you, fathers, as someone who is aware of your need for Jesus? This is hard.
Whatever knowledge of his own inability Peter didn’t have before this moment, the Lord helped him begin to see his own inability, surprising and painful as it was for Peter’s pride. And think, too, that for the rest of Peter’s life, every time Peter woke up to the sound of a rooster, he would be reminded of his inability and failure. If that were the case, if he carried with him a sense of his need for Jesus, I’m not sure it would be all that bad. In the Old Testament, when a man named Jacob wrestled with God, God blessed him, but in that wrestling, Jacob also had his hip broken, and he walked for the rest of his life with a limp. And I’m not sure that was so bad for him. Or for us.
I don’t get the sense Jesus intends to rub Peter’s nose in this sin forever. It’s not about shame. Jesus is going to the cross to die so people, Peter included, can be forgiven. It’s just that Jesus knows it’s good for us to know that we do need to be forgiven. But part of appreciating Jesus requires seeing Jesus as different than us. Thinking back to the treadmill, those men and women who were brave enough to get on that treadmill learned more about the greatness of Kipchoge even as they learned about their own inability. It’s actually God’s grace to us when we see our own sin. Did you ever think about that? It is grace for God to cause you to see your own sins. It was for Peter.
2. The surprise of his love for the real us
Let’s talk about the next surprise in this passage: the surprise of God’s love for the real us. We’re surprised by our inability, yet we’re more surprised that God loves real us.
The story goes that there was once a preacher who went to the pulpit, looked out at the members of his church, and delivered a one-sentence sermon. “Ya’ll need to love one another,” he said, “for Jesus said that’s how the world will know we are real.” Then he sat down. The music team didn’t know what to do. They looked at each other, they looked at the music team leader. Reluctantly they went back on stage and led the closing song. The church was confused, but they thought, Okay, yeah, that was, you know, something. No one really said too much.
Next week, the story goes that the preacher gets up to the pulpit and delivers the same one-sentence sermon. “Ya’ll need to love one another,” he said, “for Jesus said that’s how the world will know we are real.” Well, this time after church, the other leaders and the pastor-elders went up to him and said, “Okay, like one time, you know, we get it, but what’s going on with these sermons?” The preacher said, “Well, they didn’t do it yet.” I guess that’s one way to highlight our inability.
I started that story with the lines, “The story goes that once there was a preacher,” which was my way of saying that I assume it’s a preaching urban legend. I bring it up to say that part of me likes this sermon, and part of me does not.
I like it because it’s bold and memorable, right? They’re not going to forget that message anytime soon. And maybe I also like it because that preacher got fifteen or twenty hours back in his workweek that he didn’t have before. So maybe I like that too.
But I don’t like it for the reason it’s not Christian preaching. Christian preaching is the announcement of good news. The word evangelical is built on the Greek word euangélion, which is the Greek word for good news. Evangelicals are supposed to be good news people. And evangelical preachers are supposed to be good news preachers. Yes yes yes, of course there is the bad news that we are sinners and, apart from our faith in God’s saving work in Christ, we are under God’s wrath, so that is bad news first. But what we are mainly to be about is not our inability and our duty but God’s love. That’s why that one-sentence sermon—memorable as it is—is not Christian preaching. When we come to this passage, sure, we need to see our inability, which we have done, and we also need to see the duty we are called to, which we’ll see in a moment, but we ought not to miss the surprise of God’s love for the real us in this passage. You see it, don’t you? Look again with me as I reread vv. 31–34.
31 When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him. 32 If God is glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself, and glorify him at once. 33 Little children, yet a little while I am with you. You will seek me, and just as I said to the Jews, so now I also say to you, ‘Where I am going you cannot come.’ 34 A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.
These verses speak of glory. Glory is greatness on display. Those lines about “now is the Son of Man glorified now, and God is glorified in him” are saying something that would have been crazy surprising to the disciples. Crucifixion was for losers and criminals, not glory. That’s why there is all this repetition about glory. Jesus was saying that his greatness and the Father’s greatness are now, surprisingly, most seen in the way that they draw near to you by dying for you when you don’t deserve it.
Now, we think of this as glorious. It’s hardly surprising to us anymore. We have crosses on steeples and crosses on jewelry and crosses on artwork and tattoos, and all sorts of other things. We do this because we now see the glory in the cross. But our seeing glory in the cross is only because God made something horrible glorious to us and for us.
Peter may have been surprised by his own inability, but Jesus wasn’t surprised. Think about that. This is really important. Peter may have been surprised by his own inability, but Jesus wasn’t surprised.
When Scott Elder and I were talking about this passage, he described Jesus as knowing that Peter and all the disciples would ghost him at the cross. Think about that. It’s not just that every follower deserts Jesus but that Jesus knows every follower will desert him. It’s not like from the cross Jesus was thinking, Man, I thought they would be here. With that in mind, consider the line, “As I have loved you.” When Jesus says, “love as I have loved you,” he means that he loves with knowledge of the real us. That is so surprising.
