The Resurrection account this week (below) comes from John 20:19-31. Let’s invite the text to spur our imagination and open our awareness to the weird and wonderful ways the resurrected Christ is breaking into our world. And please share your experiences in the comment section.
A week after Jesus comes back to life his disciples are gathered in a house with the door shut. How, in all the other times I’ve read or heard this text, have I missed the fear and the uncertainty in this scene? I think it’s because it comes after the Resurrection, and the Resurrection signals victory over sin and death and all that makes us afraid, right? The Resurrection is a cosmic revelation that God has things under control and all that was wrong has been made right. For this reason, every year we jubilantly announce that Christ is risen to the sound of bells and the sight of flowers filling the chancel.
Yet, this year, as a global pandemic sounds a discordant note in the exultant song of Resurrection, I am noticing that the meaning of the Resurrection emerges slowly in the consciousness and lived experience of the disciples. I can relate. My own transition into new life in the kingdom of God is less like Jesus’ sudden transformation and more like the disciples’ dawning awareness that Jesus’ coming back to life is altogether good news.
A week and a half ago two baby pigeons hatched in a nest their mother built on our balcony. While we weren’t thrilled to discover the nest, the existence of these prehistoric-looking creatures has been a source of wonder for me. They don’t do much, but their very act of breathing is mesmerizing.
My presence unnerves them; lately they have tried to stand up when I come close. Their attempts are unsteady and unsuccessful, yet this ability is emerging. Some day, soon I expect, it will be present in full force. Right now, this is a picture of Resurrection for me, as I’m learning that it requires time to take root and grow.
Like Amber, like all of us, I have heard this story many times and heard many sermons. Yet something new emerged for me at this particular reading. It no longer seems to me to be about doubts. What speaks to me now are the wounds of Jesus.
The door to the room is locked as a result of fear, perhaps a fear that was very well founded. The have killed the Leader; perhaps all who follow him are next. Jesus opens with "Peace." But that is just the start. He then shows them his wounds, and it is upon seeing his wounds that we are told, "the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord." It was not appearing behind closed doors that caused the recognition, not the offering of peace. It was the physicality of the wounds. After the wounds comes both recognition and joy.
And Thomas? He hears their testimony, just as his friends heard the greeting of "peace." But he asks not for more than they experienced, but the same: "I want to see the wounds."
The second appearance starts out exactly the same way. Jesus shows up after the door has been closed, and the conversation again begins with "Peace." And then he very specifically offers to Thomas what he had offered to the others - he shows the evidence of his crucifixion. And Thomas goes beyond rejoicing. He worships.
And yes, Jesus asks him not to doubt; and yes he blesses those who believe without seeing. But why are the wounds mentioned three times?
What we see here, perhaps, is the insistence that the risen Lord is the crucified Lord. If he appears to us, it is as the wounded one. He comes to us in those who are wounded; he is discovered in us in our own wounding. And when we catch this, clearly or even dimly, we believe anew and joy and worship follow.
I stood outside in the line for lunch at The Common Table. One guest (often difficult, with addiction and psychological problems), last week told me seven people he knew had died over a ten day period; today, he smiled and told me that when he went to Dollarama to get coloured pencils, the director from Sanctuary was there and bought him a pencil sharpener and paper so he could draw and colour. He smiled. No, grinned. And was excited to get a meal and a toiletry kit. And I was blessed by his simple happiness and gratitude.
I'm struck by how Jesus' appearances both times in today's Gospel are more about the Mystery of his presence than they are about our ordinary modes of perception. The disciples are gathered in a closed room in fear (as indeed many of us are now), and the Risen One somehow appears among them.
Discerning the Resurrection isn't straightforward. No one has the Polaroids. Not even Thomas. We find hope in the midst of fear, an escape route from Pharoah's army through the middle of the sea, reassurance in the face of uncertainty, comfort in the presence of pain, new life in a valley of dry bones. We're surprised by deep joy, and find ourselves saying, "Oh--it's You again."
My personal experience of the Living Christ's presence doesn't always--in fact, to be honest, doesn't often--have the stamp of Christianity all over it. I remember the first time I heard Krishna Das chanting Hindu kirtan, just a month or so after my divorce from the man with whom I expected to spend the rest of my life. I remember being overcome by how full of God the room was, and thinking, "This is really weird. This time You've got blue skin. But hey, I'm OK with it."
