No Doubt
Second Sunday of Easter
Bob Stillerman
John 20:19-31
John 20:19-31
19 When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors were locked where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.”
20 After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.
21 Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”
22 When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.
23 If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”
24 But Thomas (who was called the Twin[a]), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came.
25 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.”
26 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.”
27 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.”
28 Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!”
29 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.”
30 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book.
31 But these are written so that you may continue[b] to believe that Jesus is the Messiah,[c] the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.
Sermon: No Doubt
Last Sunday, when Mary arrives at the tomb, she does not recognize the risen Jesus. It’s only when Jesus calls her name, “Mary,” that she comes to believe. That same evening, the disciples gather for a meal behind locked doors, and somehow, someway, Jesus joins them. He breathes on them the breath of the Holy Spirit, and he shows them his wounds. And they, too, believe.
Thomas, without explanation, was absent last week. Just like the disciples are skeptical of Mary’s story, Thomas is skeptical of theirs. “That’s nice and all,” Thomas says, “But I’ve got to see to believe. I’ve got to touch Jesus’ wounds with my own hands.” And wouldn’t you know it, Jesus arrives this week for supper, too, in a similar manner, and offers Thomas the opportunity of touch. Thomas, in full belief, proclaims: “My Lord and My God!”
It’s one thing to hear about the risen Jesus. There’s a whole lot of storytelling in this Gospel. It’s quite another to hear Jesus speak your name; or to have Jesus speak a blessing upon you so closely that you feel his breath upon your skin, or to shake the hand of Jesus. In these instances, intimacy and immediacy are catalysts for belief.
Guess what? Intimacy and immediacy are not bad markers of belief.
I tend to believe what happens in my presence, and in the present. What we see, hear, and feel are all legitimate and credible markers of our faith experience. God should be something we can sense! In fact, God gives us senses in order that we might share and receive what is experiential in our lives. We all, in some way, seek evidence to undergird our beliefs and convictions.
We don’t chastise Mary, call her blind or stubborn, for failing, at least initially, to recognize Jesus in her midst. We don’t write off Peter for being less exceptional than the Beloved Disciple. Even his three public denials don’t prevent his status as the Rock of the Church. We don’t call the disciples who were at supper last week late-comers to the faith party. But tradition is a fickle thing, and Thomas, somehow, has been branded a doubter. “Come on, Thomas, don’t you read the news?”
But tradition, whoever it or they are, hasn’t spent much time with this text. We tend to read Jesus’ last statement to Thomas as a lecture:
Then Jesus told Thomas, Have you believed because you have seen me?
And even though it’s not there, we insist on adding an imaginary but as a connector between the first and second sentences.
But. But, but, but (that’s a redaction!)
Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.’
Tradition wants to chastise Thomas for seeking the same evidence as Mary, Peter, and the other disciples. Even the Beloved Disciple (he’s sooooo perfect!) needs to investigate the tomb to have a partial understanding of the Easter events. And even then, he did not yet fully comprehend what he had seen. It’s only later, much later than Sunday morning, that this disciple believes. The notion is that Thomas only believes because he has seen. And shame on Thomas for wanting evidence to believe.
But that’s not what Jesus is saying at all. First off, of course Thomas now believes. I mean you showed him proof, Jesus! There’re no takebacks!
Suppose I was magically transported to Kitty Hawk in 1903. I believe that Orville and Wilbur’s plane is gonna fly, because I’ve already flown in a plane. I can’t unsee or negate the experience of flight. It doesn’t, however, make the accomplishment of flight any less untrue or impressive. And it doesn’t negate my belief or experience. Belief, not the impetus for belief, is the end goal.
Jesus isn’t saying, “better belief is the kind that doesn’t need to be seen.” Jesus is saying, “blessed still, are those who have not seen for themselves.” In other words, the historical Jesus, or for John’s author, the logos or word manifested as Jesus of Nazareth, revealed itself in a particular time and place. God lived among us as a human being, and a select number of people got to see, and hear, and touch, and feel, and even speak to God’s presence with their own voices, and hands, and hearts, and eyes. But they will not be the only ones blessed with belief.
