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For
Christians this evening, it is Easter. We know the story of
the morning well, of those who discovered an open tomb. Some
of us were in the Worship Center this morning, discovering for
ourselves that no one remained in that stone hole. The story
goes on.
On this
morning, so long ago, all which could ever bind us—even
death itself—lost its power! Our redeemer lives! Christ is
risen! Hallelujah! Christ is risen indeed!
But it is
evening now. Sunday night. By this time, Mary had spoken to
Jesus. She ran to tell the disciples: “I have seen the
Lord.” That was hours ago. The disciples aren’t shouting
“Hallelujah.” No one is saying: “Praise the Lord.”
In a room
on the second floor, they have gathered to wait for the knock
that will signal their death. With what happened this week,
they too expect to die. “What was that?” “Did you hear
that noise? “Is there someone out there?” Terror, not joy,
is what fills this day. Mary has seen the Lord and told the
disciples what happened to her, but it’s hard to imagine and
hard to believe.
When it
was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the
doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for
fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said,
‘Peace be with you.’ After he said this, he showed them
his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they
saw the Lord… But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of
the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other
disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said
to them, ‘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.’
A week
later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was
with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood
among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ Then he said to
Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out
your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’
Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’ Jesus said to
him, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed
are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’
(John 20:19-20, 24-29, NRSV)
In reading
the story, I find it gripping how, even in something as
incredible as the resurrection, Jesus never seems to do what
is expected. What’s the most obvious way to enter a room?
Knock on the door. But the disciples have been waiting
all day for that knock, the signal that the authorities had
arrived to take them away.
Jesus could
have come to the door. After all, he said: “I stand at the
door knocking, if anyone hears my voice...” (Rev. 3:20) But
here the door was locked in fear. Bypassing all the ways that
he could have broken down that door, in their midst there
simply was a voice—Jesus’ voice—saying, “Peace be with
you,” as if an echo from the meal a few nights before.
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you.” (14:27)
Jesus greets them with the traditional greeting: “May God
give you every good thing.”
Jesus does
not confront their fear, he overwhelms it with a gentleness in
which their fear is simply forgotten. He shows them his scars,
and John tells us: “They rejoiced when they saw the Lord.”
What is it,
I wonder, about seeing—about experiencing Jesus for
ourselves—that makes this day so powerful?
I grew up
believing that Thomas was the weak one among the disciples.
Somewhere he picked up the nickname “Doubting Thomas.” And
look at him. No one else had any problem believing Jesus was
alive. Why did he? Why did he drag behind just because he
didn’t happen to be in the room like the rest? Was his faith
soft? When push came to shove, did he really not believe Jesus
was who he said he was? This one, Thomas—he must not have
been a true believer. At least that’s what I held to.
I realize
only now how that ridicule really wasn’t about Thomas, it
was about me. It was about my own doubts, my own fears, the
struggle I had within myself understanding why believing that
Jesus could be alive seemed to come so easy to some and so
hard to me. I projected my own guilt, my own fear, all my own
insecurities about Easter morning onto Thomas. I suspect
Christians have been doing that for a long long time. It’s
always easier to point at another, saying, “Why aren’t you
like me,” than it is to wrestle within.
Have you
ever been around someone who’s deeply hurt—as though their
heart is being ripped from them? Some will lash out and
physically break things. In college, there was a wrestler who
got a “dear John” phone call. His girlfriend from high
school broke up with him. Watching him lash out and dismantle
his room in the anger and emotion of grief, I could imagine
the disciple Peter responding to Jesus’ death like that.
Others,
when pain comes, seek the company of friends. When it hurts so
badly, they just don’t want to be alone.
Then
there are those who desire to be alone. Towards the end of the
film Dead Poets Society, Neal—a smart, loving and
lovable, hugely talented kid—kills himself. When news of
Neal’s death reaches his friends back at the dorm, Charlie,
Neal’s roommate, runs from the building out into the freshly
fallen snow. Sliding in the winter powder, a few friends try
to hold him back. But
then a voice cries out: “Let him go, let him go.” And
Charlie runs and tumbles down to the frozen shore of the
solitary lake. There, alone, he sobs.
Thomas has
been away, alone in his own solitude. He wasn’t there the
evening Jesus first came. And now, hearing all the stories, he
must wonder what it is he’s walked into.
I once
thought of Thomas as weak because he didn’t follow along.
But if we look more closely, we see in him two great virtues
that we can’t help but admire.
First, he
absolutely refuses to say he understands when he really does
not understand, or that he believes when he doesn’t believe.
There’s an uncompromising honesty about him that’s seldom
encountered today. I can’t see him painting over his doubts
and pretending they never existed. He’s not the kind who
would rattle off a creed or a prayer without thinking: “What
is this really saying?”
The
great Bible teacher and Scottish scholar William Barclay once
noted: “There is far more faith in honest doubt than there is in following the
crowd.” When we look at Thomas, we begin to
understand how real faith rests in the one who insists on
being sure, rather than the one who passively repeats things
never really thought out and which, in the end, may not be
really believed. Because he doubted and literally said, “I
will not believe until I am sure,” this day of resurrection
became real for Thomas. He experienced the risen Lord for
himself.
Which
brings us to the second virtue. Lots of folks say, “Well I
have my doubts,” and that’s as far as it goes. They
don’t search. They don’t wrestle. It’s not about the
desire to experience the risen Christ in their lives which
eludes them. It’s that it’s easier not to have to grapple
with the profound impact it will have on our lives if, indeed,
it really is true. Sometimes we get comfortable saying “I
don’t know,” and it’s not that we intend to close the
discussion, we just never take time to come back to the
question: “What if it is true?”
Thomas
doubted, but he sought the answer. And when he was sure, he
went the whole way. No halfway maybes. No word games. His
doubts had not been about mental gymnastics. He doubted in
order to become sure, and in working honestly through his
questioning, his certainty became complete. In experiencing
Jesus for himself, he was able to proclaim: “My Lord and my
God.”
In our
encounter with Christ’s Resurrection—as we struggle to
take in the totality of what this day holds, the created world
and the heavenly kingdom being inseparably joined in Jesus
Christ—I admire Thomas. He was honest. He was faithful. Even
in his doubt, he still desired to see. In his heart, he still
wanted to experience Jesus himself.
This
Easter, I’m thankful that it takes longer for some than
others. Without Thomas, we’d never know how God reaches
those who honestly struggle, how God walks with them and then,
in his time, invites them to be certain.
Our worship
service is called Sunday Night Alive for a reason. It’s what
we’re about. Sharing the good news that Jesus is
alive—that little Easters happen every week—and that we
never know how God will make that experience real in
someone’s life, in our lives, so that we all can say with
Thomas: “Jesus, my Lord and my God.”
Thanks
be to God. Amen.
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