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So now, let’s see a show of hands: Who’s
got it all together? In the Easter narratives in the
Gospels, the answer is, “No one.”
Author Eugene Peterson says the one
common reaction to the Resurrection is “the sense of wonder,
astonishment, surprise. No one expected it.” He says the
same word is used to describe the reaction of both the Roman
guards and the women at the tomb. That word is fear.
It is used six times in the four stories. Peterson writes:
We’re afraid when we’re suddenly caught
off our guard and don’t know what to do. We’re afraid when
our presuppositions and assumptions no longer account for
what we’re up against. We’re afraid when reality, without
warning, is shown to be either more or other than what we
thought it was. (Living the Resurrection, pages
14-17, 27)
The fact is, nobody had it all together.
Mary was the first to arrive, the first to respond, and her
first thought was not resurrection, it was grave robbers.
When she did encounter the Christ, her first reaction was
not “He is risen,” it was “He’s the gardener.” John and
Peter were the first of the male disciples to come to the
site. They looked in, turned tail, and ran in shock and awe
back to the safety of the upper room. The Sunday night
pilgrims on the Emmaus road walked with Jesus for a whole
afternoon, into the setting sun of the early evening. They
talked with him about all that had taken place and still
didn’t recognize him. The eleven in the upper room hid away
in fear, waiting to see what would happen next.
And, of course, there is Thomas.
He was the last to see, the last to experience, the last to
understand the reality of the Resurrection. He was called
Didymus, which can be translated “the Twin”…and of course, I
like that! In a church full of multiples, it’s not a bad
idea to lift up Thomas, the Twin. But at least one preacher
suggested that maybe it could also imply a split
personality, a “man of two minds.” Thomas, the one who
couldn’t quite make up his mind. Thomas, the man of two
minds.
Call him the Patron Saint of the cynical.
Call him the Patron Saint of the
questioners.
Call him the Patron Saint of the seekers.
Thomas, the one who didn’t have it all
together.
1. And I guess the first
implication for us in our day is, it’s okay not to have it
all together.
It’s okay to question, okay to doubt,
okay to wrestle with the Resurrection, okay to struggle with
the scriptures. The Gospels tell us you can come to Jesus
with all your doubts, all your fears, all your uncertainty.
You can come to Jesus with all your questions, all your
wonderments, all your inquiries. You can come to Jesus with
just a smidgen of faith, or even none at all. Come with two
minds, and you’ll find yourself in good company:
You will also find yourself in the
company of folks like St. Augustine who struggled with his
wealth, his privilege, and the call God placed on his life.
Or Martin Luther, the determined reformer who boldly
proclaimed, “Here I stand, God help me”…then went into
privacy to struggle with his own faith. Or John Wesley, the
advocate of Christian assurance, who even into his later
years would question his own salvation. And, of course,
there is Mother Teresa, the contemporary saint of holy
servanthood whose inner life was often overwhelmed with
darkness and emptiness. They all tell us one thing: It is
okay not to have it all together.
I think this is an important affirmation
in a day when it seems that certainty and clarity are all
the rage. Politically, we want leaders who are resolute,
determined, no wavering, no second guessing, no questioning,
just full speed ahead. We want to know who’s good and who’s
evil. You’re either with us or agin’ us. Period.
Religiously, it seems at least the TV
preachers who are the most popular are the ones who make
things simple, who tell us exactly what to believe, who call
a spade a spade, name the sin, draw the lines—true/false,
good/bad, don’t mess around.
We want everything in black and white, no
shades of gray, no areas of doubt or question…just give it
to me straight. And in that kind of context, I want to
celebrate the seekers, honor the questioners, deal with the
doubters, in the spirit of Thomas.
Adam Hamilton is the pastor of one of our
largest churches in America, United Methodist Church of the
Resurrection in Kansas City. A prolific author, his latest
book just off the presses is entitled Seeing Gray in a
World of Black and White. He says he is “seeking to
model a rich, more thoughtful conversation on the political,
religious and moral issues that divide us.”
John Wesley referred to Methodism as the
via media—the middle way. And I love it! I thank God
for the fact that none of the first witnesses to the
Resurrection really got it. I celebrate the fact that doubt
and fear and uncertainty have a place in the journey of
faith. Three cheers for Thomas—the Twin, the man of two
minds, the doubter, the questioner, the seeker.
Just think where we would be without
them.
What if Galileo had never questioned the
general assumption, the proven fact, the doctrinal belief
that the world was flat? After all, in the 1600s, everyone
believed it, the Bible taught it, the church affirmed it,
you could see it with your own eyes…the world was flat. Not
only did they make fun of him, they excommunicated him as a
heretic. But he went ahead and said it anyway: “The world is
round.” His books were banned. He was forced to recant. He
spent the end of his life under house arrest. And the
church’s condemnation of him was not officially lifted until
October 31, 1992.
