Sermon by The Very Rev Chris Yaw, 5/17/2026, Easter 7
Lessons:
John 17:1-13, Ascension Sunday
Good morning and Happy Ascension Sunday!
And I’d like to start with a familiar sight for the “kid” inside all of us!
(STEVE PUTS OPERATION 1 IMAGE ON SCREEN)
Steve, can you put this image on the screen- and
Can anybody tell me the name of this popular board game?
And can anybody join me in confessing that, like me, you are not a skilled surgeon – and that your only real-world experience with surgery came from the plastic patient you see here…
Now for 10 points – can anybody give me the name of this patient?
He’s Cavity Sam!
I’ve always liked the expression of concern on his face.
And at first I thought it was because of the anticipation he has over the 12 different surgeries that are about to be performed on him –
But that’s not it –
It’s the fact that he hasn’t been given anesthesia!
He’s wide awake!##
(STEVE TAKES DOWN THE PICTURE)
We can give credit for this game to an inventor named John Spinello – who in 1964 came up with the basic idea –
Spinello sold this idea to a toy company that has sold 45 million copies of this game.
Guess how much Spinello got?
$500.
Would you be mad – I would be – But, surprisingly, not Spinello.
Friends say was never bitter about it - and instead of lamenting over all the money from his game he didn’t make – He chose to concentrate on all the laughter, fun, and human connection his game did make.
Because it’s a game that binds us by the sheer stress of it.
We approach ‘Operation’ cautiously – with that a pair of tweezers in our trembling hands – mustering up just enough nerve not to betray you, as you try to remove the “funny bone” or the “bread basket” without touching the sides.
And if you do… BZZZZT!
The nose lights up, the room erupts, and your dignity quietly exits the building.
It’s a little horrifying when you think about it.
And yet, in a strange way, it’s also a perfect image for how many of us live our lives.
Anxious.
Tense.
Wound up.
Hoping we don’t hit the buzzer.
Hoping we can get through this delicate business of living without everything lighting up and going sideways. Now hold that image for a moment, because I think it helps us step into Ascension Sunday in a way that’s honest yet hopeful – authentic, and inspiring.
I’ve lived in a few different cities.
I’ve worked in news and entertainment.
And over the years, I’ve had the chance to meet a handful of notable people.
Not many.
But enough that occasionally my kids will see someone on TV and say,
“Oh, you know them, right, Dad?”
And sometimes, they’re right.
But let’s be clear about what that means.
When I say I “know” a celebrity, I mean I shook their hand - once.
I interviewed them for seven minutes.
I stood near them at a party where the guacamole was better than the conversation.
It’s what you might call a one-directional relationship.
They do not remember me.
At all.
But I remember them. Vividly.
The term is a mono-social relationship sort of a …mono-social knowing.
And if I compare that to how I know my wife, or my children, or a dear friend, the difference isn’t just noticeable. It’s immeasurable.
Same word. - “Know.” - Entirely different reality.
And that’s where Jesus takes us in today’s Gospel.
In John 17, Jesus says something astonishing.
He gives us a definition of eternal life.
Not a metaphor.
Not an abstract image.
Not a hint:
A definition.
“This is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”
Not “eternal life is a place.”
Not “eternal life is what happens after you die.”
Not “eternal life is clouds, harps and unlimited Sander’s Hot Fudge Cream Puff Sundaes.”
Eternal life, Jesus says, is knowing God.
And suddenly, everything shifts.
Because now the question is not, “Where am I going someday?”
The question is, “How deeply do I know God…right now?”
But we have to be careful here, because “knowing” can be a slippery word.
We know our mail carrier. We know our barista.
We know the neighbor who waves at us, but whose name we’re still not entirely sure about.
And then we know the people who have seen us at our best and our worst.
The people who know what we’re afraid of.
The people who know what we hope for.
The people who can finish our sentences or call us out when we’re kidding ourselves.
Same word.
Entirely different depth.
Jesus is not talking about the first kind of knowing.
He’s not inviting us into a polite acquaintance with God.
A handshake faith.
A “nice to see you on Sundays” relationship.
He’s talking about the kind of knowing that changes you.
The kind that grows.
The kind that deepens.
The kind that takes time, intention, and attention.
Now here’s where Ascension Sunday gets interesting.
Because on the surface, the Ascension feels like Jesus leaving.
