Opening Locked Doors
Readings: Acts 5:27-32; Psalm 2; Revelation 1:4-8; John 20:19-31
It is evening on the first day of the week. The disciples are huddled behind locked doors. After the death of their beloved leader they are naturally fearful. Jesus’ death had changed everything. Their hopes and dreams had been shattered. They feared for their lives. They had seen their leader cruelly executed. They lived in fear of the consequences of being a follower of Jesus. And so they locked the doors.
Are there doors that we lock for fear? Are there issues that are simply too painful for the Church to look at? Do we close our minds to change because we fear what it will mean in our lives? Does fear keep us from being totally committed to the message of the Gospel? We do not live in a perfect world. We are faced every day with inequities. There are problems we cannot solve. There are situations that seem insurmountable. There are injustices. There are tragedies that cry out for an explanation. There are conflicts that we cannot handle. Sometimes it seems easier and more prudent to huddle behind locked doors.
The disciples did not remain frozen in their fear. They unlocked the doors. They went back out into that same world. They faced those same authorities. They went out preaching and teaching in Jesus’ name. They did it with fervour and commitment. Even jail could not hold them back. “We must obey God rather than humanity,” they declared to the same people in fear of whom they had locked the doors.
What empowered them to unlock the doors, to open themselves up to persecution, to ridicule? What made them willing to live dangerously for their faith? It had to be more than the hope of winning some nebulous crown in another dimension. Their whole outlook changed. Your whole perspective does not shift without a momentous reason. For them to joyfully risk their lives, to endure beatings and imprisonment for the sake of the Gospel, something unimaginable had to have taken place. They were committed. They were totally and utterly convinced of their cause, and equally convinced of the blindness of those around them.
There is only one possible answer to the change. Nothing, not a lock on a door, not the grave, not their betrayal of him, could keep Jesus from coming. He came and stood amongst them, offering peace, offering hope. And it changed them.
“We have seen the Lord,” they said to Thomas. When you have seen the One you thought you was gone forever, standing before you in all of his risen glory, when you are convinced that the power of death is overcome, then everything changes.
Notice that it didn’t change for Thomas, at least not right away! “If I could see, I would believe!” he tells them. He just cannot see the signs of resurrection. In his deep pain and anguish he cannot see that he has missed something. Something has changed. The disciples have been empowered. He cannot see through his sorrow to the hope in their words. He cannot experience the peace that Jesus has brought.
How like Thomas we are! If only I could see, then I would believe. Prove to me that God is alive. Where can I see resurrection in this world in which I live? I see only death.
Think back to your childhood. Consider what you believed. As children we were able to believe the impossible. That ability disappeared as we were taught that the world of imagination is not true. Faith requires that we will ourselves not to disbelieve, that we naively recapture the sense of wonder that we had as children.
Perhaps it is easier to do if we consider some words of Aristotle. “That which is impossible and probable is better than that which is possible and improbable.”
Magic is possible, but it is certainly improbable. We have all watched with amazement as a skilful magician works his magic. Our eyes tell us to believe. We want to believe. We know that it is a trick. We try to figure out how it is done, but underneath it all we just want to believe in the magic. We know that things are not as they appear to be.
We live in an age where impossible things become reality every day. Growing up, Saturday afternoon meant a trip to the movies. When the feature was over we would sit mesmerized by a serial. Each week, they would show a new segment of a science fiction film about space travel. It seemed far beyond the realm of possibility. Rocket ships! Moon landings! Visiting other planets! Yet not many years later, sitting in a campsite my sister and I listened on the car radio as the first people walked on the surface of the moon.
Resurrection on the other hand is impossible; but in the light of the reaction of the disciples it is also probable. If we are a people of the resurrection, then we must live as an Easter people. That may mean a change in direction. It may mean unlocking the doors that keep us trapped in fear. It may mean advocating for justice. It may mean taking a committed stand against society.
It is a standing joke about the Miss World Beauty Pageant as every contestant is asked what their hope is and all make the same reply, “World peace!” But I suspect that if I asked each of you this morning what you hope for that at least somewhere in your first few responses, world peace would appear.
We long for peace and harmony in our world. We hear on the news of terrorist acts in Sri Lanka and we long for peace. We hear of North Korea arming itself and we long for peace. We hear of young people being shot on our city streets and we long for peace. We hear of family violence and we long for peace. We deal with conflict in our personal lives and we long for peace.