The Church of South India--the church founded, by the way, by the Apostle Thomas, according to tradition--lives as the Body of Christ in a mostly non-Christian culture. It has developed a theology of "the acknowledged Christ"--the presence of God here among us that is shared with the households of other faiths. I take great comfort, and feel great joy, at the thought that the One too strong to be held by death is strong enough to pass through the locked doors even of our religious identity labels.
This Resurrection account is encouraging. In our time of deep crisis - this pandemic - the appearance of Jesus to the disciples - in their deep crisis - shows me that I have company that will see me through. Life breaks in, and even Thomas can feel the difference.
I live in Stratford. As everywhere, we are shuttered - streets are less crowded, people are keeping distances, shops are closed. This unusual quietude echoes particularly loudly in the non-appearance of the crowds that begin to grow at this time of year as theatre previews ramp up. The "buzz" is missing. The thrill of Opening Week is, at least, postponed. Construction on the new theatre has stopped.
As I walk about town, lots of front doors and windows have signs thanking front line workers. These are wonderful. But I also find little painted stones tucked at the foot of a tree or at the front of a garden wall: "Hang in", "Wash your hands", "Thanks nurses and doctors", a smiley face. These little reminders surprise. Someone(s) has(have) been creative and artistic, and have placed the rocks carefully, but not in the way. As I walk, I have to keep my eyes open to find these little treasures.
Stones are all around, but these "new" ones are different - someone(s) care enough to make them special. These stones enter unexpectedly into my walking. I am seeing differently and looking intentionally now. My walking has changed.
The little stones I find make, for me, a moment to remember that Life breaks in. They give me hope and a bit of courage.
John 20:29 "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe". In 1Peter 1:8 "Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do see him now, you believe in him.." I find these words particularly encouraging and affirming. There is a hymn that we sing in The Gathering that repeats these words. Blessings Peter Dale
I noticed the words of Jesus “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” which for me were lost in the Thomas narrative. Also, the Lord breathes on them saying "Receive the Holy Spirit" which I thought was received by the disciples at Pentecost.
A week after Jesus comes back to life his disciples are gathered in a house with the door shut. How, in all the other times I’ve read or heard this text, have I missed the fear and the uncertainty in this scene? I think it’s because it comes after the Resurrection, and the Resurrection signals victory over sin and death and all that makes us afraid, right? The Resurrection is a cosmic revelation that God has things under control and all that was wrong has been made right. For this reason, every year we jubilantly announce that Christ is risen to the sound of bells and the sight of flowers filling the chancel.
Yet, this year, as a global pandemic sounds a discordant note in the exultant song of Resurrection, I am noticing that the meaning of the Resurrection emerges slowly in the consciousness and lived experience of the disciples. I can relate. My own transition into new life in the kingdom of God is less like Jesus’ sudden transformation and more like the disciples’ dawning awareness that Jesus’ coming back to life is altogether good news.
A week and a half ago two baby pigeons hatched in a nest their mother built on our balcony. While we weren’t thrilled to discover the nest, the existence of these prehistoric-looking creatures has been a source of wonder for me. They don’t do much, but their very act of breathing is mesmerizing.
My presence unnerves them; lately they have tried to stand up when I come close. Their attempts are unsteady and unsuccessful, yet this ability is emerging. Some day, soon I expect, it will be present in full force. Right now, this is a picture of Resurrection for me, as I’m learning that it requires time to take root and grow.
Like Amber, like all of us, I have heard this story many times and heard many sermons. Yet something new emerged for me at this particular reading. It no longer seems to me to be about doubts. What speaks to me now are the wounds of Jesus.
The door to the room is locked as a result of fear, perhaps a fear that was very well founded. The have killed the Leader; perhaps all who follow him are next. Jesus opens with "Peace." But that is just the start. He then shows them his wounds, and it is upon seeing his wounds that we are told, "the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord." It was not appearing behind closed doors that caused the recognition, not the offering of peace. It was the physicality of the wounds. After the wounds comes both recognition and joy.