Like a departure. Like the curtain closing.
Jesus rises.
The disciples stare upward.
And if we’re honest, part of us might want to say,
“Wait…you’re going where?”
But the Ascension is not about Jesus becoming distant.
It’s about Jesus becoming available in a new way.
Not confined to one place.
Not limited to one group.
Not bound by geography or time.
The Ascension is not Jesus stepping away from relationship.
It’s Jesus expanding it.
Which means that the invitation to know God is not diminished.
It’s intensified.
And this is where our image of Operation comes back.
Because if we’re honest, many of us approach our relationship with God like that board game.
Carefully. Cautiously.
Hoping not to mess up.
Hoping not to hit the buzzer.
We think, “If I say the right prayers…if I do the right things…if I avoid the obvious mistakes…maybe I’ll get through this.”
“God is taking notes on me here – and if I’ve crossed the line, broken a commandment, or fallen into temptation – I’m going to get zapped!”
But that’s not relationship.
That’s anxiety dressed up as faith.
And it’s not what Jesus is offering.
Peter, in our second reading, nudges us in a different direction.
He says, “Discipline yourselves. Keep alert.”
Not because God is waiting to zap you like Cavity Sam.
But because real relationship requires attention.
You don’t accidentally grow close to someone. You don’t drift into deep knowing.
It takes intention. It takes presence.
It takes a willingness to show up again and again, even when your hands are a little shaky.
So what does it actually look like to know God?
It looks like prayer that is less about performance and more about honesty.
It looks like Scripture that is less about checking a box and more about listening for a voice.
It looks like paying attention to where God is already moving in your life, often in quiet, ordinary ways. It looks like choosing, again and again, to turn toward God instead of away.
Not perfectly. Not flawlessly. But intentionally.
Let me say it this way.
You can know about God the way you know a celebrity.
You can quote things. You can recognize the name.
You can even feel a kind of connection.
But that’s not what Jesus is talking about.
Jesus is inviting you and me into the kind of knowing where God becomes as real to us as the people we love most.
Where God’s presence is not abstract, but experienced.
Where faith is not just something we think about, but something we live inside.
And here’s the quiet miracle of it all.
Eternal life, according to Jesus, is not something we have to wait for.
It’s something we begin living now – as we leave our pews and exit the building.
Every time we deepen that relationship.
Every time we choose awareness over distraction.
Every time we turn our attention toward God.
That’s eternal life breaking in.
Not someday.
Today.
Now, I don’t want to pretend this is easy.
Because life is still complicated. The world is still buzzing.
There are still moments when it feels like everything is on the edge of setting off the alarm.
The temptation to fill our days with a tsunami of other things – life’s distractions and detours – is massive.
We still live in that space where our hands tremble a bit.
Where we’re not always sure we’re getting it right.
But here’s the difference.
We’re not in this by ourselves – the Holy Spirit – promised then, and fulfilled now, is God with us.
So we are not performing surgery on ourselves. We are not lying on the table alone.
We are in relationship with a God who already knows us.
Completely. Fully. Without illusion.
And we know the invitation is not to impress God.
It’s to know God.
And to be known.
Speaking of ‘operations’ – I think we all know that for most of human history, surgery happened without anesthesia
In other words, things were a lot more painful than we sometimes imagine.
And maybe that’s a small metaphor for faith as well.
We often imagine that knowing God should remove all discomfort – that God is that big nurse anesthetist in the sky making everything pain-free…
All uncertainty. All difficulty. Gone!
But what Jesus offers is not a pain-free life.
He offers a life that is filled with presence.
Strength.
Courage.
Endurance.
A life where we are not alone on the table.
A life where we have someone to lean on.
A life where the One who knows us best, is also the One who loves us most.
So, as we stand here on Ascension Sunday, with Jesus rising and the disciples staring upward, We hear the chastisement of the angels who read the question on their foreheads:
“Where did he go?”
But maybe the real question is, “How will we know him now?”
Will we settle for acquaintance?
A distant recognition?
A once-in-a-while connection?
Or will we step into the deeper knowing that Jesus calls eternal life?
Because the invitation is open.
Right here.
Right now.
In the middle of your ordinary, buzzy, chaotic life.
To know God.
To be known by God.
And in that knowing, to begin living the very life you may have thought was only reserved for heaven.
Amen.