And there is Jesus in the midst of us, wounded hands extended, offering peace. In that gesture, offered to us in the same way it was offered to the first disciples of Christ, we recognize and accept God’s love for us. We accept in faith the teaching of the apostles and their proclamation that they “have seen the risen Lord.” Then we allow God’s gracious Spirit, the peace he came to bring, to fill, energize and propel us toward a committal of all we are and have. Then we will know and experience the power of the resurrected Lord in our lives. We too will proclaim, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!”
Showing posts with label 2nd Sunday of Easter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2nd Sunday of Easter. Show all posts
Saturday, April 27, 2019
Saturday, April 22, 2017
The Second Sunday of Easter, Year A
The Call of Faith
Readings: Acts 2:14a & 22-32, Psalm 16; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
Easter is a call to faith, the Christian response to the Easter event, faith that believes even though it cannot see. That is what Peter boldly proclaims to all in Jerusalem who will listen. "Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy."
But do we? Let’s face it! It is easy for Peter and the other disciples to believe. After all, they were witnesses to the risen Lord! They talked to him. He appeared to them offering them peace. He sent them out filled with the Holy Spirit. He gave them power to forgive. How could they not believe?
And there is Thomas! He could not take their word for it. He wanted proof. "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."
Aren't we like that? I know I am. I want proof positive. I want to see for myself. For most of us, seeing is believing. We rationalize. We question. We want to know the outcome before we commit ourselves.
There is something more in Thomas's story that has always intrigued me. It is a seemingly trivial fact that John chooses to include. He tells us that Thomas is a twin. Do you ever wonder why he put that in? Why was it important enough to add? Was it to make the story more interesting? I truly doubt that, although twins are interesting characters. I remember a set of twins that I once taught. They were a real challenge. That whole year I never learned to tell them apart. I was never quite sure when I called one of their names just who actually answered. And being Jane and Joan it probably wouldn't have mattered much. They kept the class guessing about what they would get into next. They knew without saying a word what the other was thinking. They were bright and fun. To have twins must be both a double joy and a double challenge. But that doesn't explain why John told us that Thomas was a twin.
He also didn’t tell us whose twin Thomas was. We can read in Scripture about James and John being brothers. Whose twin was Thomas? Could it have been Mary Magdalene, or perhaps even Judas? Nothing even begins to explain why he made a point of telling us that Thomas was a twin.
That is, unless you read between the lines. Who is Thomas’s twin? The answer is evidently meant to be “us”. We are Thomas’s twins. Like Thomas we all experience times of fear and doubt, pessimism and trust, belief and unbelief. And that is a difficult place to be, because we don’t like to live with ambiguity. We want a sense of certainty.
We see it in the priorities of society. Billions of dollars are spent every year developing new technologies. Meanwhile millions of people starve to death. We worry less about improving our present existence than about the unknown, those things which are just beyond our reach. We want to know.
When it comes to God we are even more anxious to know with a sense of certainty. We want signs, wonders, miracles. We want to prove the existence of God. Is God really out there looking after things? Is the world in good hands? Is everything going to turn out all right after all? Are the good going to be rewarded and the bad punished? Is there something to look forward to when our earthly life is completed?
There are uncertainties in life as well. How can we be certain that we are really loved? Is there meaning to life? What legacy will we leave behind us? We want certainty about who we are and what we have accomplished. That makes us Thomas’s twin. He just wanted to be certain. He wanted tangible proof. He didn’t want to be told. He wanted to see for himself. He wanted to see the mark of the nails in Jesus’ hands. He wanted to put his finger in the mark of the nails. He wanted to put his hand in Jesus’ side. Only then could he be certain that there would be no disappointments, no false hopes.
Let’s read between the lines again. When Jesus came to the Upper Room to see the disciples, Thomas wasn’t there. Whatever good reason he may have had, he missed out on what the rest of the community shared. He missed the encounter with the risen Christ. He missed the words of peace. He missed the outpouring of love and concern and blessing. He missed the pep talk that sent the others out carrying the message of forgiveness.
Many good people have the mistaken notion that they don’t need the community of faith. They think they can make it on their own. “What purpose does church serve?” they ask. “I can live a Christian life on my own terms. I can be good. I don’t need the church. After all, it’s filled with a bunch of hypocrites who just want my money.”
