Genesis 8.20-9.17; Acts 17.22-31; John 14.15-21

Theologians over the last century have written about the preference of Christians for a gentle Jesus, a Jesus who is, in today’s speech, a bit of a wimp. Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, they say, is the image of Christ portrayed in many churches: a Jesus who is harmless and dull, who bores us instead of inspiring or exciting us, who stares passively into the distance instead of challenging the status quo. And it’s not just those who’ve been influenced by liberation theology- a relatively recent movement- who’ve criticised the Church in this way. In a very different context, Dorothy Sayers, a lay Christian writing at the beginning of the twentieth century, is more famous for her Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries than her essays. But she wrote in frustration in her book The Greatest Drama Ever Staged about this gentle Jesus: “We have very efficiently pared the claws of the Lion of Judah, certified him “meek and mild,” and recommended him as a fitting household pet for pale curates and pious old ladies”.

The image of curates and of old ladies has changed quite a bit since then- at least I hope it has- but the point still remains. In many churches, depictions of Jesus will mostly be composed, solemn and serene. And you don’t have to look too far to find this image in some of our most well known prayers and hymns. Generally we prefer the passage known as the Beatitudes- or “beautiful attitudes” as they’ve been called- to Jesus throwing the money changers out of the Temple court. Jesus inviting the little children to come to him has a more obvious appeal than his pronouncement “I come not to bring peace, but a sword”.

All of this resonates, in a strange kind of way, with the warning continually coming through our media, that as a nation our lifestyle choices are tending more and more towards inactivity and obesity. In our lives as in our faith, it‘s much easier to sit back and rest for awhile, instead of making the effort to be active.

On first reading, the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel are not immediately comforting. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” Jesus tells his disciples. There’s something disconcerting about that little word “if”: Jesus seems to be putting conditions on his love. We’ve all known people at some point in our lives who've talked as if their love for us was conditional: "If you really loved me, you’d..”. Jesus seems to expect something of his disciples. He seems to want them to do something in return for his love. He’s making demands of them.

The striking thing about this passage is that it seems to differ from the unconditional love, the comfort and reassurance, offered by Jesus in every gospel reading we’ve had since Easter Day.

• When he appeared to the weeping Mary Magdalene in the garden by the empty tomb, Jesus simply spoke her name. And she recognised him with joy.

• In John’s “Shepherd Discourse” that we heard a couple of weeks ago, the sheep hear the Shepherd’s voice. His words are alluring, welcoming and warm.

• In the “Doubting Thomas” passage Jesus doesn’t say “If you loved me, you wouldn’t make me show you my scars”. Instead he reveals himself to Thomas in a way that brings total reassurance.

• On the Emmaus Road, the despondency and discouragement of the disciples is turned to wonder at the presence of the risen Christ as he walks with them.

All of these readings offer words of comfort. They promise security. They speak of the loving goodness of the risen Jesus, the gentle saviour, who loved his disciples unconditionally. But then, in today’s reading, taking us back to a time immediately before his arrest in Gethsemane, there’s this big “if”. There may be absolute, unconditional love for us as far as God is concerned, but, as far as we’re concerned, Jesus poses a condition: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments”.

To know the Risen Lord in our lives, to experience the reassurance of God’s continuing presence with us, is vitally important. Nevertheless, to stop with the comforting words is to miss the message. The message of Jesus- indeed the message of the whole gospel- is clear when taken in its entirety: he expects something of us. Far from being meek and mild himself, he also doesn’t expect us to be. Our calling is his calling.

Later on in the same gospel reading, Jesus puts it another way: “They who love my commandments and keep them are those who love me; those who love me will be loved by my Father”. Like the covenant between God and Noah described in the reading from Genesis, this is a two-part deal. The responsibility goes both ways. There’s reciprocity, a mutual exchange. And there’s nothing at all sentimental about the kind of love Jesus is talking about here.

What might it mean for us to keep our side of the bargain, to keep Jesus’ commandment, to love one another as he has loved us? These are lofty words, but their meaning is quite simple. We can start with where we live and work and pray. In the context of our Cathedral congregation, we can, in the words of the French philosopher and mystic Simone Weil, pay each other the compliment of real attention. Spending five minutes listening to someone- and it doesn’t even have to be about something particularly deep- might make all the difference. We can love one another by not caricaturing or stereotyping one another. We can try to get to know at least some other people better. We can pray for our Cathedral congregation in general, and make a point of praying for some people in particular.

Perhaps instead of focusing on that word “if” we should concentrate more on seeing the commandment to love as a gift. So instead of assuming that Jesus wants a militaristic style of obedience, we’d do better to think of God’s commandments, right from the start, as guiding us in learning how to love him and each other. The Ten Commandments, and Jesus’ new commandment of love, are a gift that allows us to live a life- individually and corporately- that is consistent with the life that God wants for us. If we’re living in relationship to God, if we’ve discovered his love and his comfort for ourselves, it’s only natural that we will want to share this love in the way we live our lives. And if we’ve really experienced his love in our lives, the sign of this will be that it motivates us to take action.

When we follow God’s commandments as our guide and live the life of discipleship, it’s then that we’re living by God’s Spirit, the Spirit of truth. It is this Spirit who helps us to see and to respond to the activity of God in ourselves and in each other. Jesus uses a special word to describe the Spirit- he says that the Father will give us “another Advocate”. But the word he uses has a much richer meaning than that. It could also be translated “Comforter”, the Spirit giving us the extra strength we need, or as “helper”, giving God’s people the strength and energy we need to do what we have to do, to live for God and witness to his love in the world. The reference to the Holy Spirit that Jesus promises his disciples he will send of course reminds us that Ascension is coming up soon and that Pentecost is just around the corner. By assuring us of the continuity of God’s presence in our lives, Jesus is also reassuring us of the ongoing availability of God’s absolute and unconditional love. May we know the power and comfort of this love as we seek to serve him in each other and to act upon our faith.