March 30, 2008
Second Sunday of Easter (Year A)
Acts 2:14a,22-32; Psalm 16; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
It always takes me a while to come back to earth when I return from Africa. As you can imagine from your own experiences, there's quite a bit of culture shock on each end of the trip. It's a little like stepping back in time, a strange juxtaposition of simpler, and in many ways, harder times, with our fast paced world of technology and abundance. But this trip was a little different for me for two reasons. I was traveling with five other people who had never been to Africa before, and so my experience was somewhat different from theirs. But also, this trip happened right before Holy Week. I have always been drawn to the work of theologian and author Marcus Borg, and I was looking forward to hearing him speak a few days after I returned. A Lenten discipline for me this year had been to read, and in some cases reread some of his books. And so, each evening at the end of a long, intense day of meeting and hearing the stories of people from all around the diocese of Tanga, after our group's evening time together sharing reflections and praying Compline, I read from Borg's book “The Last Week.” It was a great way to frame all I experienced in Tanzania, and a great way to still be in the journey, as Jesus and his disciples approached Jerusalem and lived out the events that would change the world. It stays with me now, as I approach our scripture passages this morning.
It's a familiar story: the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus to the disciples, the encounter with doubting Thomas, the “Divine Commission,” when Jesus sends out his disciples to follow in his footsteps. And it's an important story, because it tells us a little about the communities in the early first century, the very beginning of the new church, as Jewish followers of Christ are called to be not only followers but now, to become leaders. I can only imagine what they were feeling. The passages mention their fear; there they were, hiding, locked in a room together, shocked, dismayed, their dreams dashed, their hope shattered as their beloved teacher lay beaten and crucified. This is not how any of them had imagined it ending. What were they to do now?
But something else happened, even before the resurrection. As Jesus took his last breath, the curtain of the temple was torn, our separation was removed, and our relationship with God changed forever.
Our reading today is the Gospel of John's Pentecost story. In a lesson about the nature of things to come, as they huddled there together, Jesus appeared to them. And to their astonishment, he wished them "Peace." This word peace was no mere greeting, no casual salutation from a friend. Peace, as used biblically, has a broader meaning. It conveys wholeness, completeness, an all encompassing sense of divine healing. At a time of deep fear and crushing disappointment, Jesus appears to this community of believers, in human form with all his wounds, and offers Shalom. Then in an act that reverberates throughout scripture, Jesus breathes life-giving spirit into his disciples.
Think about this for a minute. In a garden, God creates man from dust and breathes life into him. In a valley of the dry bones, God redeems his fallen people with the breath of life, and reanimates them. In a small cramped room, the risen Christ appears to his fearful disciples, and breathing the Spirit into them, emboldens and transforms them into apostles for the future. In this one act of incredible intimacy, Jesus invites his disciples, and us, formed by our personal experiences with Him, out of our fear and into the present reality of the living Christ. And it is an invitation. The disciples, with their doubts and fears and preconceived notions are invited to see this new reality as a beginning, a way forward, into the future, and to use it to accomplish the purpose, the passion, of God. Marcus Borg puts it this way. If we give our hearts to God, we move from following to believing to be-loving. We join in the passion of God, and we can change the world.
During Marcus' presentation, he paused and offered us two questions for reflection. I imagine you know I like this style of reflection and question. It's a way to apply the story and history of scripture to our present lives, and I pass these questions on to you now:
What was your first experience of God? How did you first hear about Jesus?
By the age of 10 or 12 years, how had your understanding of God evolved?
We are formed by our experiences with the risen Christ.
As we sat around our table contemplating these seemingly simple questions and their impact on our lives, one thing became clear. We all have very different constructs of faith. We are all on a path, but sometimes very different paths leading to the same destination, and we are at very different places on that journey. I think the gospel passage says something about that too. We have Thomas, apparently absent from the first appearance of Jesus, who really is a bit reluctant. His heart's been broken and he's not likely to open himself up to that vulnerability quite yet, certainly not without ironclad, physical proof. I love Thomas, because he is a part of all of us. I think there are those of us with doubts, and those of us that admit to our doubts. Long ago, when I finally decided to “come out” about my living faith, I thought I had to be sure, to know completely what I believed, and to be ready with all the answers. It was the black and white world of vulnerability and protection. But as I matured a bit in my faith, I encountered really good people with different points of view who were ready to challenge me, and I realized that I was fooling myself. I didn't understand it all. I didn't have the answers to the tough questions and I don't think we're meant to, at least not yet. That's the point of mystery, and the possibilities that lie therein. And doubt is important for another reason. It protects us from following blindly; it encourages us to ask important questions, to think and talk about our faith in ways that make us grow and see and eventually know.
Some of you may know that I have a great friendship with the Sisters of St. Anne, in Arlington, a small group of Episcopal nuns that nurture many travelers on this journey of faith. They are all special in their own way, and one I am especially attached to is Sr. Olga. Even well into her seventies she is young at heart and full of wonder. One thing that really delights her is turtles. She has glass turtles, pottery turtles, pewter turtles on the rope cinctures of her habit and bronze turtles in the garden. Whenever I travel, I look for a turtle to bring her. This time I brought her a carved wooden turtle from Tanzania. She was absolutely, hand-clapping delighted, and she told me why. “Do you know why I love turtles so much?” she said. “Because I can't help but wonder, what did God have in mind for them? What was he thinking when he made them, because they have a purpose you know? Everything God makes and does has a purpose.”
And so another question to ponder:
As a Christian in the world today, as one on the path of faith from following to believing, to be-loving, what was God dreaming when he made you? What is your purpose, your passion?
In the earliest days of the Christian church, God breathed his spirit into the apostles, promising to always be with them, and sent them into the world. In our busy world of abundance today, God fills us with the breath of life and invites us to know Him. When we give our hearts to God, we join in God's passion, and we can change the world.
Amen.
The Rev. Maggie Geller
Church of the Good Shepherd