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| Norman doorway at Aberdoran, Wales |
Christ is risen…and a community is formed. Such a concept is so commonplace to us now, so second-nature. As a matter of fact, it probably doesn’t even register with us as essential because we’re so accustomed to practicing our faith together, in a group, but it still needs to be said. Christ is risen…and a community is formed. A community is formed because that is what we humans do when calamity strikes, when momentous events occur, when we’re hit with news that knocks us down.
The most recent example I can
think of to explain this was the Louisa County earthquake last August. Like
many of you, I was alone when it struck. Sitting in the office here at church, I
first thought someone was on the roof working on the air conditioning again. But
as the rumbling wore on, getting worse, it dawned on me what might be really happening.
For a split second I thought, “Am I supposed to get in a doorway or in a
bathtub? One of them applies in this situation…the other applies in a tornado.”
But then I couldn’t resist: I rushed to find other people. It was a natural
reaction, an instinctive consequence to tragedy: go find others. Hanne, our
administrative assistant, was out in the main office. Together, we looked into
the Commons for others. Two women we didn’t even know who had just left a
meeting in the church had also felt the earth move and began asking us
questions. Within moments, we were all trying to call family. Unfortunately, but
for obvious reasons, the networks at the time were either down or busy. And
then, of course…the Facebook and Twitter posts began. All afternoon people were
checking in with one another—whether on-line or in person, or both—to verify
stories, to soothe fears, to clarify facts.
This is precisely the
scenario with the disciples after Jesus’ resurrection. They gather. No stopping
to stand in the doorway or get in the bathtub first. The New Testament is clear
that the news about Jesus’ resurrection from the dead immediately brings about
community. In John’s gospel this community of disciples, which was in all
probability not limited to the main Twelve, meets behind locked doors. A
community is formed for sure, but it is a community based in doubt and fright. They
gather to verify the story, to soothe fears, and to clarify facts. Can’t you
just hear their questions as they consult with one another?
“Did this really just
happen?”
“What’s going on?”
“Hey, are you OK?”
“What, in God’s name, do we
do now?”
I imagine you can hear those
questions because they are essentially the same ones we are still, in some
ways, asking. Maybe I should speak for myself, but I have a hunch that many of
you are here on Sunday because of the same mix of doubt, faith, and
astonishment. Each of us feels somehow compelled to gather…almost as if someone
might be gathering us. And we come and hear the story of that unique early morning
after the Sabbath when the women went to anoint his body with spices and the
body wasn’t there. And although almost 2000 years separate us from that first earthshattering
morning, and although by now we’ve come to understand that Jesus’ resurrection
does not constitute a calamity for us, we gather and we hear and we share our
stories with one another and, even when we don’t say a word to each other, on
some level we still seem to be asking,
“Did this really happen?”
“What’s going on?”
“Hey, are you OK?”
“What, in God’s name, do we
do now?”
Ever since that first night
in that locked room, it has been apparent that the news of Jesus’ resurrection doesn’t
only mean something to individuals. That is to say, Jesus doesn’t rise from the
tomb simply so that individual believers can rest in peace that their souls are
somehow sealed for heaven, although that is certainly how it has often been
interpreted. No, Christian faith is never a completely private affair. It is a
community event. The news about Jesus resurrection is something that happens to
us; it is something we hear and
respond to. And even if, like Thomas, we are not, for whatever reason, immediately
drawn to community when we hear the news—even if we are left out because of our
doubt or other circumstances, we are still at some point pulled in to verify,
fact-check, possibly even poke holes in the theories. The news about Jesus’
resurrection brings us together because that it where we will find solace. That
is where we will be able to question each other and sustain each other with
hope.
But more than that, this news
of Jesus’ death and resurrection forms a community because that is how Jesus is
going to continue to work in the world. Jesus does three things in that room
with his followers on the night of his resurrection: he grants his peace, he
sends them in the same way his Father has sent him, and he breathes on them the
Holy Spirit, giving them—as a group—the power to forgive and retain sins. All
three things—living in God’s peace, spreading the message about God’s love in
Christ, and embodying forgiveness—all but require gathering and living as a
community in order to live out and practice. Jesus does not return to say, “Be
at peace with yourself and find enlightenment on your own.” He gives them
commands that will necessitate community living and gathering. When in our
confusion we gather and ask the question, “What, in God’s name, do we do now?” the
answer becomes clear: this community’s life and work will be an extension in
the world of Jesus’ own life and work. As Jesus is sent by the Father, so are
we sent to bear to the world this unconditional love. This is what we do…and we
do it in God’s name.