The last two verses of our text become particularly important to our hearing this morning:
Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name. (John 20:30-31).
What this says, friends, is we may not have had the good fortune to be present in that very moment, but we DO have the good fortune to be present in this very moment. And we can rekindle a similar, and equally powerful and palpable experience with the Risen One for ourselves.
Easter – the ongoing story of God’s resurrection, and recreation, and reclamation in our individual and communal lives – Easter, is not the two-thousand-year autopsy of a broken body. Easter is the continual and unexpected, miraculous even, healing of brokenness. Easter is God’s voice, God’s breath, and God’s touch experienced, even in the quietest, most remote, darkest corners of our lives.
Here’s one of those stories of John (sayings of John, really!) to remember. Jesus told the disciples, because you have known me, you have known my Daddy also, and my Mama, and all the parental intimacy of God, too. The disciples knew God’s goodness for themselves, and then spent a lifetime witnessing, or sharing God’s goodness with others. And some component of God’s goodness, maybe it’s like the water molecules that float through ancient rivers, or the soil that holds the dust of our long-departed saints, some component of God’s goodness has been passed along to us. To be seen. To be heard. To be felt. To be experienced. The blessing of belief.
Yes, a thousand times, yes, how I would love to have been in that room, and felt the warm embrace of Jesus. But it’s really just a curiosity. Because I have felt the warm embrace of each of you. And I know, I believe, I faith in a compassionate Creator, not because we’ve stood side by side, or hand in hand, but because I have lived with God’s children. And I have known the love of Jesus in each of you.
I know God, I experience Easter, because I know you, and you, and you…
I hope also, we might notice the grace in Thomas’ absence. Easter wasn’t all used up in one sitting. We don’t have any idea why Thomas wasn’t there. Yes, maybe Thomas didn’t set his alarm for sunrise service; maybe he just really needed to stay home and watch Meet the Press; maybe he had personal matters to attend to. Or maybe the anxiety and fear of his friends contributed to his absence. As they made their way to the safe house, maybe the other disciples forgot to tell Thomas the plan; maybe Thomas banged on the locked door and they were too afraid to answer. Or maybe Thomas was a lot like the women who followed Jesus, too full of nervous energy, and resolved not to simply sit and wait for something to happen. Maybe Thomas was actively searching the streets for the Risen One. Whatever the case, God still makes room for Thomas. And Thomas, whether he’s doubting, or confident, or somewhere in between, adds to the fullness of his faith community.
I think as a faith community, we put an awful lot of pressure on ourselves to be SO present we don’t miss out on transformation. This Sunday is the most important Sunday. This gathering is the most important gathering. This Easter morning, or this Christmas season, or this initiative is the most important, most exclusive, most urgent, most pressing opportunity to be Church, to feel God’s presence, to experience transformation, to accomplish our stated end. And we’d better not miss our chance.
Listen, I hope you all are here every time the doors of Millbrook are open. But perfect attendance is not what makes us an Easter people. Every Sunday, every day, every moment and hour, is Easter. I believe, with my whole being, that today, offers an opportunity for resurrection. But I also believe, with even more of my being, that every moment forward offers just as potent, just as sincere, just as credentialed moments of God’s presence and transformation.
Therefore, we needn’t scold the Thomases of our lives with the question, “Where have you been?” Instead, we ought to encourage them with the greeting, “We are SO glad you are here.”
Finally, I believe we need to ask ourselves what role we play in the absence of our friends. Is there anything we are doing intentionally or unintentionally that discourages their presence, that makes them feel unwelcome or unassured or out of place. And what work, what credentialing, what effort are we putting toward the creation of future space for Easter moments?
150 years, y’all, 150 YEARS of Millbrook! The expectant hope that every Sunday will be Easter. May God help us make space for those neighbors who have not yet seen, and yet will one day come to believe.
Amen.