Others think that once you become a Christian, once you accept faith, all the doubts simply disappear. They think that with faith all our rational faculties cease to be used. We simply park our brains at the door. We accept the Church’s teaching and follow blindly.
That will never be enough. For doubts come. In fact, I am skeptical of anyone who says they have no doubts. I fear they may be fanatical in their faith. Doubts come to all of us.
Doubts come to us when we look at all the terrible things that are going on in the world. What kind of God allows the terrible suffering that comes about because of war, or famine, or terrorist acts? What kind of God allows disasters to strike innocent people?
Doubts come most of all when we face difficulties and hardships in our lives. We question the very existence of God. Why am I sick? Why did my child die? Why can’t I find a job? Why did my spouse walk out on me? Why is God letting this happen to me? I am faithful. I believe. Why? What use is faith if bad things still happen? Where are you God when I need you? If that is the basis of our relationship with God, then doubts will simply overwhelm us. We will lose hope. Doubt is not the opposite of faith; hopelessness is!
I had this very conversation this past week with a close friend. She is a faithful Christian, raised in the Roman Catholic Church and active in her parish. Lately any number of things have caused her to question her faith – the death of a close mutual friend, another friend’s struggle with a debilitating disease, her son’s continuing struggle with depression, her own chronic pain. “I went to all the services during Holy Week and Easter,” she said to me, “but somehow I am just left with emptiness. I know it is wrong. I need to have faith, but …”
That is where Thomas’s story comes in. It continues to be so reassuring. It says to me that it is reasonable to have doubts. It is understandable. It is human. Everyone has doubts about their relationships at one time or another. There is not a husband or wife who has not at some time had doubts about their relationship. There are no two friends who have not at some time in their relationship wondered whether it would last. And there is not a believer who has not experienced Christ as absent from their lives at some time or another. We have all had times when it was difficult to believe.
Thomas challenges us to persevere when we have doubts. He got to the place where we must get. Like him we must cry out, “My Lord and my God!” It may sound more like a question than a statement. Never mind. Persevere in the faith. Witness to how God is working in your life and in the lives of others. Deepen your commitment to God day by day. Commit yourself to the work of the Church.
And most of all, watch for the signs of resurrection around you. We need moments of evidence, moments of feeling God’s presence. Such moments are given so that our faith can survive the periods of seeming absence of God, the times when we do not see, yet believe.
Where is the risen Lord to be seen?
• In the bursts of colour as spring returns
• In the face of the stranger who smiles as we pass by one another
• In the voice of a friend who calls just to say hello
• In the laughter of children
• In a moment of joining hands with another person in the exchange of the peace
• In bread broken and wine poured
• In looking into another’s eyes and seeing Christ
The gospel is about us after all. It tells us that Thomas was a twin. It leaves us with the tantalizing question, “Who is Thomas’s twin? And there is only one possible answer. I! I am Thomas’s twin. Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
Readings: Acts 2:14a & 22-32, Psalm 16; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
Easter is a call to faith, the Christian response to the Easter event, faith that believes even though it cannot see. That is what Peter boldly proclaims to all in Jerusalem who will listen. "Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy."
But do we? Let’s face it! It is easy for Peter and the other disciples to believe. After all, they were witnesses to the risen Lord! They talked to him. He appeared to them offering them peace. He sent them out filled with the Holy Spirit. He gave them power to forgive. How could they not believe?
And there is Thomas! He could not take their word for it. He wanted proof. "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."
Aren't we like that? I know I am. I want proof positive. I want to see for myself. For most of us, seeing is believing. We rationalize. We question. We want to know the outcome before we commit ourselves.
There is something more in Thomas's story that has always intrigued me. It is a seemingly trivial fact that John chooses to include. He tells us that Thomas is a twin. Do you ever wonder why he put that in? Why was it important enough to add? Was it to make the story more interesting? I truly doubt that, although twins are interesting characters. I remember a set of twins that I once taught. They were a real challenge. That whole year I never learned to tell them apart. I was never quite sure when I called one of their names just who actually answered. And being Jane and Joan it probably wouldn't have mattered much. They kept the class guessing about what they would get into next. They knew without saying a word what the other was thinking. They were bright and fun. To have twins must be both a double joy and a double challenge. But that doesn't explain why John told us that Thomas was a twin.
