A Great Goodbye
Original sermon given on The Sixth Sunday of Easter, May 10, 2026 written and delivered by Pastor Jeff Leininger at First Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church.
Watch the sermon live.
“A Great Goodbye”
John 14.15-21
A Great Goodbye
In the name of the Living God and the risen Christ. Amen.
How are you at goodbyes? Some people are able to roll with them pretty well — not a lot of time needed for chit-chat, long hugs, tears or regrets. Just get into the car, give a quick wave, and off you go. Others tend to drag it out — mark the moment, give a gift or card, say your piece, solve any unresolved issues, a long-lingering hug and perhaps tears mixed with laughter.
We native Minnesotans are famous for our long goodbyes (although I’m told that the Michiganders are now trying to compete for first place. No chance!). If you want to get out of your in-law’s place in Minnesota, you’ve got to be strategic. Start early. Know how to finish your drink; rattle the car keys a bit; say, “Whelp” a half-dozen times; stand up; work your way out of the living room; get your coat, discuss the weather… a lot; say “no” again to the leftovers in the Tupperware; eventually say “yes” to the leftovers; arrange a time when you can return the Tupperware; slowly make your way down the sidewalk; stand for a while at the car (don’t get in too early… shows you’re ungrateful); say “Whelp” again; get in the car; roll down the window and talk about the best place to gas up; hear several opinions on this; start the car (don’t ask for directions… wait, you asked for directions); get a traffic update, construction update, and many and various opinions on the best way out of town; say “whelp” again; talk about how the car is running (don’t ask for mechanical advice… wait, you asked for mechanical advice!); pop the hood; watch as several people listen to how the vehicle sounds and give many and various opinions on if it’s running smoothly, how to fix it, where to fix it, and how much it might cost; say “whelp” again; slowly start backing up; wave once in the driveway and at least once more driving away (otherwise it shows you’re ungrateful); and whatever you do, don’t turn back, no matter what you left behind, even if it’s one of your children, because they’re probably better off at grandma’s anyway, and you’ll have to stay for “a quick bite” if you do and you’ll never get out of there!
That’s a long goodbye. Now, I ask us to consider our goodbyes, and what is a “good goodbye” or a “bad goodbye” because we encounter our Lord Jesus in this morning’s gospel text amid a lengthy goodbye — only it’s much more serious, ominous, and full of eternal truth than ours.
But he’s in the upper room, on the night he was betrayed before his death, and so it functions a bit like a “goodbye narrative.” And it’s long. St. John records it for us in lengthy chapters 13, 14, 15, 16, and 17. It includes the washing of the disciples feet; the predictions of Peter’s denial; Judas storming out to betray Jesus; the Last Supper; many of Jesus’ famous teachings, like the vine and the branches or his father’s house of many rooms, or his three-fold high priestly prayer. And it is one of the most tender and comforting chapters in all of scripture. For a reason.
You see, this could very well have been a bad goodbye: three years together all coming to a close; dissention, denials, betrayal in their ranks; a dark night awaits, only lit up by soldiers’ torches; Jesus will soon sweat drops of blood in anguished prayer; and the stillness of dawn will be interrupted by the sounds of a Roman lash, nails driving though flesh and blood, and the pain-filled whimpers of a man most unjustly killed.
That’s the context of Jesus’ long goodbye to his followers here in chapter 14. And yet, far from becoming the worst goodbye imaginable, Jesus turns it into greatest goodbye ever possible.
He does so by giving two great promises, which also greatly abound for us, as it did for them. Jesus says, “I will live, and I will give.” And also, “You will live, and you will give.”
First (let’s take them out of order a bit) he says, “I will live.” “I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live.” (John 14.18-19)
Jesus here predicts his upcoming death but promises that no matter what happens in the next few hours, they will see him again at his resurrection. It’s going to be bad but will turn out so good.
This is proof, in case you need it, that Jesus’ death was no accident, no tragic confluence of religious or political forces beyond his control, but rather the set plan of the Father, which Jesus willingly, lovingly undertook. In fact, it is the completion of this plan which shows Jesus’ unity with the Father and with us: “On that day you will know that I am in the father, and you in me, and I in you” (John 14.20). Jesus would go to the cross for us, for all; enter into the realms of sin and death for us, for all; and yet come out victorious on the other side, for us, for all. “I will live” becomes his greatest promise, his greatest assurance that he is who he said he is, making this the greatest “goodbye.”
“Because I will live, you also will live.” As if the promise of his resurrection were not enough, he promises it also to us. Because we are united to him in baptism, engrafted into him the vine through faith, we also will live. Death could not keep him down, so also it cannot keep us down, who love him.
Not even death could defeat the Lord of Life; and so it cannot defeat us however dark the night, difficult the pain, long the suffering, ominous the times. To live in fear, resentment, bitterness, selfishness, covetousness, disobedience, or despair is to deny that “because he lives, I also will live.” What greater promise need we than this? Doesn’t the Apostle Paul say, “We are more than conquerors through him who loved us” and “nothing can separate us from his love”? (Romans 8)
So, “I will live” is one promise he makes which makes a bad goodbye, great. The other is, “I will give.” I will live, and I will give. He promises here in this lengthy goodbye that he will not leave them orphaned. He will ask the Father, who will send the Advocate, the Holy Counselor, the Great Comforter, who we know is the Holy Spirit.
We’ll hear more about the Third Person of the Trinity in a couple of weeks on Pentecost Sunday. For today, think of the gift of the Holy Spirit as the goodbye-gift that makes a bad goodbye, a great one. I will give.
You see, though Christ will ascend bodily into heaven, as he departs, he also imparts. As he leaves, he also breathes the Holy Spirit walks besides us, within us, as we become living, loving, breathing, serving, incarnations of the work of the Father. Not only are we never alone—in word and sacraments, and the body of the faithful — but we are also always at work. Both always at rest, knowing the Spirit’s comfort, and always at work, following the Spirit’s direction. Jesus assures us of the abiding presence of the Spirit — a gift he tells them is even better than if he would remain physically with them.
He will live, and he will give. And so also, we will live, and we will give — even our very selves in love and obedience for the life of the world, through the Holy Spirit.
The reason this is all so important, is what it says about all our “goodbyes” — no matter how long, or how short they might be, how joyful or sorrowful, how easy or difficult.
In Jesus’ promise we have purpose — there is so much more to life than all the things we can accumulate or all the fun we can manage to have.
In Jesus’ promise we have direction — none of us can see the future; there will always be paths as yet untrodden and perils unknown, but we know the Spirit walks beside us, with us.
In Jesus’ promise we have community — all one, baptized into one body, engrafted into the one vine, never alone, never orphaned, never forsaken.
In Jesus’ promise we have eternal hope — the end is not the end, but only the beginning of an eternity of love with him.
May all your goodbyes be great.
Come soon Lord Jesus. Amen.