Church, Jesus loves the real you, not the one you pose to others. Jesus loves the real you, not your manicured image. Jesus knows and loves the real you, not the better-tomorrow version of you or some other future day, not the you who hopes to lose 30 lbs., not the version of you who will try harder this year to be a better father, not the you who has children in perfect obedience, not the you who has your struggles with lust under control, not the one who will successfully run a church or read the Bible in 2024. These might be great and holy endeavors, which God may help us do, but know this: Jesus loves not the Sunday best version of us but the real us.
Whether that surprises you anymore or not, it still surprises me. I hope it always does.
3. The surprise of our love for one another
And out of that love, God then calls us to love one another. That’s the next, and last point. The new commandment to love and the surprising effect that has on the watching world. Let me read vv. 34–35 again.
34 A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. 35 By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
If you ask the question, what’s new about the new commandment, it’s not as though God’s people previously were encouraged to hate one another. In the Old Testament, specifically in the book of Leviticus 19:18, the people of God were commanded, “you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” That verse may be familiar to you, not from Leviticus, but from the Gospels where it gets quoted. But it is actually first from the Old Testament. So, no, God’s people were not to hate each other. So what is new?
Let me read that verse again to see if you hear it. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Okay, now let me read Jesus’s words again: “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.”
Do you see how the intensity got ratcheted up? “Love your neighbor as you love yourself” vs. “love as I have loved you.” What is new about the new commandment is that we don’t just love as we love ourselves, but we are to be those who love as Jesus loves. Which means we must choose to sacrificially love other Christians as they are.
We choose to love other Christians, not as the version of them we hope to experience someday when they are better and more friendly and when they are more holy and more like Jesus and have their sin under control and their language less rough and their sexuality more aligned with God’s design and when they are not so wasteful with their money and their anger is less explosive. No, to love as Jesus loves means we choose to love the version of other Christians that they are right now. The real them, not the version of them that has it all together, not the Sunday version.
And that, church, would be surprising to the watching world, a world that only knows merit and right and earned love. This doesn’t mean we don’t want better for others, even as Jesus wanted better for Peter. But it means we can start with love and lead with love—now.
I don’t know the specific ways God might be pressing on you to apply this in your life. In general, I’ll say that one of the best ways to do this is by pursuing meaningful membership in a local church. I say this because in a local church, you’ll continually—how shall I say this?—get the opportunity to love those who are currently hard to love.
If you do this, I will also say that you might get the chance to watch people change. People do change, and they often do it when they experience the love of Jesus through his followers.
When you study this passage for a few weeks, you’ll see authors often quote a man named Tertullian. Tertullian is often referred to as a “third-century apologist.” Basically, Tertullian’s thing was to give a reasonable explanation of the Christian faith to the Romans and other non-Christians. He wrote that when the world saw how Christians loved each other, they said of the early Christians, “See, how they loved one another!” and added, “How ready they are to die for one another!”
Listen, we’ll likely never actually die for each other in our moment, but we can choose to love in sacrificial ways. And this can begin as soon as our service ends. Just choose to stay for an extra few minutes to talk to others. And for those of you who do that already, it’s wonderful and healthy to see how we all talk to our friends. I actually don’t want you to stop talking to your friends. Perhaps I could encourage you to consider making more friends and new friends. The way we welcome others into the friendship of the church will be surprising to the watching world.
Conclusion
As we close, I want to go back to something I said before. I said it might not be all that bad for Peter to hear the rooster crow each day and be reminded of his failure. That’s true, I suppose. Maybe you have some scars from sins in your past, perhaps even the present, that remind you of ways you’ve failed. You broke something in your anger or wrecked a car, you’re doing court-mandated community service, you’re paying child support, or your smartphone has a reminder of sin and temptation, just as the rooster was for Peter. Maybe family members who don’t visit at Christmas are an annual reminder of the pain you’ve caused each other, and that hurts.
But thinking about Peter, I bet that, over time, the rooster became more for Peter than a sign of his inability. I bet waking up to a rooster became a reminder of God’s love for the real him. Each morning he woke up being made freshly aware of his need for grace, and yet also freshly reminded that he had God’s grace.
That’s a very Christian way to live. And it changed him. There was a day thirty years after this day when Peter followed Jesus into death. Remember, Jesus hinted that later he would follow Jesus. Those are comments we’ll make another day as we get near the end of the gospel of John.
I want to end by saying today that your failure might be the avenue where God most powerfully pours his love and grace into you. If you would let him.
Let’s pray as the worship team prepares to lead us in song.
“Dear Heavenly Father . . .”
