Present Tense Faith
Present Tense Faith
John 5:17–30 Jesus invites us into a faith that is happening right now.
Present Tense Faith: More than certified
John 5:17–30 — Jesus claims to be our life-giver and the judge of our life, then invites us into a faith that is happening right now.
Somewhere in our house are my marriage certificate and the certificates proving my children's births. I have no idea where those might be — Melanie, I'm sure, knows precisely where they are. This week's text got me thinking: what if I treated fatherhood as if the point were flashing those certificates, proving they're mine without interacting with my family in any other way? I would be a pretty terrible dad. Because, while at some point I may need Melanie to find those documents, the day-to-day of being a father and husband consists of cooked meals, carpools, and presence.
At times I've treated faith like those certificates. I checked a box years ago, I'm a card-carrying Christian, that's all I need, right? I think some of us live as functional atheists, relying on an identity we no longer live out in the present.
John 5. Jesus has just healed a paralyzed man by the pool of Bethesda, on the Sabbath (he keeps doing that), and the religious leaders are furious. When confronted, Jesus doesn't back down: "My Father is working and so am I" (v17). It's easy to miss how audacious that sounded — every week in church we pray "Our Father in Heaven..." — of course God is Father, so what's the problem? Lots of rabbis called God Father collectively, but nobody walked around Galilee claiming God as his own the way Jesus just had. Jesus could have defused this moment — I only meant what you mean, that God made us all. But he was claiming something wholly unique. The leaders heard him exactly right, and they sought to kill him for it.
What comes next does not assuage their fears. John 5 is one of Jesus' longest speeches in the Gospel, and he makes some radical claims no mere human has any business making. He is the source and giver of life, right alongside the Father. He is also the judge at the end. And finally, he is deserving of the same honor we give our Heavenly Father.
How is the life-giver also our judge? I thought Jesus told Nicodemus he wasn't sent to judge, but to save (John 3:17). Think about oxygen. Every breath is an intake of life, but what would happen if I decided to stop breathing? The oxygen would become my judge, not because it's vindictive, but because access to this life draws a necessary line in the sand. In an even more profound and personal way, if I cut myself off from the life Jesus has within himself, I already stand on the other side of judgment.
Verse 27 brings even more clarity. The Father makes him judge because he is the Son of Man. Daniel 7 is clearly in the background. Daniel's apocalyptic vision sees the machinations of chaos and darkness as four terrible beasts — empires that rise and trample God's children. The Ancient of Days takes his seat, the books are opened, the court is in session. Then — unlooked for — one like a human being, a son of Adam, comes on the clouds next to the Ancient One and is given dominion and authority and honor. Evil and chaos are defeated, and they must be: God would not be good if the beasts were never judged. And somehow the one task God would share with no one, he shares with this more-than-human figure.
There's something even more intimate and personal in that title for me. Jesus is claiming to be the truly human one; the Gospel declares that the Word at the beginning, the spark of life that started the universe, took on our humanity and moved into the neighborhood. In Jesus we see the clearest face of God. As a parent, I balk when a stranger tries to tell me how to discipline my kids; I'm their dad, and that responsibility falls to me. In the same way, God does not judge us as some outsider, disconnected and indifferent. God became one of us and experienced life just as we do.
Most religions frame judgment day around an accounting question: do my good deeds outweigh my bad? Christianity asks a different question:
Will I recognize the face of my judge?
Some will come to that day and see a complete stranger, but the ones Jesus has called and carried will look up and know the face of our final judge. Frederick Dale Bruner put it beautifully: "Jesus does not eclipse God; no, he focuses him, he brings God down to us humanly, historically." An ancient heresy claimed Jesus came to rescue us from an evil god who made the world, but Jesus' words here do the exact opposite. He is showing us who the God of Israel has been the whole time.
In the middle of all this, I found my new favorite definition of a Christian. Verse 24 is often translated: "whoever hears my word and believes in the one who sent me has eternal life and won't come under judgment but has passed from death into life." Except the verbs in this statement are active and ongoing. It would be more accurate to say: whoever is hearing... is believing... has already and is continuing to experience a passing from death to life.
That is present tense faith. Not a box I checked years ago, not a certificate I bring out to prove my status, but an ongoing relationship of hearing, trusting, walking. The Gospel of John is filled with these sorts of descriptions. When Martha speaks of the future resurrection at the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus responds, "I am the resurrection"; when Thomas asks Jesus to show him the way, Jesus declares, "I am the way." Jesus tells us that faith is the ongoing posture of remaining, abiding, and obeying his word. I cling to Jesus as he clings to me.
So this week, stop and reflect. Where is God speaking that I am not listening? What are the ongoing patterns of my faith? How is Jesus inviting me to live out my relationship with God in the present tense?