He also didn’t tell us whose twin Thomas was. We can read in Scripture about James and John being brothers. Whose twin was Thomas? Could it have been Mary Magdalene, or perhaps even Judas? Nothing even begins to explain why he made a point of telling us that Thomas was a twin.
That is, unless you read between the lines. Who is Thomas’s twin? The answer is evidently meant to be “us”. We are Thomas’s twins. Like Thomas we all experience times of fear and doubt, pessimism and trust, belief and unbelief. And that is a difficult place to be, because we don’t like to live with ambiguity. We want a sense of certainty.
We see it in the priorities of society. Billions of dollars are spent every year developing new technologies. Meanwhile millions of people starve to death. We worry less about improving our present existence than about the unknown, those things which are just beyond our reach. We want to know.
When it comes to God we are even more anxious to know with a sense of certainty. We want signs, wonders, miracles. We want to prove the existence of God. Is God really out there looking after things? Is the world in good hands? Is everything going to turn out all right after all? Are the good going to be rewarded and the bad punished? Is there something to look forward to when our earthly life is completed?
There are uncertainties in life as well. How can we be certain that we are really loved? Is there meaning to life? What legacy will we leave behind us? We want certainty about who we are and what we have accomplished. That makes us Thomas’s twin. He just wanted to be certain. He wanted tangible proof. He didn’t want to be told. He wanted to see for himself. He wanted to see the mark of the nails in Jesus’ hands. He wanted to put his finger in the mark of the nails. He wanted to put his hand in Jesus’ side. Only then could he be certain that there would be no disappointments, no false hopes.
Let’s read between the lines again. When Jesus came to the Upper Room to see the disciples, Thomas wasn’t there. Whatever good reason he may have had, he missed out on what the rest of the community shared. He missed the encounter with the risen Christ. He missed the words of peace. He missed the outpouring of love and concern and blessing. He missed the pep talk that sent the others out carrying the message of forgiveness.
Many good people have the mistaken notion that they don’t need the community of faith. They think they can make it on their own. “What purpose does church serve?” they ask. “I can live a Christian life on my own terms. I can be good. I don’t need the church. After all, it’s filled with a bunch of hypocrites who just want my money.”
Others think that once you become a Christian, once you accept faith, all the doubts simply disappear. They think that with faith all our rational faculties cease to be used. We simply park our brains at the door. We accept the Church’s teaching and follow blindly.
That will never be enough. For doubts come. In fact, I am skeptical of anyone who says they have no doubts. I fear they may be fanatical in their faith. Doubts come to all of us.
Doubts come to us when we look at all the terrible things that are going on in the world. What kind of God allows the terrible suffering that comes about because of war, or famine, or terrorist acts? What kind of God allows disasters to strike innocent people?
Doubts come most of all when we face difficulties and hardships in our lives. We question the very existence of God. Why am I sick? Why did my child die? Why can’t I find a job? Why did my spouse walk out on me? Why is God letting this happen to me? I am faithful. I believe. Why? What use is faith if bad things still happen? Where are you God when I need you? If that is the basis of our relationship with God, then doubts will simply overwhelm us. We will lose hope. Doubt is not the opposite of faith; hopelessness is!
I had this very conversation this past week with a close friend. She is a faithful Christian, raised in the Roman Catholic Church and active in her parish. Lately any number of things have caused her to question her faith – the death of a close mutual friend, another friend’s struggle with a debilitating disease, her son’s continuing struggle with depression, her own chronic pain. “I went to all the services during Holy Week and Easter,” she said to me, “but somehow I am just left with emptiness. I know it is wrong. I need to have faith, but …”
That is where Thomas’s story comes in. It continues to be so reassuring. It says to me that it is reasonable to have doubts. It is understandable. It is human. Everyone has doubts about their relationships at one time or another. There is not a husband or wife who has not at some time had doubts about their relationship. There are no two friends who have not at some time in their relationship wondered whether it would last. And there is not a believer who has not experienced Christ as absent from their lives at some time or another. We have all had times when it was difficult to believe.
Thomas challenges us to persevere when we have doubts. He got to the place where we must get. Like him we must cry out, “My Lord and my God!” It may sound more like a question than a statement. Never mind. Persevere in the faith. Witness to how God is working in your life and in the lives of others. Deepen your commitment to God day by day. Commit yourself to the work of the Church.
