John 20: 19-31
Sunday, April 8, 2018
First Congregational United Church of Christ of Manhattan, KS
Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
Here we are in the second Sunday of Eastertide and the lectionary committee serves up a passage from John’s gospel that runs the gamut of human emotion and experience. There’s fear, anxiety, disbelief, rejoicing, skepticism, community and love in the midst of doubt.
There’s also a lot of baggage.
Many of us have a lot of feels about Doubting Thomas….and about the ways his story has been interpreted over the centuries. Poor old Thomas. He’s been held up as an example of “what not to do” in terms of faith. Preachers have bemoaned his lack of trust and chastised him for doubting the Resurrection. Preachers have used him to admonish their flocks: believe without seeing. Don’t ask questions. Jesus doesn’t like it.
Except.
That’s not really what the story says at all. For starters, there is no Doubting Thomas in this story. Just a disciple named Thomas. The “Doubting” part was added to his name later as Church leaders interpreted the story and tried to make sense of it.
But if you read the text just as its written, you’ll find that Jesus does not admonish. Jesus, in fact, graciously anticipates his dear friend’s needed. Thomas doesn't even have to ask for proof. Jesus knows what he needs and provides it before he asks.
Furthermore, Thomas is not asking for more than the other disciples have already been given. We are told that the week are Jesus was resurrected he appeared to the disciples (well, most of them - Thomas wasn’t there) and immediately showed them his hands and his side.
Later, when the disciples tell Thomas what he missed he scoffs.”Right. Yeah. Unless I see that for myself, I’m not going to believe it.” Now, to be fair, Thomas does ask to take it one step further. He wants to see AND touch the wounds. Second Testament scholar Mary Hinkle Shore notices that this behavior is actually very much in line with other followers of Jesus in the Gospel of John. [1]
When Nathanael first encounters Jesus he scoffs, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip invites him, “Come and see.” After seeing for himself, he believes. When Jesus encounters the woman at the well and finds new life, she runs to tell her community, “Come and see the man who has told me everything I’ve ever done!” Some believed in the power of Jesus based on her testimony, but many more only came to care after meeting Jesus for themselves.
It’s understandable to want to see for ourselves. It’s rational to want proof.
Especially when we’re being asked to comprehend things that simply make no sense at all. Like Resurrection. How can life come from death? How can we start over when so much has been lost? I think maybe we should call Thomas “Rational Thomas” because he seems pretty clearheaded to me.
Furthermore, Jesus seems unbothered by his questions. Jesus greets Thomas in the same way he did the other disciples, “Peace with with you” and then he offers his wounds. “Go ahead, Thomas,” he says to his old friend. “Touch and see for yourself. It’s true. It’s real.” And Thomas, having received the proof he knew he needed immediately responds, “My Lord and my God!” Thomas gets it. Thomas is faithful.
The closest thing to chastising I can find in this story is in Jesus’s response to Thomas’s strong faith statement. Jesus says, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” I suppose one way to read this is as a snarky admonition: “You’re not blessed because you needed proof.” But another way to read it is, “Thomas, you are blessed because you had the chance to see me and found faith. Those who don’t have the chance to see me but still find their way to faith are even more blessed.”
Maybe Thomas wasn’t being chastised. Maybe Jesus was just pointing out that there would be many more who would be asked to follow him without this physical proof. Like you. Like me.
We don’t have a chance to see Jesus face to face in the flesh. Or touch his side. But still we try, with all our imperfections, to follow the Risen Christ.
This story feels relatable to me. I mean, sure, the idea of Jesus walking into a room where we are hanging out seems far-fetched. But the human emotions and actions seem completely reasonable. This story contains anxiety and peace, fear and courage, doubt and belief, joy and sorrow, love, community, trust. It’s all there.
One of the things that makes humans so beautiful is that we can hold so many things together in tension at one time. The world is rarely black and white and neither are our reactions to it. We can trust and doubt simultaneously. We can love while feeling frustrated. We can act with great courage in spite of our anxieties. We can even rejoice in the midst of grief and sadness.
I trust we’ve all had this experience, or one similar to it: you’re at a funeral for a visitation for someone deeply beloved. Tears are flowing and the grief in the room is palpable. Suddenly, someone shares a remembrance of the deceased and tears of sadness are mixed with tears of joy as you hold your sides, laughing with abandon.
