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The Never-Ending StoryMarch 30, 2008 Second Sunday of Easter It is the first Sunday after Easter, and here we are, gathered like so many other Sunday mornings. I don’t mean to sound self-congratulating, but I must say, we do Easter well at Christ Church. If you were away last week, I encourage you to get the tape and listen, although listening can hardly do it justice. There is something wonderful and exciting about seeing so many people packed into this space. The orchestra and choir were magnificent; the Easter feast and children at play; the preacher seemed to be at his best, even inviting us this week into a daily morning ritual of celebration with champagne glasses raised high, announcing, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Someone commented to me on their way out, “Cathy, this was wonderful! I wish it could be like this every Sunday.” Later, I got to thinking about that, because that is exactly the point. The good news of Easter is that the celebration is only just getting started. As a spiritual discipline over the years, I have learned to try to put myself into the stories of scripture. I try to imagine what it would be like to be one of the characters in the text – sometimes more. For example, I wonder what it would be like to sit with Jesus at the well – or anyone, for that matter – and engage them in conversation until they get to know me for who I really am, and I get to know them in turn. I wonder how plausible it is to take such risks and expose myself to such vulnerability. I calculate the risk because I understand the danger of letting people know too much too soon. Can anyone possibly know me well and love me anyhow? On Maundy Thursday, I imagined myself being invited to the evening meal with colleagues and friends, and having my feet washed by the one I most admire. My mentor, teacher, friend – the one to whom I have entrusted myself. Like Peter, I am reluctant, and yet I want it desperately. I hear the news yet again that he is going away and I wonder, how would I be able to survive without him? How can the good work that has begun move forward? Would I have what it takes to step up and live into my expected role? Where would I be on Good Friday? At the foot of the cross, weeping inconsolable tears, or hiding out, afraid that someone might recognize me? Or perhaps I would be discouraged; so utterly dismayed that the simplest and easiest thing would be to throw in the towel altogether and go back to business as usual. Go back to the mundane, the predictable. Back to the way things have always been. Back to the “safe” place. Deluding myself into thinking that even the so-called “safe” place was somehow better than the unknown future. After all, Jesus is dead. He could not even save his own life; what can he do for me? And what about Easter morning? Ah, Easter, with all of its glory. I try to imagine myself in the week hours of the morning going to the tomb like Mary Magdalene, trying to do one last thing for the one I love. I saw him die. I imagine the shock and wonder of hearing him speak to me; calling my name. And finally, the lightbulb goes off, and I understand. I see him, truly see him for who he is for the very first time. And, having heard and seen, I carry this good news: he is alive and well! I wonder how I can tell it. Who will listen to me? Who will believe me? And today, one week after the Resurrection, I find myself in Thomas’ camp. I think that Thomas has always gotten a bad rap. But thanks be to God for Thomas. I don’t think he was any more doubtful than the other disciples, then or now. I mean, really. Mary did not believe until she saw him for herself. Saw, and heard and spoke with him. There is no evidence to suggest that the other disciples believed what Mary said until they saw the risen Christ for themselves. Saw and heard him. Why should Thomas be any different? In Thomas, we are reminded that Easter keeps on happening in the church. Easter is not a one-time phenomenon. Whatever excitement and exuberance we experienced last week is alive and present and available today – every Sunday, every day! And we need that assurance. That Christ keeps coming to us, keeps moving through whatever locked door we are hiding behind, tearing down the dividing curtains and breathing his life-giving breath upon us; raising us up toward himself. According to John’s gospel, later in the evening, after Mary returned from the tomb, she found the disciples hiding out for fear that they might meet the same fate as Jesus. The doors of their house were locked. Yet Jesus appeared before them and offered them peace. He offered them his hands and his side. And in so doing, we remember that Jesus was truly a human being who lived and suffered and died. We ought not to miss that. We Christians hold the claim that the crucifixion really happened. In the breaking of the bread and drinking of wine we affirm his body as the bread of heaven and his blood was shed for us. The disciples rejoiced when they got it and Jesus blessed them and sent them on their way: “As the Father has sent me, so send I you.” I have wondered about Thomas and where he was that evening. Why wasn’t he in the room with Peter and the other disciples? What business could have been of higher importance? Was he taking care of practical matters, like paying the bills or preparing food? Was he at home with his wife and family or arranging to leave the city, just in case? Whatever it was, he missed it. He missed the opportunity to see Jesus along with the others. He missed the blessing of peace and the commissioning of the Holy Spirit. He missed the shared fellowship and the eyewitness account. I have been there. I have missed opportunities. Been too busy or preoccupied or too full of my own circumstance to appreciate what is right before me. I have turned away from the very thing that could have led to greater faith. I have ignored the words that could have made all the difference in the world. My courage and imagination failed me; fear took over. When the disciples told Thomas what they had seen, he responded, “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.” I think if we are honest, we might admit that like Thomas, there are days when we have our doubts. We wonder how we can move forward and authentically engage the Easter message? We want to believe it and some days it is easier, but on other days it seems as if God’s message is unbelievable. How can we be sure? We ask for a sign. Something tangible that we can see and touch. Some proof that we have not lost our minds; that things are going to work out somehow. Unless I see God’s hand at work, how can I believe? How can I know for sure? John Witte suggests that, “There is a little bit of Mary Magdalene in all of us: times when we swoon with pain and grief and need God’s call to comfort us. There is a little bit of the huddled disciples in all of us: times when our faith puts us in jeopardy and fear, and we need God’s peace to be breathed on us. There is a little bit of Thomas in all of us: times that we are so overcome by doubt and skepticism that we need God’s touch to assure and anchor us. And there is a little bit of Peter in all of us: times when we deny and betray our Lord and need a miracle to remind us of God’s majesty or a divine conversation to move us to confess our faith unflinchingly.” [1] And I love it because it seems as if God anticipates our longings and the resurrected Christ meets us where we are and accommodates our needs. A week later, Jesus stands before Thomas. “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” In that moment, Easter happened for Thomas. “My Lord and my God!” And the story does not end there. The Easter story finds itself in you and me and in our life together. And it points to that future thing that is emerging. That glimmer of new life and hope that is breaking forth. It finds itself on the subway and in the park and riding on an airplane. It’s everywhere! Every time you discover a new truth about yourself or life or God, Easter happens. Every time you forgive a wrong or stretch to make a friend, Easter happens. Every time you decide that being the victim is no longer appropriate, choosing instead to press on with confident hope, Easter happens. Every time you lend yourself to the cause of another; to love them and treat them with human dignity, Easter happens. Every time we gather as a community by the hundreds or just two or three, gather together in love and unity, Easter happens. This is the story we have to tell. And it does not end here, my friends. It does not end here! ___________________
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