The Scripture passage for this sermon is John 20:19-31
Following the execution of Jesus as a criminal, the
disciples were scattered. They
were without direction, without hope.
Any sense of meaning that they had established around Jesus had died and
was buried in a tomb. His calls
for transformation of individuals, and transformation of the world were
gone. Any belief that God was on
the side of Jesus breathed its last, when he cried out, “My God, My God, why
have you forsaken me?” Their
myriad of dreams, dreams of a world remade, of justice for the poor, of the
powerful overthrown, were gone.
And so they waited in a room. Terrified of the world around
them. They feared a wraith that
would come quickly. Should they
stay together? In hiding? Should they say goodbye, and head off
each in their own direction? Their
tails between their legs as they returned to a life they had abandoned? Would they even be welcome back
home? Where were they to go? What were they to do? Those great existential questions cried
out deep within their souls. The
only thing they knew was that they were alone.
But everything began to change on that first Easter
morning. Everything began to
change for Mary Magdalene, for Peter, for John. And when Jesus appeared behind closed and locked doors to
the rest of the disciples, everything began to change for them too.
But everything had not begun to change for
Thomas. Not yet, anyways.
When the disciples came running and told Thomas what
they saw he couldn’t believe it.
He probably thought they were joking, playing some mean prank and
waiting for him to go along with it, before before Philip would jump out from
under the curtain, yelling “Sucker!”
And everyone would laugh.
But this story isn’t just about Thomas not
believing. It goes far beyond
that. Thomas is not struggling
with unbelief, or a lack of faith.
He is struggling because the very idea of the resurrected Christ is
incomprehensible. Resurrection is
absurd. That Christ had risen, for
Thomas would have shattered his understanding of the world, of the way the
universe worked. How could God
have possibly been on Jesus’ side when Jesus had been crucified? What about now if he had risen? What did this say about God? What did this say about Jesus’
mission? What would this mean for
Thomas’ life?
“Unless I can put my fingers into the nail holes in
his hands, and stick my hand into the wound in his side, how can I possibly
believe you? I can’t even
understand what that would mean.”
Thomas is wearing the fullness of his humanity in all of its questioning
glory. He cannot let go of his
understandings about the world simply on the words of a few of his friends.
And then, it happens.
Again, behind those closed and locked doors, the
Risen Christ appears. He invites
Thomas to touch the wounds in his hands and in his side. No one else has been allowed to touch
Christ to this point. Thomas is
the first. We can imagine the
tenderness with which he takes Christ’s hands. Exploring them with his eyes and his fingers. Feeling, not only the nail marks, but
each and every finger, both thumbs, the front and the backs. This was a tactile
encounter. Thomas touched the
wound in Christ’s side, who knows how deep he put his hand in. The wounds are still there, they have
not scabbed or scarred over, and so I imagine this whole physical exploration
would have hurt Christ. But Thomas
proceeds, unabated.
And then he gasps, taking in his breath he drops to
his knees. “My Lord and My
God!” Thomas is the first to
recognize God in the Risen Christ.
Everything had not begun to
change for Thomas, it had changed entirely in that one moment. “My Lord and my God!”
For me, Thomas is the first Christian. Until Thomas is able to touch Christ,
there was only an image, only an apparition. But suddenly all those questions, all those fears that had
been running through his head were confronted. Thomas’ worldview was shattered by the wounds of Christ.
To be a Christian, means to have our worldview
shattered by the wounds of Christ.
In the past I have shared with you my own story of
when I first realized that was happening to me, of when my own worldview began
to be shattered by the wounds of Christ.
It began in a small village called El Mozote in El Salvador, where we
were given a tour by the only survivor of a horrific massacre that occurred in
the early 1980s. I was able to see
the wounds of Christ in the world around me, and soon I was able to see those
same wound within myself. They
popped up in a deeper understanding of the anger which dwelt and still dwells
within me. More recently, I have
been able to touch those wounds in my own struggles with sadness, and in the
tenderness that still exists just below the surface. These have all dramatically re-shaped my understanding of
and relationship with the world around me, myself, and God.
Where in the world have we touched Christ’s
wounds? Where in the world have we
found a God, not of majesty and wealth, but a wounded God, a God of
brokenness? Where in our lives, in
our hearts have we felt and experienced that? Has it been a specific event? A loss of some kind?
Or perhaps a specific encounter?
Or is it just a feeling that resides within? A constant companion of sorts? Perhaps anger, or perhaps sadness, or perhaps just a
pervasive sense of loneliness? We
all have the opportunity to touch those wounds regularly. Though it is often portrayed
differently, Christianity, in its best sense, is tremendously open and honest
about the tragic realities in the world around us.
Still, it is no wonder Jesus says, “Blessed are those
who have not seen and yet come to believe!” Touching Christ’s wounds as I said, can be world
shattering. Everything we may
think we know about God, about ourselves, about the world around us, can be
shaken to the very core. Jesus is not saying that those who have not seen but
believed are better, I think he is saying they are more fortunate. They do not have to have their world
shaken to understand the nature of God’s brokenness in Jesus. This is not an
easy experience, it is one we shy away from.
None of us runs head first to explore those shadowy
feelings in ourselves, or to helplessly bear witness to the pain that is going
on in the world around us. I think
that is why so many of us don’t like going to hospitals, or personal care
homes. I think that is why so many
of us don’t like to talk or even think about those painful experiences in our
lives, choosing instead to dull them.
I think that is why our fear of encountering the reality of poverty
often translates into anger, hatred, and judgment. Because exploring those wounds, as Thomas explores Christ’s
wounds, (and I mean genuinely exploring them, in a tactile sense, probing and
prodding, wondering and questioning) can create tremendous upheaval in our
lives. It is scary, it may even
hurt.
I’d like to read a few words written by Henri Nouwen
that wonderfully describes the opportunity behind this sort of upheaval. This is from his book, Reaching Out. “Often it is the dark forest that makes us speak about the
open field. Frequently prison
makes us think about freedom, hunger helps us to appreciate food, and war gives
us words for peace. Not seldom are
our visions of the future born out of the sufferings of the present and our
hope for others out of our own despair.
Only few ‘happy endings’ make us happy, but often someone’s careful and
honest articulation of the ambiguities, uncertainties and painful conditions of
life gives us new hope. The
paradox is indeed that new life is born out of the pains of the old.
These are the great opportunities of conversion. These are where we can reach out and
touch the wounds of Christ in the world.
These are the chances for our worldview to be shattered, and remade in
something new, remade in the image of a God who suffers with us, who cries out
for justice, and who embodies love even onto the cross.
Doubting Thomas is my favourite scripture passage. I love preaching on it. This sermon contains my understanding of it, and generally I preach around the same theme every year for it. I liked this sermon a lot, but I don't know how well I actually preached it. I was pretty tired and it is pretty heady. I don't know if it carried the emotion I wanted it to. Still, I do like it myself.
ReplyDelete