And Thomas? He hears their testimony, just as his friends heard the greeting of "peace." But he asks not for more than they experienced, but the same: "I want to see the wounds."
The second appearance starts out exactly the same way. Jesus shows up after the door has been closed, and the conversation again begins with "Peace." And then he very specifically offers to Thomas what he had offered to the others - he shows the evidence of his crucifixion. And Thomas goes beyond rejoicing. He worships.
And yes, Jesus asks him not to doubt; and yes he blesses those who believe without seeing. But why are the wounds mentioned three times?
What we see here, perhaps, is the insistence that the risen Lord is the crucified Lord. If he appears to us, it is as the wounded one. He comes to us in those who are wounded; he is discovered in us in our own wounding. And when we catch this, clearly or even dimly, we believe anew and joy and worship follow.
I stood outside in the line for lunch at The Common Table. One guest (often difficult, with addiction and psychological problems), last week told me seven people he knew had died over a ten day period; today, he smiled and told me that when he went to Dollarama to get coloured pencils, the director from Sanctuary was there and bought him a pencil sharpener and paper so he could draw and colour. He smiled. No, grinned. And was excited to get a meal and a toiletry kit. And I was blessed by his simple happiness and gratitude.
I'm struck by how Jesus' appearances both times in today's Gospel are more about the Mystery of his presence than they are about our ordinary modes of perception. The disciples are gathered in a closed room in fear (as indeed many of us are now), and the Risen One somehow appears among them.
Discerning the Resurrection isn't straightforward. No one has the Polaroids. Not even Thomas. We find hope in the midst of fear, an escape route from Pharoah's army through the middle of the sea, reassurance in the face of uncertainty, comfort in the presence of pain, new life in a valley of dry bones. We're surprised by deep joy, and find ourselves saying, "Oh--it's You again."
My personal experience of the Living Christ's presence doesn't always--in fact, to be honest, doesn't often--have the stamp of Christianity all over it. I remember the first time I heard Krishna Das chanting Hindu kirtan, just a month or so after my divorce from the man with whom I expected to spend the rest of my life. I remember being overcome by how full of God the room was, and thinking, "This is really weird. This time You've got blue skin. But hey, I'm OK with it."
The Church of South India--the church founded, by the way, by the Apostle Thomas, according to tradition--lives as the Body of Christ in a mostly non-Christian culture. It has developed a theology of "the acknowledged Christ"--the presence of God here among us that is shared with the households of other faiths. I take great comfort, and feel great joy, at the thought that the One too strong to be held by death is strong enough to pass through the locked doors even of our religious identity labels.
This Resurrection account is encouraging. In our time of deep crisis - this pandemic - the appearance of Jesus to the disciples - in their deep crisis - shows me that I have company that will see me through. Life breaks in, and even Thomas can feel the difference.
I live in Stratford. As everywhere, we are shuttered - streets are less crowded, people are keeping distances, shops are closed. This unusual quietude echoes particularly loudly in the non-appearance of the crowds that begin to grow at this time of year as theatre previews ramp up. The "buzz" is missing. The thrill of Opening Week is, at least, postponed. Construction on the new theatre has stopped.
As I walk about town, lots of front doors and windows have signs thanking front line workers. These are wonderful. But I also find little painted stones tucked at the foot of a tree or at the front of a garden wall: "Hang in", "Wash your hands", "Thanks nurses and doctors", a smiley face. These little reminders surprise. Someone(s) has(have) been creative and artistic, and have placed the rocks carefully, but not in the way. As I walk, I have to keep my eyes open to find these little treasures.
Stones are all around, but these "new" ones are different - someone(s) care enough to make them special. These stones enter unexpectedly into my walking. I am seeing differently and looking intentionally now. My walking has changed.
The little stones I find make, for me, a moment to remember that Life breaks in. They give me hope and a bit of courage.
Little signs of life and resurrection.
John 20:29 "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe". In 1Peter 1:8 "Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do see him now, you believe in him.." I find these words particularly encouraging and affirming. There is a hymn that we sing in The Gathering that repeats these words. Blessings Peter Dale
I noticed the words of Jesus “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” which for me were lost in the Thomas narrative. Also, the Lord breathes on them saying "Receive the Holy Spirit" which I thought was received by the disciples at Pentecost.