Or what if people like William
Wilberforce and John Wesley had never questioned the place
of slavery in human society? After all, the British Empire
sanctioned it. The church supported it. You could document
it with the clear teachings of scripture: “Slaves, be
obedient to your masters.” Here in America, half of our
churches preached it, the original Declaration of
Independence was composed to allow for it, and our southern
economy depended on it. But thank God for the men and women
who challenged it, who asked the question. And on this
weekend when we mark the 40th anniversary of the
death of Martin Luther King, Jr., we remember that some of
them even died for it.
Thank God for the questioners, the
doubters, the seekers, the St. Thomases among us.
It’s okay to question.
It’s okay to probe.
It’s okay to struggle and wrestle with
the faith.
It’s okay not to have it all together…
2. As long as the questions
ultimately lead us to faith.
The direction of our doubting, the
destination of our seeking is to find a place of confidence,
a center of assurance, an anchor of faith.
Mary began in confusion and doubt, but
ended on her knees in front of the Risen Lord saying,
“Rabboni! My dear Teacher! My Lord.” John and Peter ran from
the tomb in fear, but ultimately they ran to the world to
boldly proclaim the good news of a Risen Christ. To the
Emmaus Road pilgrims, Christ was made known in the simple
breaking of bread. The eleven in the upper room discovered
the Risen Christ standing among them and they beheld his
glory, glory as of the only begotten Son of the Father.
And Thomas? Thomas the
Twin, Thomas the man of two minds, became the first to utter
the confession which would ultimately be the confession of
generations of believers to come. In spite of all his
doubts, one simple affirmation. In the face of all his
questions, one answer. In the midst of an ever-changing
world and overwhelming realities, one simple certainty: “My
Lord and my God.”
Suzanne Guthrie says:
Thomas’ caution makes him an even more
credible witness. He penetrates beyond the superficial
excitement of the moment. He delivers the punch line that
kicks off two thousand years of Christian profession of
faith…“My Lord and my God.”
(Suzanne Guthrie, “Cousin Thomas,”
Christian Century, March 22, 2205,
page 19)
In honoring the questions, I am not
advocating for a mushy, gushy kind of belief which has no
core, no confidence, no conviction. We need to find our way
to a center of certainty, but it is a center which we claim
in the midst of all our questions and doubts.
Author Anne Lamott is really a
contemporary Thomas. Painfully honest about her doubts and
questions as well as her faith, she describes the depth of
her anguish. After an abortion, in the midst of an alcoholic
stupor, she writes:
I got into bed, shaky and sad and too
wild to have another drink or take a sleeping pill. I had a
cigarette and turned off the light. As I lay there, I became
aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner. The
feeling was so strong that I actually turned on the light to
make sure no one was there—of course, there wasn’t. But
after a while, in the dark again, I knew beyond any doubt
that it was Jesus.
She says a week later she went back to
church, listened to the songs, was overcome with emotion and
left before the benediction. But on the way home, she says
it felt like a little cat was running along at her heels.
When she got to her houseboat, she says:
I opened the door, stood there for a
moment and then hung my head and said, “Oh, heck, I quit.” I
took a long, deep breath and said out loud, “All right, you
can come inside.” So that was my beautiful moment of
conversion.
(Traveling Mercies, page 50)
That was her Thomas moment: “My Lord and
my God.” If you have read her books, you know she continues
to wrestle with her questions and doubts, but that moment
made all the difference.
I don’t know when it will happen
for you:
-
Perhaps,
like Mary, it will happen in a sudden surprise on a
Sunday morning, maybe even this Sunday morning.
-
Perhaps,
like the Emmaus pilgrims, it will happen in the breaking
of the bread, maybe even the breaking of this bread.
-
Perhaps,
like Thomas, it will come amidst the clouds of doubts
and questions, struggles and uncertainties.
You don’t have to have it all together to
reach out at some point and say, “My Lord and my God.” Maybe
even today.
Note:
This text reflects what I actually said
in the sermon, but I stand corrected in my comments about
Galileo. Technically, the issue was a geocentric view of the
universe (the sun and other planets revolve around the
earth) versus Galileo’s advocacy for a heliocentric view
(the earth revolves around the sun). His issue was not
specifically about the world being round or flat, but rather
what was at the center of it all. Actually, that would have
made an even stronger point, but you get the gist of it.
Thank God for Galileo. And Copernicus. And Einstein…et al. |
