Many Dwelling Places: Jesus’ Promise of Belonging

Today’s Gospel is rather interesting, isn’t it? We’re mindful that it’s John’s Gospel, and John’s Gospel is the last of the four to be written. It’s also very different. Matthew, Mark, and Luke are what we call the synoptic Gospels—they look alike, sound alike, they tell the story of Jesus in a very similar way. John is doing something else. His Gospel is much more philosophical, much more theological, and often not so simple to understand. It asks us to listen a little more deeply, to think a little more carefully.

John’s Gospel and the “I Am”

In John’s Gospel, Jesus is most closely and consciously connected with God the Father. John does this with those powerful “I am” statements: “I am the way, I am the truth, I am the good shepherd, I am the bread of life.” I am, I am, I am. We know that “I am” is God’s own name, revealed to Moses in the burning bush. So throughout his Gospel, John is constantly tying Jesus to the Father, not as a vague resemblance but as a deep, living union.

A major issue for John’s community is that they’ve been thrown out of the synagogue. For many of us today, if we’re honest, going to church can feel optional. But for them, belonging to the synagogue was central. It was where you encountered God, where your identity and community were rooted. To be told, “You don’t belong here anymore,” because this Jesus movement was “too different,” was not a small thing. It was a source of real anguish and deep pain.

Into that pain, John proclaims a very simple summary of Jesus’ mission: “For God so loved the world that he sent his only Son, that all who believe in him, all who respond to him, might have eternal life—abundant life, true life.” That’s the heartbeat of John’s Gospel.

The Sheep Gate and the Farewell

Last week we heard how Jesus described himself as the one who lies at the entrance and exit of the sheepfold. We reflected on Jesus as the sheep gate, the one who decides who’s in and who’s out—not the rabbinic leaders, not the Pharisees, not any religious gatekeepers. Jesus is the shepherd who lets the sheep in and out, the one true gate.

Today’s Gospel is very much in the same spirit. It takes place during the Last Supper and is part of what we call the farewell discourse. For John, these are the “last words,” so to speak—the things that matter most. Think of it this way: the night before you die, if there’s anything you really need to say, you’d better say it then, because after that it’s too late. So Jesus is giving his final, deeply spiritual, profoundly theological message to his friends.

He begins with a line many of us know well: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” We hear this often at funerals, and we tend to hear it as, “In heaven, there are lots of rooms and everyone’s having a party.” But that’s not at all what it meant to John’s community, especially those who had just been expelled from the synagogues they thought of as God’s house.

God’s House and Being Thrown Out

When I was growing up, we called this place—church—“God’s house.” Right? Since then, I’ve learned to say this is our house, where we gather to worship God. But as a child, I was taught that the church building is where God lives.

For ancient Judaism, that sense was very real. The Temple in Jerusalem was God’s house, the place where God dwelt and where people encountered the Holy One. But when John writes his Gospel, the Temple has been destroyed. In that context, the synagogue becomes “God’s house”—the local place where the community gathers to encounter God. Now imagine: not only is the Temple gone, but this small, Jesus-believing community is being thrown out of these “little temples,” the synagogues. They are being evicted from what they believed was God’s house.

Into that painful experience, John has Jesus say, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” Not just one Temple. Not just one synagogue. Many dwelling places. It’s a deeply consoling, very theological word for people who have just been told, “You can’t be here anymore.” Jesus is telling them: you are not far from God because someone locked a door on you. The Father’s house is bigger than that.

“I Am the Way, the Truth, and the Life”

Then we hear that famous line: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but through me.” Sadly, we Christians have sometimes used this verse as a weapon, an “exclusionary” verse, to keep other people out.

Let me tell you a story. Many years ago, I took a local pastor out to lunch. I guess I was on the unofficial “pastor welcoming committee”—and remember, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. One of my goals was to invite him to join FAITH, our local organization that stands for Fighting Against Injustice Toward Harmony. The idea is simple: the more congregations that participate, the more power we have together to work for justice in the community.