I’ll never forget our time in the hospital after our first child was born. The birth had been traumatic and scary for everyone involved. After an emergency surgery in the wee hours of the morning, our oldest son was wheeled off to the NICU and we were consumed with fear and worry. Everything turned out to be okay and as we were settling into our new hospital room in the early hours of the morning, my husband kept making me laugh. Every bit of laughter meant excruciating pain due to my abdominal surgery. I kept telling him, “Stop making me laugh!” Because it hurt. But it simultaneously felt so-so good to be together, just the three of us, as the sun was shining through the windows, coming down from the fear of the night that had passed.
We humans are able to be a lot of things all at once. I believe it is one of God’s great gifts to us. Because we know that God is the same. Time and time again in the Bible we hear stories of God being sad-mad-joyful-hopeful all at once. Being complicated is our birthright.
For the past several weeks I’ve been reading The Book of Joy which chronicles a weeklong retreat that His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu convened so they could examine this complicated human emotion: joy. Oh, friends, there is so much wisdom in this book and I commend it to you in its entirety.
The Dalai Lama and the Archbishop speak frankly about some of the perceived obstacles to cultivating joy like fear, stress, anxiety, frustration, anger, sadness, and grief. Many of us might think that joy cannot co-exist with these emotions. But, time and time again, these two sages talk about how joy CAN exist in us even when we are feeling these other emotions. The secret - or one of the secrets, at least - seems to be our perspective.
When we train our minds through prayer, meditation, and other spiritual practices we are really training ourselves to welcome joy - even in the midst of adversity. Joy is not the same as happiness. It’s not a fleeting emotion. And it’s not the same as pleasure, it doesn’t only happen when we are feeling good. Joy, as the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Tutu describe it, doesn’t rely on our circumstances.
Douglas Abrams, while interviewing the two spiritual leaders, asks them to clarify how we might be able to find lasting joy - the kind that doesn’t rely on physical pleasure. We all know how nice is feels to enjoy a tasty meal or a perfect spring day. But how can we find joy that lasts longer?
The Dalai Lama says this kind of joy is “a genuine sense of love and affection.”
“Do you wake up with this joy?” Abrams asks, “Even before coffee?”
The Dalai Lama replies, “If you develop a strong sense of concern for the well-being of all sentient beings and in particular all human beings, this will make you happy in the morning, even before coffee. This is the value of compassion, of having compassionate feelings for others. Even, you see, ten minutes or thirty minutes of meditating on compassion, on kindness for others, and you will see its effects all day. That’s the way to maintain a calm and joyous mind.” [2]
One of the things that the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Tutu come back to, again and again, in this book is the importance of connection and community. When we remember we are not alone, that we are all connected to one another, we find that our patience, empathy, compassion grow. We are oriented outwards. We can overcome that sense of loneliness that is so pervasive in our culture. Our perspective shifts.
The Archbishop talks about how we can handle our worries and insecurities by shifting our perspective. When we remember those who are in similar situations as us or who have had it even harder than we have - and have survived and ever thrived, we begin to cultivate a deep joy. Abrams explains, “the path of joy [is] connection and the path of sorrow [is] separation. When we see others as separate, they [can] become a threat. When we see others as a part of us, as connected, as interdependent, there is no challenge we cannot face - together.” [3]
It is this connection and interdependence that I see so clearly in John’s gospel today and, in fact, in the existence of the whole Easter story. Regardless of how we each understand the Resurrection, it is a story of community triumphing over separation. Jesus is taken away, but then he returns. Empire attempts to separate us, but we hold on to love tightly. Our human bodies fail but our connection cannot. We are knit together - inseparable from God and from one another. No matter what.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus keeps showing up. Again and again. He keeps coming back, reaching out, being who the disciples need him to be. He appears to Mary Magdalene, but that is not enough. He appears to the disciples, but that is not enough. He appears to Thomas, but he’s not finished yet. He comes back for an extended gathering by the Sea of Galilee. The closing line of John’s Gospel is “there are many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.”
Christ is the force that cannot be stopped, knitting us together with the Holy.
Christ is the wellspring of joy that comes to us even in the midst of grief, pain, fear, and worry.
Christ arrives and reminds us we are never alone and that we cannot be separated from God’s love.
“Is it really you?” Thomas asks. “Yes,” Jesus says, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
So be it.
NOTES:
[2] The Book of Joy, page 52.
[3] Ibid, 100-101.
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