April 16, 2023

The Second Sunday of Easter

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Weekly Prayer Recording:

“A Gap in the Known”

The Reverend Linda Mackie Griggs

Recording of the sermon:

Easter 2 Year A

John 20: 19-31

Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!”

In last week’s Easter sermon Mark spoke of the challenge of living in the “time-in-between”; the historical period bracketed by Jesus’ life, death, resurrection and ascension on one end, and the ultimate Reconciliation–between God and Creation, and within Creation itself–of all things at the end of time. Relatively speaking, we have no idea where on that time continuum we, in this moment, fall as regards the end times, but we do know that Jesus’ disciples and the writer of John’s Gospel were about as close to the beginning of the time-in-between as it is possible to get. Writing near the end of the first century, John was barely a generation removed from the events of Jesus’ life; there would have been very few if any who have had direct memories of Jesus or of the people who had known him. 

John’s audience was, in a way, a bunch of Thomases; people who needed to be persuaded of the joy and invitation of the Gospel without the benefit of actually having been present to the events that the Gospel described. In other words, John’s audience was people like us.

…these [things] are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

We may not have been there, but John invites us to trust the testimony of the Gospel.

Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe…

It would seem that John lays the burden of doubt and skepticism solely on Thomas, but it is undeserved. A reading of the post-Resurrection appearances shows us that most of the disciples struggled to believe at first that Jesus had risen. It was too much to take in, even for Mary Magdalene–who I only slightly jokingly say can do no wrong–Mary, who, when she arrived at the tomb immediately looked around to see where Jesus’ body had been taken–even she didn’t make the cognitive leap to Resurrection until Jesus spoke her name.  Later that day, the two disciples on the way to Emmaus with Jesus didn’t recognize him until he broke bread in their presence. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus needs to show his wounds to the collected disciples and eat a piece of fish in order to persuade them that he was not a ghost. And in today’s Gospel reading, when Jesus first comes into the locked room, the first thing he does after greeting them is to show his wounds, and then–not before–and then they rejoiced when they saw the Lord. 

Thomas is not an outlier when it comes to skepticism and disbelief. So, something else is going on here. 

I came across a provocative statement the other day by author Jenny Odell. She writes, “Simply as a gap in the known, doubt is an emergency exit that leads somewhere else.” I’ve been chewing on this ever since I read it; there is something compelling about the idea of doubt as a gap in what we know–a kind of empty question-mark-shaped space that disrupts our certainties and leaves us on unsteady ground. And the idea that doubt is not only a gap, but a kind of window drawing our attention away to something new–this articulates doubt, not as a failing, but as an opportunity to see and explore things in a different way. 

So, if the world is going to insist upon calling Thomas “The Doubter”, we should entertain the possibility that he is not so much a failure as he is a teacher. 

A teacher of what? That is the question. 

Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.

This is the classic line from this passage. We usually read it to focus on the concept of belief in Jesus, but we’ve already talked about the fact that there were a number of disciples who experienced initial disbelief at Jesus’ post-Resurrection appearances–it was only natural given the circumstances. 

What if the issue isn’t belief in Jesus’ resurrection, but in something about his resurrection?

Notice the vivid and forceful challenge in Thomas’ focus on Jesus’ wounds. Biblical storyteller Richard Swanson’s translation says, “Unless I should see in his hands the place of the nail and throw my finger into the place of the nails and throw my hand into his side, I will not be faithful.  

“Throw.” Only someone yearning for a particular connection could be so emphatic.

Thomas doesn’t demand to hear Jesus’ voice. He doesn’t ask to have his feet washed or to receive bread and wine. No; he wants to “throw” his hand into Jesus’ side.

Thomas yearns, above all, to know that the Messiah that has risen is the same as the one who was crucified; the one who offered himself as a free and costly gift in forgiveness for the sin of the world.  And the way to know that would be to see the evidence of Jesus’ suffering; the wounds in his hands, his feet, and his side.

Why is this important? 

Thomas’ doubt opens a window to something we may not have pondered before: Why did Jesus’ resurrected body retain the wounds of crucifixion? If Easter is all about the conquering of death and the joy of eternal life, why wouldn’t Jesus’ body return to its unmarked condition upon his emergence from the tomb?

Because a faith in Jesus without his wounds risks disregarding his pain. A belief in a woundless, flawless resurrected Jesus might be forgiven for sidestepping issues of suffering and betrayal, humility and vulnerability. Yes, there is a part of all of us that would love it if Flawless Muscular Jesus could save us from the uncomfortable truth that being human means confronting suffering in ourselves and in the world, but the fact is that a belief in Flawless Jesus would be a belief that the suffering of the world should be borne by someone besides us.

Perhaps we haven’t thought of it that way before. Haven’t we been there at one time or another, wondering, “Why me?”, not realizing that the corollary to that could well be, “Why not somebody else?”

As if we need yet another reason to separate God’s children from one another.

Swanson writes:                                                                                                                               Christians always find a way to make peace with the crucifixion, but if the point of faith was to grant an exemption from the hard realities of life, then Jesus would emerge unmarked.

He does not.

The wounds are still there, and they are real.  Palpable.  You could touch them. Imagine doing that.

It was the crucified Jesus who emerged from the tomb. The one who drew all into the reach of his saving, wounded, embrace.

A faith in Wounded Jesus will draw the suffering ones in to us rather than separating them out from us.

More than anything, the writer of John wants Thomas to open a window upon the marks of suffering left on the resurrected Jesus; to show that Jesus acknowledges and shares our wounds and scars, and the marks left by living our lives in a broken world. The Incarnation–the enfleshment of God from the cradle to the cross–extends through the grave and unites Jesus to us, and each of us to one another. When Jesus invites Thomas to touch his hands and to “throw” his hand into his side, this–and not before–this is when Thomas acknowledges Jesus as Lord and God. Because only a wounded resurrected Messiah truly embodies the mercy and justice that are the essence of God.

We are invited and challenged to see through the window that Thomas has opened for us through the gift of his doubt and yearning–to see the suffering of the world and to throw ourselves into acts of compassion and restoration. Because that is the Dream of God for us in this time-in-between; that Jesus shares in our pain and our joy, and that we share in his life; as people of mercy and justice; as people of healing.  

As People of Resurrection, Alleluia!