Perhaps most importantly,
however, the community that is formed as a result of Jesus’ ground-breaking
resurrection helps make room for those who doubt, helps those who linger on the
border between faith and disbelief, those who still want to ask those
questions, “Did this really happen?” The community of disciples becomes a
borderland between the disbelieving world and the true existence of God, a
place where God’s Spirit is very alive and active, drawing people in and
opening hearts. As it turns out, we do find ourselves standing in a doorframe.
It is a funny thing about
this story: Thomas seems to get all the credit for being the doubter, for
needing to see with his own eyes that Jesus is risen, when, in fact, all of the
disciples are actually shown Jesus’ wounds as proof that it was him. The gospel
writer John makes sure to tell us that it isn’t until after Jesus shows them
his hands and his side when they rejoice in his presence. And when Thomas
finally finds his way that next week to the community of the disciples, Jesus
addresses his doubt with love and patience, offering up his body once more for
the sake of another.
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| "The Incredulity of St. Thomas" Rembrandt (1634) |
When the church becomes a
place where doubters are condemned or shunned, where questions about faith are
not welcomed and lovingly dealt with, then the church remains frozen in fear, locking
its doors to the very world to which Jesus has sent it. Jesus will still be
able to enter and appear, just like he does that first evening, but it will be
difficult—if not impossible—for others to find the hope and comfort in the
community that his resurrection has brought about. Likewise, that community of
fear and suspicion will never be able to practice fully the mission of
forgiveness and peace that Jesus’ Spirit has given it. Yes, Jesus is risen and
a community is formed…a community that is gathered to hear, time and again, the
stories of their faith, ask their questions, and hear the promise of Jesus’ constant
presence even when our fear and confusion have locked him out.
Each spring I give the
seniors of the youth group a letter I’ve written. It changes a bit from year to
year, but the basic message is still the same. It is a letter trying to
explain, in my own words, why the Church is important (This year’s group of
seniors could have written such a letter to me. I’ve learned so much from them). We all know
that those first years of independence—away from parents and out of the
Epiphany bubble—are times of testing, changing, dealing with all kinds of new
challenges and excitements. Statistics show that many young adults fall away
from the faith entering some period of doubt and less than regular church
attendance. I’d like to think I might get one last word in there before they go
off, sent like Jesus was sent by the Father into new horizons. The letter is
probably too rambling and preachy (like this sermon), but, for what it’s worth,
this is one of the paragraphs I’ve included:
“There is another big reason why we become anxious that
you may wander away too long from this imperfect but nevertheless gracious
community: we don’t want you to forget the stories…the stories of our faith—like
how God gave Israel manna to eat in the desert on their way to the Promised
Land even though they complained about it, and how God once saved Noah and the
animals with the ark. Or the one about Jesus’ feeding the five thousand with
five loaves and two fish, and the one about the shepherd who goes after the one
lost sheep. The church tells and re-tells itself those stories not simply because
they are powerful and fun, but because they help us remember the most important
thing of all: through Jesus, God gives true meaning for the entire world and
rescues it from sin. Let me tell you, there are times you will feel like that
lost sheep (as we all do, from time to time), and you will need to know God has
come for you and will carry you back on his shoulders.”
Given this morning’s
readings, I should add, And there are times when, when you are wracked by
unbelief, hearing these stories will be like reaching your hands into the Risen
One’s wounds. You will need to be with
others who are grappling with the same and wonder together at what this all
means. I propose that is one big thing
the church is doing every week, doubters and believers and everyone else
gathered in the doorway: hearing the story of his resurrection, allowing his
words to fall fresh on us once again, and asking ourselves, once again, those
same familiar questions:
“Did this really happen?”
“Are you O.K.?”
“What, in God’s name, do we
do now?”
And, because we’re here, and
because we’re together, we hear the responses as they resound:
“Peace be with you.”
“This is my body, given for you.”
“You are
sent…just as I have been sent.”
“Do not doubt, but believe.”
Thanks be to God!
The Reverend Phillip W. Martin, Jr.
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