And most of all, watch for the signs of resurrection around you. We need moments of evidence, moments of feeling God’s presence. Such moments are given so that our faith can survive the periods of seeming absence of God, the times when we do not see, yet believe.
Where is the risen Lord to be seen?
• In the bursts of colour as spring returns
• In the face of the stranger who smiles as we pass by one another
• In the voice of a friend who calls just to say hello
• In the laughter of children
• In a moment of joining hands with another person in the exchange of the peace
• In bread broken and wine poured
• In looking into another’s eyes and seeing Christ
The gospel is about us after all. It tells us that Thomas was a twin. It leaves us with the tantalizing question, “Who is Thomas’s twin? And there is only one possible answer. I! I am Thomas’s twin. Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
Friday, April 10, 2015
Second Sunday of Easter, Year B
Believing is Seeing
Readings: Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31
We read in the Acts of the Apostles of a community of believers on fire with enthusiasm for the Christian faith. They are of "one heart and soul". A great transformation has taken place in them since the death of Jesus. These same people who had fled in fear following the crucifixion of their leader are now gathered together and with great power are proclaiming the good news of the resurrection. Their way of life declares their confidence in the risen Saviour. It is a community marked not by words only, but also by its service to others. They are living out their faith.
What a far cry from the discouraged and frightened band of followers huddled behind locked doors that we meet in John's gospel! They are still reeling from the affects of the past few days. They are in mortal fear that the same authorities who killed Jesus will catch up with them. Then suddenly Jesus is with them in his risen glory. This is not some ephemeral ghost, but the risen Lord, the bringer of peace, the one whom they can see and touch and handle. He is back in relationship with them, consecrating them to do mission. His presence transforms their lives. They meet the risen Christ, and seeing, they believe.
Throughout his gospel John gives us sign after sign of the power of God working through Christ. He sums it up at the end of the gospel. "Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book," he explains. "But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and through believing you may have life in his name.
The disciples believed because they saw. They were eyewitnesses to the resurrection. But where does that leave us? What do we believe? Why do we believe? What difference does it make? What is the difference between the kind of believing we did when we were children and kind of belief system we are called to as adults? When we were children we believed without question. We believed in Santa Claus. We knew that if we were good little boys and girls and went right off to sleep that Santa would come and leave us a wonderful toy under the tree. We believed in the tooth fairy. We believed in the Easter Bunny. We believed in Tinker Bell.
Now we are called to believe in the Resurrection. It should be the same thing -- shouldn't it? Believe it hard enough, live a good life and we'll be rewarded in the end. And what a reward it will be -- eternal life! Isn't that worth putting all doubts aside and simply trusting that it is so?
I remember in my first year of Philosophy reading something that Aristotle said of faith. It must have resonated at some deep level for me to remember it still. "That which is probable and impossible is better to believe than that which is possible and improbable." Somehow or other we must be able to come to a sense of reasoned, reasonable faith. To go on blind faith is to remain a child in one's spiritual journey. Yet somehow we must choose to believe in what Coleridge calls a "willing suspension of unbelief." It is a faith that comes through allowing ourselves to see the signs of resurrection around us.
That is certainly the purpose of the resurrection accounts in the gospels. It is the evening on the first day of the week. The disciples except for Thomas are gathered together behind locked doors. Confusion reigns. They have heard conflicting stories. No one knows quite what to believe. Then Jesus is there with them. "Peace be with you!" he says to them in that familiar way of his. He commissions them, breathing his life-giving spirit into them.
Suddenly they have a sense of purpose. They want to share the good news. They share it with Thomas. "We have seen the Lord!" But he is skeptical. "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."
They should not have been surprised that he did not just respond and believe what they were telling him. They had all been through more than anyone should have to bear. How could he accept what they were saying only to have his hopes dashed? It was too much to ask. He felt betrayed. Hurt. He simply could no longer risk hoping.
We are all like Thomas at least some of the time in our faith journey. We can no longer risk believing simply to have our hopes dashed. Sometimes we have been hurt too much by life. How can we go on hoping when we see such problems in our world? What kind of a God goes on allowing such terrible things to happen? If there really is a God why doesn’t God simply stop terrible tragedies from happening? What kind of a God lets little children go hungry? What kind of a God allows suffering?
