Who is Jesus? That’s the question guiding our sermon

series these five weeks at Second Church. Last

Sunday, we focused on an exchange between Jesus

and a large crowd eager for miraculous provision.

They wanted the loaves and fish; Jesus offered himself.

I am the bread of life. This morning, it’s different.

We listen to a conversation between Jesus and his

disciples. This week there is no crowd. The setting is

intimate. Indeed, Jesus is speaking final words to his

dearest friends. There is a reason you are likely to hear

these verses in a cemetery. Jesus has gathered his

disciples again around a table, this time the Passover

meal. I imagine he spoke the words in a hushed tone.

Little Children, I am with you only a little longer. It is

interesting to watch as the disciples rapidly cycle

through the stages of grief in real time, right before

our eyes. There is denial. There is bargaining. There is

anger. Peter, as ever, leads the charge. “Lord, where

are you going? And why can I not follow you there?”

Recognizing the sadness and fear that often lies

beneath the surface of anger, Jesus offers comfort.

“Do not be afraid; don’t let your heart be troubled. I am

preparing a place for you. You know the way.”

Thomas is next in line. I imagine exasperation in his

voice. After all, we’ve been told that time is short,

answers still elusive. “Jesus, we have no idea what you

are talking about. We don’t know where you are going.

How can we know the way?”

I don’t know about you, but I can totally relate to

Thomas here. I prefer to know the plan. I prefer to

have a plan. I want an agenda for the meeting. I want a

map for the journey. I want a set of instructions for the

process at hand. I like five points, seven habits, nine

steps, and Ten Commandments.

Jesus has shared this heartbreaking, soul-shaking,

world-changing news, and Thomas just wants more

details. Jesus has talked about a place. Thomas wants

the address. Jesus speaks of a way. Thomas wants a

map. His question: How can we know the way?

Now, here I like to picture the look on the face of Jesus

as he responds. In the Gospel of Mark, there is this

wonderful encounter between Jesus and a young man

who asks, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” And

Mark paints the picture this way: Jesus looked at the

man and loved him. I think Jesus loved Thomas in this

moment. I believe it is out of love that he responds.

I am the way, the truth, and the life. In other words,

the answer to your question is right here in front of

you. It has always been in front of you. It comes in

relationship. No map. I am the way to God.

Philip, chimes in next with his own question, and so

we don’t get to hear how Thomas responded or even

how he felt. But I’m drawn to linger on that intimate

moment between Jesus and Thomas, those words

spoken in love to a grieving and anxious friend.

Thomas, I am the way. We do a disservice to this

encounter when we reduce the words to a secret plan

of salvation, or a systematic theology, or a definitive

statement on comparative religions. I’ve heard them

used that way. Perhaps you have too. Here’s the

problem. Those interpretations make the moment a

transaction, the exact opposite of what Jesus does.

Thomas wants the destination. Jesus says, “I am the

way.” Jesus says, “Follow me.”

I am aware that Jesus speaks another sentence.

No one comes to the Father except through me. He

speaks to friends in the grip of grief, preparing for an

overwhelming loss. He speaks to those who need to

know that this love can be trusted. I’m helped here by

an analogy I heard theologian Bill Placher give. Think

of it this way. A fearful child turns to his mother. “Do

you love me, Mommy?” And the mother replies, “Of

course I do. I love all children.” That’s not the most

helpful answer. Jesus here speaks not in ambiguous

or uncertain words but with the specificity of love in

the intimacy of relationship. This love can be trusted.

No one—nothing—can separate you from my love.

Let me be clear. I believe with all my heart that Jesus

is the way to God. I believe that Jesus offers the way

to discover our life’s purpose, to experience abundant

life now, and claim the promise of life eternal. When

I read these words in hospital rooms and standing

at gravesides, I know that I am speaking the gospel

truth. Do not be afraid. Jesus has prepared a place for

you. He is the way to God. He is the truth of God. He

is our life with God. Jesus intends these words to offer

assurance to his disciples.

