Sermon: Second Sunday of Easter

Preacher:

Date:

Sunday 7th April 2013

Service:

Cathedral Eucharist

Readings:

Acts 5: 27-32

John 20: 19-end

You had to be there. It was amazing. No really, I can’t describe it. You had to be there.

We’ve all joined the conversation 30 seconds after the funniest anecdote. Or got stuck in traffic and missed the gig; or spent ages trying to book tickets for the Olympics only for the website to crash. We’ve all at one time or another missed a wedding, or a long lost friend making a flying visit, or the book signing, or the winning goal.

And then it’s too late, because you had to be there. You can’t appreciate it otherwise. We are momentarily left out.

It wasn’t our fault. We were somewhere else; we needed to be alone; the situation was beyond our control; the broadband crashed; we went out on a whim; we thought we’d be back in plenty of time.

Those regrets might be minor annoyances or frustrations. There’s always another event, or conversation or hilarious story. Friends, fans, family, they’re still there. There’s so much shared history we haven’t really missed out.

But now imagine you’re Thomas. He wasn’t there with the others, behind the locked doors. He wasn’t in the room when the risen Lord stood among them and said ‘Peace be with you.’ We don’t know why; the narrative is sparse when it comes to that sort of detail. They were all afraid; perhaps he’d gone to run an urgent errand, or get food; perhaps he’d had to seek refuge elsewhere; or had heard another rumour about the empty tomb.

Speculation is pointless in a sense, because whatever the reason re-entering the room must have been like a jolt defying expectation. His fearful friends were bubbling over with excitement ‘we have seen the Lord’. No really, it was amazing. He said peace be with you. You had to be there, to experience it, to feel it; to know with that trembling overwhelming assurance that: he was risen.

The disciples were united in this momentous event; in this transformative encounter. There was nothing that Thomas could do, he had missed it. It was so other; so extraordinary. He regretted not being there Grief was intensified by this strange inexplicable loss of something he hadn’t had; hurt and puzzlement swirled around his head, perhaps. No longer united in fear, he is looking in at the group from a different perspective. He stands on the margins.

However hard he tries, the re-told tale doesn’t carry the same assurance and hope. Yet, there was nothing that he could do. It wasn’t like rearranging an appointment. He had to wait.

Thomas shows an extraordinary amount of determination. He remains within the group. He wants to share in this amazing encounter so that he too can say ‘I have seen the Lord’. But for those 7 days, he has to trust them. He is upheld by the conviction of others. He waits and he hopes. He trusts that he too will encounter the risen Lord; that he will be filled with joy as he witnesses to this new reality.

Thomas had been compelled to follow Jesus with his twin brother. He had listened to parables, witnessed miracles, shared meals and got to know the others. Like them he had been caught up in the pain, disappointment and shock of the events of Jesus’ suffering and death.

Now, he has to trust them. He has to trust that these rumours are true. He also has to wait for his own heart to burn within him with profound conviction, not born of intellectual assent but of personal encounter.

Jesus meets the disciples as he called them: by name; face to face; knowing their needs.

Unless I see, I will not believe.

To label Thomas “doubting” is an unfair sobriquet. The reality of the resurrection dawns on the disciples gradually. It wasn’t as if the others had been trusting of Mary Magdalene’s testimony; it wasn’t as if Peter and the beloved disciples believed the moment they saw the empty tomb; it wasn’t as if Clopas and his companion recognised the risen Lord as he interpreted Scripture to them. They believed in response to a name, a dawning realisation and broken bread.

That incremental shift in understanding shouldn’t surprise us; having experienced what they had, it’s no wonder that they should remain fearful and uncertain as well as joyful and overwhelmed. In the midst of grief and fear, Thomas is now swept up in emotional turmoil. No wonder he feels even more cut off. No wonder he wants, in a tangible and direct way, to share in the experience of the others. It is a perfectly natural reaction to say: that’s amazing, but I can’t absorb this. At least not until I have seen and touched and known for myself.

He remains with them. Despite the flashes of jealousy or frustration; the exasperated “I should’ve been here” remains.

Then 7 days later Jesus comes to them again. The greeting is the same; it is one of peace. The invitation extended to Thomas mirrors Jesus’ words to the rest of the group the week before. He isn’t given special treatment or more proof. Rather he is drawn into the resurrection experience along with them. His reaction is the most exuberant and unequivocal of any of the disciples. Thomas declares ‘my Lord and my God’.

Thomas has had time to ponder what is happening, to hear the experiences of others and to consider the puzzlement and mystery. How would we have reacted – by asking questions, listening, challenging, and probing? Then when his own eyes seen what others have described, all uncertainty and fear are dispelled. He is able to see things as they are and respond with a wholehearted commitment.

It is perhaps his entering into the mystery of the resurrection with such personal challenge that equips him to be a powerful evangelist and missionary. He, legend has it, take the Gospel to southern India. Those who had not seen were blessed and inspired by his testimony. Because of him, they share this joy. His own struggles bear fruit.

The Gospels don’t present the resurrection as an abracadabra moment: of pizzazz and mind-blowing wonder. It is much more subtle and relational. Conviction and joy stand alongside bewilderment and grief. Rumours of resurrection are heard and pondered upon; then, like the dawning light, the risen Lord breaks through and transform their hearts and minds with hope. It is when the disciples begin to live boldly in relation to that reality that something more wondrous emerges.

They become conduits of peace; they become ambassadors of reconciliation. Canon Andrew began to ponder last weekend what the forgiveness and retention of sins might mean. In a sense, Jesus’ words paint a vivid picture of how we are called to live in the light of resurrection. We can mediate forgiveness, which will be costly and demand patience. Yet, in so doing we not only find ourselves freed from the burdens of guilt and failure, but also liberate others from the overwhelming crushing pressure of our human imperfection.

This is life lived in the Spirit, rather than in response to the brittleness of human authority. The alternative is constraining. If we retain sins and resentment and anger, they eat away at us. Those things become corrosive; if they shape our minds and hearts, isolation and bitterness creeps in. We, and others, are locked into a cycle of recrimination and mistrust.

Those patterns are all too recognisable. In Acts, we hear of how Peter and John live according to God’s Spirit. It unsettles those in authority to see such abundance life breaking forth uncontrollably. It is perhaps no coincidence that the risen Lord speaks of the choice between forgiveness and withholding it at the point when Thomas is absent.

Perhaps his journey towards declaring his faith with conviction was made possible because those who were with him refrained from saying ‘where were you? You’ve missed it; you won’t understand; you cannot know’. Perhaps in those 7 days he was listened to and supported; perhaps those who had received peace and forgiveness in the midst of their fear and doubt were able to extend those things to the one on the margins.

They enabled him to stay; they enabled him to wait; they shared that moment of jubilation ‘my Lord and my God’.

John has written his Gospel to invite us into this pattern of life. We glimpse life lived in the body of Christ as a people who bear with; who forgive; who wait; who puzzle together and include. We too share bonds of encounter and fellowship; but we also are sent back out into the world to go our separate ways. Some of us face the pressures of work and responsibility; the demands of family and complex relationships; some of us fear what tomorrow might hold, wrestling with our own frailty and uncertainty.

For 7 days the disciples waited with Thomas. We often have to wait with one another for much longer; waiting in the midst of silence and uncertainty; refusing to rush to an answer, no allowing our confidence or doubt to cajole or undermine. Yet our capacity to say Alleluia is an expression of hope and renewal which allows us to embrace the painful and incomplete. Peace be with you; my Lord and my God. Go in the peace of Christ. Alleluia! Alleluia!