If the preacher wants to strengthen the connection between the gospel lesson and the festival of Pentecost, she may choose to read the parenthetically attached verses (vv. 25-27), which strengthen the promise and describe further the role of the Advocate, first identified in verse 16. Of course, those three additional verses were at the center of our proclamation for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, just two weeks ago. If one did not opt to approach the text through the Spirit’s role in remembrance on that Sunday, this would perhaps be a good Sunday (maybe an even better one) on which to do so. Not only does such a tack afford a connection with Pentecost, but in the United States it also enables an appropriate cultural curtsy toward the remembrance at the center of Memorial Day weekend. Our memories form and shape us, as do those parts of our past that we have let slip away into the ether of our forgetfulness.

If one chooses to read only the shorter version of the lection, of course, it is still quite possible to take the bridge to Pentecost. Indeed, the gospel text may help clarify the role of the Holy Spirit for those in the congregation whose understanding of the Holy Spirit is limited to the annual reading from Acts 2, on the one hand, and occasional experiences of charismatic worship on the other.

Alternatively, the exchange between Philip and Jesus is also worth some homiletic wrestling. I can imagine letting the liturgy build the Pentecost mood on this day, touching briefly on the meaning of the festival in the homily, and then investing most of my sermon time in dealing with Philip’s request of Jesus. It is Philip who serves as foil to Jesus’ instruction in this encounter, but we should not be too hard on him; after all, he makes an earnest plea that is at the heart of every faithful quest. "Show us the Father," he says, "and we will be satisfied."(v. 8) Show us God, and that will be enough for us. We want to see God. All of us.

Perhaps because he recognizes the universality of Peter’s request, Jesus’ expression of disappointment in response is muted. "Have you been with me all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?" (v. 9). The preacher might pause for a moment at this point to underscore the broad sweep of disappointment implied in Jesus’ response. It is not just Philip who has missed the point. Jesus’ reproach lays bare the faithlessness of every generation of would-be followers, even our own inability to see Jesus, as Carl Bridges puts it, as "God with a human face" (See Exegesis).

Time could be devoted to lifting up those places where, in seeing Jesus, the disciples had seen God. There was that day when Jesus met an invalid at the pool, and Jesus spoke to him, saying simply, "Take up your mat and walk." There was the day when the children were gathering around Jesus, being children as children will do; it had bothered the disciples, and they had asked the mothers to take them home, but then Jesus had said that the kingdom was for the children, too. There was a leper, who approached Jesus for restoration, and Jesus reached out and touched him—touched the unclean one—and sent him on his way, healed. There was a supper, when Jesus girded himself with a towel and began to wash the disciples’ feet. There were, of course, all the stories and the parables, when Jesus spoke about the nature of the Kingdom—stories about prodigals and Samaritans and rich persons and poor persons. There were all of those times and a hundred more. And Philip said, "Yes, yes, but show us God. Show us God."12

Upon later reflection, after Christ’s resurrection, surely it must have hit Philip. Having known Jesus—having bathed in the comfort of his promises, having chafed under the prodding of his admonitions, having been transfixed and perplexed by his parables, and having stood in awe before his manifestation of glory—how could he have failed to see in Christ’s face God’s face—in Christ’s love and compassion and grace, God’s? Even today, centuries removed from that intimate conversation between Teacher and disciple, they are questions that haunt the church—Jesus’ explicit response to Philip and the unspoken question it raised, which all of us must answer.

Maybe that is where the Spirit comes in. Just as the Spirit brought tongues and ears that all could hear the Gospel in Jerusalem, maybe the Spirit is also at work to give us eyes to see what is in plain view. Perhaps part of the Spirit’s role is to help us name our experiences of calling and culpability and grace as experiences of God. This is the "Spirit of truth," after all—the One whose truth-telling enables our own.

Robert E. Dunham

12. Fifteen years ago at a preaching seminar I heard Fred Craddock use a similar approach to this text, with more elaboration and humor.