I believe that Jesus is the path to God not because I

have explored every other road and found them all

lacking. I believe it because the witnesses of Jesus in

the community of faith have provided a compelling

and inspiring path for me. I resonate with the words

of a friend who says, “I didn’t choose Christian faith;

it chose me. As a child, I learned from my parents

and Sunday school teachers that God loves me. I

discovered that God knows me by name and claims

me as God’s own child.” My friend writes, “It has

always been easy for me to dance with the one who

brought me.”

Her words describe my journey. Still, four decades

in the Church have sometimes left me wishing we

followers of Jesus would spend less time obsessing

over secret plans, litmus tests, lists of names, and final

destinations and more time focused on the way of

Jesus. So let’s ask ourselves—what is the way of Jesus?

We might begin with what it is not. The way of Jesus is

not an express route that bypasses suffering, or gets

around grief, or eludes pain. The way of Jesus is not a

secret passage to permanent pleasure. The disciples

will soon learn this in their own experience—and so

will we. If the walk of faith asks nothing of you, if the

walk of faith confirms all your prior assumptions, it is

not the way of Jesus. Put another way, author Anne

Lamott writes, “You can safely assume that you have

created God in your image if it turns out your God

hates all the same people you hate.” You see, there is a

cost to following Jesus.

The way of Jesus is also not a highway. It is neither

arrow-straight nor crystal-clear. Our son Benjamin

loves mazes and dot-to-dot pictures, so we’ve been

collecting activity books filled with meandering paths,

crossroads, tangled webs, switchbacks, spirals,

labyrinths, and tough choices on which direction to

go. And this week it occurred to me, leafing through

one of those books, that the way of Jesus is more

like a maze than an interstate. We cannot always see

what’s just ahead of us. Sometimes—often, in my

case—we have to retrace our steps. Start over. Like

Ben, sometimes we need an eraser. We get frustrated.

We need to ask for help.

Jesus had no map for Thomas, no directions to

follow. But what Jesus offered Thomas, offers us,

is a guide through the maze of life. You see, the

way may be winding but it is not aimless. We don’t

need directions. We need to trust the one who says,

“Follow me. I am the way.”

The words of Jesus reframe our perspective. The

way to God is not found in abstract idea or wellformulated statements. Jesus is the way. He defines

truth. He is our life.

And when we trust in him, our way of life begins to

resemble his way of life. We will seek justice despite

opposition. We will practice kindness when it is hard.

We will walk with humility and grace. And when

the night is dark and the path unclear, we will keep

following his voice. We will keep walking. We will

keep hoping.

Perhaps, like the disciples, you want more

information, a roadmap, a plan. Perhaps, like the

disciples, you are tempted to stop where you are, to

be huddled in fear over what comes next. I’ve heard

those temptations. I’ve experienced that fear. I get it.

The allure of authoritarian absolutes is that they sort

everything out for us. Right and wrong. Enemy and

friend. Us and them. And, once sorted, they can be

evaluated. These praised, those judged. But here’s

a hard truth. Only an idol always answers. And the

answer is always yes. Yes, you are right. Yes, you are

the friend. They are the enemy. Living the way of Jesus

will always be more difficult than that. We will have to

retrace our steps, change our perspectives, hold our

tongues, and, yes, get out our erasers.

Sometimes we take steps forward when we aren’t

quite ready. We lean in, trust God, let go. Thomas

wanted a place, but Jesus offered the way.

You might know the name stuck. Early Christian

believers came to be called “people of the way.” They

were a community whose distinctiveness was found

not in identity markers but in unusual practices—

acts of sacrificial compassion, radical inclusion,

forgiveness, generosity, costly love. To be a disciple of

Jesus meant to be on the move. Still does.

Because if we stand still, frozen in place by the

ubiquity of uncertainty, or plagued by an aversion to

self-denial, if we stand still, we will lose sight of Jesus

soon enough. Listen. It is okay to change directions. It

is okay to start over. It is okay to admit that you were

wrong. It is okay to ask for help. As a community of

faith and as disciples of Jesus, we have to honestly

and repeatedly ask ourself—is our way in alignment

with the way of Jesus?

In the final analysis, it’s the only question that matters.

The only one that Jesus points to again and again and

again in the gospels. Friends, this is no time for fear. Do

not let your hearts be troubled. The road ahead may be

daunting and will surely ask much of us. But we have a

guide. He knows the way. He is the way. Amen.