Saturday, May 2, 2026

Easter 5


“It’s in the syllabus!”
This is something professors repeat constantly;
some have even gotten it printed on tee-shirts.
The syllabus is the carefully designed document
that outlines the goals of the course
and the means by which those goals 
are to be attained:
readings and assignments and policies.
You typically go over it 
on the first day of class,
and tell students to look there first
if they have a question about anything.

Then, over the course of the semester,
usually when a test is coming up,
students ask you questions
that are already clearly answered in the syllabus.
It is as if this document does not exist for them,
or maybe it’s just easier to ask the professor,
and you begin to wonder what the point was 
of the hours spent carefully laying out
the course goals and methods,
and so you reply to these questions,
with barely concealed exasperation,
“It’s in the syllabus!”
And then you go ahead 
and answer the questions anyway.

I sort of imagine this is how 
Jesus might have felt when, 
at the moment that his hour had come,
Thomas and Phillip pop up
with the most basic of questions.
Jesus called the disciples to follow him,
and now Thomas claims 
that he does not know the way.
Jesus revealed divine power
through his signs and miracles,
and now Phillip asks 
to be shown the Father.
When Jesus says, 
“Have I been with you for so long a time
and you still do not know me?”
I hear him saying something like, 
“It’s in the syllabus!”
I have laid all this out so carefully for you:
in telling you that those who follow me
will walk in the light, for I am light;
in telling you that I am the good shepherd
who guides and guards God’s flock;
in turning water to wine;
in feeding multitudes;
in opening the eyes of the blind;
in raising Lazarus from the dead.
And still, you do not know me?
Now you ask me about the way,
now you ask me to show you the Father,
when the final test is upon us?
It’s in the syllabus, guys.

But, like any good teacher, 
Jesus does not let exasperation 
get the best of him.
Like any good teacher he knows that, 
as carefully as you may spell out
the means and ends of the course,
students tend not to take in information
until it becomes relevant to them.
And it typically becomes relevant to them
when the time of testing has arrived.
So too with the disciples:
all that Jesus has said and shown to them
seems to have washed over them to no effect.
But now that the hour has come
and they are gathered in the upper room
on the night in which he will be
betrayed and arrested,
now they ask questions:
How will we know the way?
How can we see the Father?
The answers may be in the syllabus 
of Jesus’ words and signs,
but it is only at 
the final moment of testing
that the disciples begin 
to have the questions to those answers.
And so he answers their questions
in some of his most eloquent and enigmatic 
expressions of his own identity:
“I am the way and the truth and the life”;
“I am in the Father and the Father is in me.”

For those with faith,
for those who sense 
that the hour of testing is near
and that they need 
to know the way forward,
for those who dare to ask,
Jesus can become the cornerstone
around whom their spiritual dwelling 
can take shape;
for those without faith, 
those who are not seeking,
those who think there is always more time,
those who think the path and goal are clear,
Jesus is merely a stone of stumbling.
This suggests that faith may often be more 
about asking questions than possessing answers.
Though Jesus might have felt the impulse
to reply to Thomas and Phillip’s questions
by growling “It’s in the syllabus!”
he also sees that they are finally truly seeking,
that they want to know the goal 
and the way to get there.
Even as they question, he tells them, 
“You have faith in God,”
and he bids them,  
“have faith also in me.”

For us too, 
it is often only when we sense 
that the hour of testing is upon us,
when we want to know what it is 
that is worth living and dying for,
that we get around to asking 
the essential questions.
It is often when confronted 
with illness or death,
or when we struggle fruitlessly 
against the world’s evils,
when we have stumbled one time too many
and realize we do not know the way,
that we finally ask the questions
to which Jesus has been the answer all along.

And even if the answer has always been there,
spelled out in the syllabus 
of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection,
it is better to ask than not to ask.
For like any good teacher,
Jesus does not scorn our questions.
Indeed, he joyfully answers them
by welcoming us to enter 
into his risen life,
the eternal dwelling he 
has gone to prepare for us,
the glory that lies on the other side
of the hour of testing—
the enduringly mysterious answer 
to all our questions
about life and death 
and meaning and purpose.
So let us seek him fearlessly
in our hour of testing, 
let us seek the one who is 
the way, the truth, and the life,
who is calling us out of darkness into light,
praying that God, who is merciful,
will have mercy on us all.