Or we may have been let down by the church. It has not always been the safe refuge that it should be. The place that should be the healer has often been the abuser. We go to church expecting to find a loving and caring community. Instead we find people bickering and arguing. We find cliques that won't make room for us. We expect to be affirmed and find that there is no place for our talents. We are not made of feel welcome. We don't feel as if we belong. It is not the church it used to be. There are strange liturgies. There are new people sitting in our pew. We cannot cope with the changes.
Or we may have been let down by our profession. We have coped with downsizing but now the plant is closing. We have to start all over again. We feel helpless, out of control, useless. How can we keep faith when nothing is going the way it should? Doesn't being a Christian mean that everything is supposed to work out for good? What is the point of having faith if it does not help to solve life's problems?
Or we may have been let down by our health. We try to live well, to do the things that we think are good for us. We still face sickness and pain. Yes! We have all met Thomas. We may meet him each time we look in the mirror. Like Thomas we need to see in order to believe. What can increase our faith?
When we think of faith I suspect that we often think in terms of seeing some miracle that will dispel all sense of doubt. "God," we cry out. "Show me in some tangible way. I want to be certain."
I came across a story that circulated around the net a few years back. I don't know if it is true. But it is probable. A young man had attended a Bible Study at his church where the pastor had discussed listening to God and obeying God's voice. He kept thinking, "Does God still speak to people?"
Driving home, he began to pray, "God... If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey."
Suddenly he had the strangest thought: "Stop and buy a gallon of milk." He shook his head and said out loud, "God, is that You?" Getting no recognizable reply he continued, "Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk." He stopped at a convenience store, purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.
He had an urge to turn down a street. "This is crazy," he thought, but he turned just the same. He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. Again, he sensed something: "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street."
He worried that if they were asleep they might be pretty angry at being awakened. But he felt like he should go and give the milk to the people in the house.
He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice called out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. A man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. He had a strange look on his face, and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep.
"What is it?" he asked.
The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here, I brought this to you." The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway speaking loudly in Spanish.
Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying.
The man had tears streaming down his face as he turned to his unexpected visitor. He began speaking and half-crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk."
His wife in the kitchen called out, "I asked God to send an angel with some. Are you an angel?"
The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had with him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back to his car, with tears rolling down his cheeks. He knew that God still answers prayers, and that God still speaks to His people.
We don't all get clear guidance like the young man in the story. We don't all need it. We may say like Thomas, "If I could see, I would believe." Jesus answers, "If you would believe you would soon see." God offers us grace. It begins when we really believe – when we stop talking about God and start depending on God's sustaining grace and love. We may not feel anything very significant. We may not see miracles taking place before our eyes at least maybe not any huge ones. But there will come the realization that we are in touch with divine power, the same power that raised Jesus from the dead. Such power can make a difference in our lives. Believing, may we see!
Readings: Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31
We read in the Acts of the Apostles of a community of believers on fire with enthusiasm for the Christian faith. They are of "one heart and soul". A great transformation has taken place in them since the death of Jesus. These same people who had fled in fear following the crucifixion of their leader are now gathered together and with great power are proclaiming the good news of the resurrection. Their way of life declares their confidence in the risen Saviour. It is a community marked not by words only, but also by its service to others. They are living out their faith.
What a far cry from the discouraged and frightened band of followers huddled behind locked doors that we meet in John's gospel! They are still reeling from the affects of the past few days. They are in mortal fear that the same authorities who killed Jesus will catch up with them. Then suddenly Jesus is with them in his risen glory. This is not some ephemeral ghost, but the risen Lord, the bringer of peace, the one whom they can see and touch and handle. He is back in relationship with them, consecrating them to do mission. His presence transforms their lives. They meet the risen Christ, and seeing, they believe.
Throughout his gospel John gives us sign after sign of the power of God working through Christ. He sums it up at the end of the gospel. "Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book," he explains. "But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and through believing you may have life in his name.
The disciples believed because they saw. They were eyewitnesses to the resurrection. But where does that leave us? What do we believe? Why do we believe? What difference does it make? What is the difference between the kind of believing we did when we were children and kind of belief system we are called to as adults? When we were children we believed without question. We believed in Santa Claus. We knew that if we were good little boys and girls and went right off to sleep that Santa would come and leave us a wonderful toy under the tree. We believed in the tooth fairy. We believed in the Easter Bunny. We believed in Tinker Bell.
