The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. And for God to be glorified. But how? "Glorify" is a word that John uses a lot — but what does it mean? In our culture, it is often connected with military victory. But it means to clothe in splendor, to let the brightness be seen. We can think of it in terms of letting God be seen, in all of God's radiance. Jesus goes on to describe a very different way to glorify God. Jesus speaks in terms of his coming death, and that by being lifted up to be crucified, it would glorify, or reveal God. Jesus is describing a way that leads to eternal life. That leads not only to his coming resurrection, but that leads to the deep life of a disciple. And it is paradoxical. The glory of God will not be revealed in military victory, but in seeming defeat. And our lives are to be patterned after a seed that falls into the earth and must die in order to produce new life. This is about death — but not just death in its final form. It refers to the daily deaths that we face as we walk with Jesus.

We are asked to serve and follow. And we are asked to die to our own agendas, so that God's agenda can be done in our lives. And this is not easy — Jesus says that his soul is troubled. But he came to do God's will — and he was not going to give that up now. At this point in his ministry, crucifixion appeared likely — but Jesus trusted that God would be glorified in even this. God would be revealed in the midst of this agony and brokenness. But the purpose of this was not to affirm the value of suffering — but to glorify God. God would be shown as faithful and good, and God would have the victory.

What is it for us to serve and follow, and to live our lives in a way that God can be seen? It's often not the comfortable way — because it involves following God's agenda and not our own. It means dying daily to our own wishes. It means trusting God enough that we can, step by step, follow a way that is not yet clear to us. And it means moving out of our comfort zone.

In the township of the county I'm in, the men gather together for a 7am Saturday breakfast during Lent. It is amazingly well attended. And when we met at St. Peter's we varied the script a bit — because I did the prayers, and the speaker also was a woman. She told an amazing story, and God shone through. She was a state trooper, about my age. She told the story of a car accident in her 20's that should have ended her life. She told it both to testify to the presence of miracles in the midst of our daily lives, and to the tragic impact of teenage drinking and driving. But there was more to it. She has been telling this story for years, because she believes that this is God's agenda. And even so — she struggles to be willing to tell the story of her near death — and struggles even more to be willing to stand up in front of people. Because she has a fear of speaking in public. And she still speaks. God's presence can be seen in the strength she is given to do the difficult thing she feels led to do. And the impact on the people who hear her is visible. She is willing to bear much fruit, and is willing to do the daily dying it requires.

I remember my internship pastor telling our confirmation students that they shouldn't go into ministry if they didn't like to speak in public. Well, maybe that's good advice for those heading to college. But it just isn't how second career ministry works. It is far more realistic to say that God doesn't call the equipped, but God equips the called. Because God's strength is indeed shown in our weakness. And what this is about is willingness and trust. Willingness to follow God's agenda. And the trust that somehow God will be faithful and provide the strength. We are never alone.

Jesus' willingness was to do what only he could do — die for us as both truly human and truly God. Much of our dying will happen in small, daily events. But it leads to transformation. It leads to life — both abundant life now and eternal life. We become willing to allow God to change us in ways that we just can't imagine. It doesn't involve despising ourselves — that is not what hating our lives means. We are God's beloved, and transformation brings out all the wonder that God has created in us. It means setting aside our agenda, and living God's. It means keeping our focus on what matters. Jesus faced crucifixion. He had a choice — but he kept his eyes focused on what he came to do. And he allowed God's love to be seen, and God to prevail over evil. It certainly wasn't an obvious path for his followers. How could anything good come out of something so shameful and horrible? But it did. It was beyond their imagination — but it happened.

And then we come to that grain of wheat, that seed. It's a great image for where I live now — the fields are green with the plants from sprouting seeds. But maybe we should look at life from the point of view of the seed. Especially a Lutheran seed. Much is said about Lutherans not wanting to change. And it is indeed a characteristic of many of us. We will prefer the familiar, even if it is unhealthy. Even if we are cramped by what we are living with now — we don't dare break out and go in a new direction. The familiar is safer, and we don't dare to grow. Now think of this Lutheran seed. It can only remember being a seed. It is enclosed in a nice hard shell — very protective. It has been planted in the earth where it is dark and safe. It has no vision of life beyond the seed — this is normal, and there is no other. It does not know what it has been created and destined for. But think of that farmer's dismay and bewilderment when the warmth and the rains have come, and the fields remain brown. No plants are growing because the seed insists on remaining the same.

It's not that the seed is not valuable — it's just that there is more to come. Glorious transformation, a revealing of the power and love of God. But only if that seed is willing to try God's agenda. And it is usually a slow process of allowing God to work a little bit at a time. And it is a process that happens as our trust in God grows, because so often we just don't know what is possible with God. We are told in this passage of the things that lead to life: serving, following and dying. For this glorifies God, and it is this that we have been created for. And we will not be alone. As we walk with Christ in this Lenten season on his path to the cross, so Christ walks with us in our daily dyings and our transformation.

The things that we need to die to are the things that keep us from following on that path. They won't all seem to be bad things — many of them are good; they just get in the way. Jesus kept to his purpose: to do whatever it took to show God's love for us. Some of it will be obvious — and some of it will require trust because it makes no immediate sense to us. Why am I called to Michigan when I wanted to be in Indiana and there were plenty of places for me? Why am I going north when living in the south is such a delight? Why am I moving yet again? Surely this isn't necessary? And I have had many such questions along my way. Yet part of my trust comes from the number of times I have been able to look back and see how well something that seemed absurd turned out. And much of my trust comes in who I believe and have found God to be.

Faithful. Worthy of trust. Loving. Patient. The one who has a better idea of what I am made for and will find joy in than I do myself. Because somehow in this dying and coming to new life there is joy. After all — just how unhappy do those beautiful green plants look in the fields in spring?

AMEN