So I took him out, and he knew my reputation—“Phil, Father Phil,” whatever he called me. He asked, “Are there Muslims in your group?” I said, “Yeah.” “Are there Jews in your group?” I said, “Yeah.” And he replied, “Well, I can’t be part of that.” I said, “What? What are you talking about?” He answered, “They’re not saved. We can’t possibly be part of an organization that has unsaved people.” I said, “You mean to tell me that God’s going to send all the Muslims in the world to hell?” He said, “Yeah.” “And all the Hindus?” “Yeah.”

I found it really hard to understand, but he’s not the only one. When we used to have the National Day of Prayer, it was all Christians, doing Christian things with other Christians. When I made it interfaith—when we invited Hindus, Muslims, Baha’is, Christian Scientists, and others to pray with us—some Christians refused. “We can’t pray with those people,” they said. Those people. That phrase pushes all my buttons. “They can’t pray,” they insisted. “They’re not praying to God.”

What’s happening there? Many of these folks take this one sentence from John—“no one comes to the Father but through me”—rip it out of the farewell discourse, rip it out of the whole vision of John’s Gospel, and turn it into what I call a “clobber verse.” A clobber verse is a line we use to beat people up, to say, “We’re in and you’re out.”^[1]

But in John’s context, this sentence is meant to include people. It’s meant to say to a marginalized, rejected community, “You are not out; you are in, because you come to the Father through me.” Jesus is not handing us a club to swing at other religions. He is offering a door of hope to people who have just had one door after another slammed in their faces.^[1]

Jesus says, “When you lose your way, I am the way. When you can’t discern the truth—especially in these confusing times—I am the truth. When you feel like you don’t have any life in you, I am the life.” He is the way, the truth, and the life. You come to the Father through him, and he is the sheep gate who refuses to shut people out. He is the gate who lets the sheep in, not the one who keeps them away.

Vatican II, Other Faiths, and God’s Love

If you know God at all, you know this: a billion Muslims are not going to hell because they pray five times a day. A billion Hindus are not going to hell because they were born into Hindu families. Most of us, if we had been born somewhere else, we would have been something else. If you know God’s love, you can’t read this Gospel as if everyone goes to hell but you. If that’s how you’re reading it, you’re reading it wrong.

In our own Catholic Church, it took us a while to really articulate this clearly. But in Vatican II, there is a beautiful document called Nostra Aetate—“In Our Time.” It says there is goodness in Muslims, goodness in Hindus, goodness in our Jewish brothers and sisters, goodness in other faith traditions. And we are called to see, respect, and connect with that goodness.

In recent years, the Pope has lived this out in a powerful way, especially in his visits to Africa, where he has met with large Muslim communities and their leaders, prayed with them, walked with them, and spoken about how Muslims and Catholics can live together in peace. It is a long way from the Crusades, thanks be to God. We are growing. We are understanding better what it means to live in relationship with our Muslim neighbors and people of other faiths. When you get to  know people and love people and build real relationships, the stereotypes fall away.

Many Dwelling Places: Where God Lives Now

Let’s come back to the Father’s house and its many dwelling places. The word “dwelling” is really important in John’s Gospel. So is the word “abiding.” “Whoever abides in me, I abide in them.” “Whoever dwells in me, I dwell in them.” “The Father dwells in me; I dwell in the Father; you abide in me; and when you abide in me, you abide in the Father.” Let that twist your brain around for a moment.

So where is God’s house now? Where does God dwell? If God dwells in Jesus, and Jesus dwells in God, and Jesus dwells in us, and we dwell in Jesus, then what does that make us? It makes us housing. We are God’s house.

“My Father’s house has many dwelling places.” Those dwelling places are not just stone buildings, not just temples and synagogues and churches. Those dwelling places are people. God’s house has many dwelling places, and those dwelling places are all of us. We are God’s house. We are where God has chosen to dwell. Isn’t that awesome? Isn’t that powerful?

To recognize that you are the dwelling place of God changes everything. If God dwells in Jesus and Jesus dwells in you, then you are called to carry that presence into the world. You are sent to bring God’s dwelling, God’s presence, into your neighborhood, your workplace, your family, our city. You are a living “room” in the Father’s great house, one of the many dwelling places where love, mercy, justice, and compassion are meant to be found.

So when you hear Jesus say, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places,” hear him saying to you: “You are one of them.” And when he says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” hear him not as closing doors, but as opening his heart to you and to the whole hurting world, drawing everyone through him into the loving heart of the Father.