Second Sunday of Easter – Year C – Bill Harkins
The Collect
Almighty and everlasting God, who in the Paschal mystery established the new covenant of reconciliation: Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ’s Body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The Gospel: John 20:19-31
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 Judeans, 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. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained…”
In the name of the God of Creation who loves us all, Amen. “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe”. What powerful, mysterious words these are; made all the more remarkable when we think about Jesus’ disciples who, after Jesus was betrayed, scattered, afraid for their own lives. They watched the events unfold, but always from a distance, blending into the crowd of spectators. And even as they learn that crucifixion hadn’t been the end of it, in the Gospel lesson for today we find them behind locked doors, hiding together in fear in the upper room. No doubt the words of the women at the tomb were ringing in their ears, only worsening their isolation and fear: “They have taken away our Lord and we do not know where they have taken him.” Suddenly Jesus appears, and speaks those remarkable words; “Peace be with you”. And he breathes upon them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” But where was Thomas? Perhaps he needed to be alone. Maybe he went to that place we all go, in the midst of deep grief, where we may believe that nothing or no one can reach us, even if it is not true. It’s easy to be drawn to Thomas because he seems so human. After all, it was Thomas who asked Jesus how they could know the way. Jesus replied “I am the way, the truth, and the life”. But Thomas needed proof. There was an uncompromising honesty about him. He would never respond to the anxiety of his own doubts by pretending they did not exist.
In today’s Gospel text, I think Jesus is reminding Thomas, and by extension all of us, that it is relationship that heals. He reaches out to Thomas in his isolation and doubt and offers the hand of friendship and reconciliation. It is not our doubts, my friends, that is the enemy. Rather, it is responding to that doubt by cutting ourselves off from others, from relationships that can heal us and sustain us—which is most risky. And we are most likely to do this when, like the disciples, we are scared, sad, angry, and lost, and we hide ourselves behind closed doors. And often what locks us in are our fears, insecurities, illnesses, compulsions or addictions, past hurts we have experienced and the hurts we have caused. And I wonder if we have more of this separation and disconnection these days. The social scientist Brene’ Brown has said that faith communities who hope to be safe containers for beloved community, must create safe spaces for honest, authentic transparency in relation to those things that would keep us in the bondage of disconnection borne of shame. Jesus gives us an alternative to being cut off from ourselves, and others, and from God. And I have seen this kind of community in action in chapters of the Community of Hope lay pastoral care efforts, which we are working on establishing here at Holy Family, and elsewhere too!
Some time ago, I attended the “birthday” of a friend who was celebrating his 9th year of sobriety. I first met him in 1978 when we worked together on the adolescent psychiatric unit at Peachford Hospital, and we became friends. Just out of college, searching for direction and purpose, I learned so much from my colleagues, and the patients and families with whom we worked. My life and that of my friend took different paths, but we kept in touch. I knew he had struggled with alcohol, but until I heard his story, I did not realize the depth of his addiction. And so, on a cold and rainy night some 35 years after we met, I drove up to Cherokee County as he picked up his 9-year chip. I walked into a room filled to capacity—maybe 70-80 souls, a good number of whom were members of a local motorcycle group in recovery. They eyed me, dressed like the professor I had been all day long, and I them, dressed like, well, a motorcycle gang. Finally, one of them came up to me, shook my hand, smiled, and said welcome, we are glad you are here. Let’s find you a seat.” That night, I heard the testimony of those who knew and loved my friend, and stories of life—his and theirs—before and after sobriety. I was deeply moved by the openness, shared vulnerability, and honesty in the room. I heard my friend tell the moving story of how drinking almost killed him, and how he had said to those gathered in that very room, some nine years earlier, “I am lost. Tell me what to do; and if you tell me, I will do it.” And then he said, through tears of one who has come back from the edge of the abyss, “You saved my life, you know… I asked, and you gave, and you told me to work each step, and that you would be there with me each step of the way. And you were. I was among the living dead, and I slowly came back to life. I am here tonight, standing up here talking to you, because you people saved my life.” And this story was indeed a perfect example of a man whose life had in many ways ended…who was no longer fully alive, and who had come back to life. And so it was that those gathered that night were “practicing resurrection” as Wendell Berry asks us to do, and as the life of Jesus embodies…that Paschal Mystery available in each, sacred moment of our lives. And you see, dear one’s, those souls had chosen not to remain trapped behind the locked doors of their addictions—a living death cut off from relationship. They had chosen to be in the community, out in the open. And to do this, they had to face with brutal honesty—a searching, fearless, and unrelenting moral inventory— the truth of what had kept them imprisoned. I found myself moved and inspired by this connection of relationships, and I understood my friend better too…and I understood the power of the Paschal Mystery of Easter a bit more clearly: that in the phrase “one day at a time” we see the truth of that new life. It was as if we placed our hands in the wounded brokenness of my friend’s soul, and we believed. In Christ, darkness and death has been overcome—is overcome—one day, one moment at a time, here and now. And, we overcome not just any darkness, but the darkness that finds us hidden from ourselves and from relationship with others…the infinite Good Friday deaths of the bondage of addiction, our shadow selves wanted only to be made whole again. Life is a journey, Thomas’ journey and ours. And it is seldom a straight line. In his novel Jayber Crow, Wendell Berry has his protagonist say:
“If you could do it, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line – starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King’s Highway past the appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circling or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led – make of that what you will.”
Jesus felt the deep pain of suffering—his and ours—and through his resulting scars and resurrection, we too can find redemption. We can feel hope, and renewal. Jesus wanted the disciples to see his wounds so that they could understand the resurrection hope those scars represented. To be vulnerable and to tell the bold truth about our lives, including our scars—is uncomfortable and risky, but it is the antidote to the prison of shame and the isolation it breeds. The Good News is that, like Thomas and his brothers and sisters, we too are called to move from times of doubt to moments of grace. And if we have been honest in our doubt, despite the vulnerability of being lost, our decisions of faith will be more honest and clearer and committed as we move along our journeys. To give of ourselves, we must know ourselves—that’s the fearless moral inventory. Yes, “Practice Resurrection,” that wonderful writer Wendell Berry says to us, and every time we choose to do this, the grace-filled Easter story continues. The Nashville alt-country singer songwriter Jason Isbell, whose work I enjoy, has been on his journey in recovery now for several years. In a recent song, his lyrics remind me of Jesus after the resurrection, promising Mary Magdalene, the disciples, and Thomas too, that no matter what, he will never leave us. When I hear these words, I imagine Jesus saying that no matter the doors behind which we may be hiding, he will find us:
I love you like the morning loves the afternoon
Like the prairies love the plains
If you leave me now, I’ll just come running after you
I’ll be the wind behind the rain
When I got home that night, I sent my old friend a message thanking him for the gift of his story, and for inviting me into that sacred space. He sent a text message that read: “Life; Chaos; Recovery; Gratitude.” And I realized that is almost like…I would say it is exactly like the Holy Spirit had been breathed upon us in that locked room, the doors of which had been flung open by the grace of my friend’s story. And when that happens, because we have asked for it, we can co-participate in the compassionate beloved community of God, one day at a time. Amen