Now we are called to believe in the Resurrection. It should be the same thing -- shouldn't it? Believe it hard enough, live a good life and we'll be rewarded in the end. And what a reward it will be -- eternal life! Isn't that worth putting all doubts aside and simply trusting that it is so?
I remember in my first year of Philosophy reading something that Aristotle said of faith. It must have resonated at some deep level for me to remember it still. "That which is probable and impossible is better to believe than that which is possible and improbable." Somehow or other we must be able to come to a sense of reasoned, reasonable faith. To go on blind faith is to remain a child in one's spiritual journey. Yet somehow we must choose to believe in what Coleridge calls a "willing suspension of unbelief." It is a faith that comes through allowing ourselves to see the signs of resurrection around us.
That is certainly the purpose of the resurrection accounts in the gospels. It is the evening on the first day of the week. The disciples except for Thomas are gathered together behind locked doors. Confusion reigns. They have heard conflicting stories. No one knows quite what to believe. Then Jesus is there with them. "Peace be with you!" he says to them in that familiar way of his. He commissions them, breathing his life-giving spirit into them.
Suddenly they have a sense of purpose. They want to share the good news. They share it with Thomas. "We have seen the Lord!" But he is skeptical. "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."
They should not have been surprised that he did not just respond and believe what they were telling him. They had all been through more than anyone should have to bear. How could he accept what they were saying only to have his hopes dashed? It was too much to ask. He felt betrayed. Hurt. He simply could no longer risk hoping.
We are all like Thomas at least some of the time in our faith journey. We can no longer risk believing simply to have our hopes dashed. Sometimes we have been hurt too much by life. How can we go on hoping when we see such problems in our world? What kind of a God goes on allowing such terrible things to happen? If there really is a God why doesn’t God simply stop terrible tragedies from happening? What kind of a God lets little children go hungry? What kind of a God allows suffering?
Or we may have been let down by the church. It has not always been the safe refuge that it should be. The place that should be the healer has often been the abuser. We go to church expecting to find a loving and caring community. Instead we find people bickering and arguing. We find cliques that won't make room for us. We expect to be affirmed and find that there is no place for our talents. We are not made of feel welcome. We don't feel as if we belong. It is not the church it used to be. There are strange liturgies. There are new people sitting in our pew. We cannot cope with the changes.
Or we may have been let down by our profession. We have coped with downsizing but now the plant is closing. We have to start all over again. We feel helpless, out of control, useless. How can we keep faith when nothing is going the way it should? Doesn't being a Christian mean that everything is supposed to work out for good? What is the point of having faith if it does not help to solve life's problems?
Or we may have been let down by our health. We try to live well, to do the things that we think are good for us. We still face sickness and pain. Yes! We have all met Thomas. We may meet him each time we look in the mirror. Like Thomas we need to see in order to believe. What can increase our faith?
When we think of faith I suspect that we often think in terms of seeing some miracle that will dispel all sense of doubt. "God," we cry out. "Show me in some tangible way. I want to be certain."
I came across a story that circulated around the net a few years back. I don't know if it is true. But it is probable. A young man had attended a Bible Study at his church where the pastor had discussed listening to God and obeying God's voice. He kept thinking, "Does God still speak to people?"
Driving home, he began to pray, "God... If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey."
Suddenly he had the strangest thought: "Stop and buy a gallon of milk." He shook his head and said out loud, "God, is that You?" Getting no recognizable reply he continued, "Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk." He stopped at a convenience store, purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.
He had an urge to turn down a street. "This is crazy," he thought, but he turned just the same. He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. Again, he sensed something: "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street."
He worried that if they were asleep they might be pretty angry at being awakened. But he felt like he should go and give the milk to the people in the house.
He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice called out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. A man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. He had a strange look on his face, and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep.
"What is it?" he asked.
The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here, I brought this to you." The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway speaking loudly in Spanish.
Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying.
The man had tears streaming down his face as he turned to his unexpected visitor. He began speaking and half-crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk."
His wife in the kitchen called out, "I asked God to send an angel with some. Are you an angel?"
The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had with him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back to his car, with tears rolling down his cheeks. He knew that God still answers prayers, and that God still speaks to His people.
We don't all get clear guidance like the young man in the story. We don't all need it. We may say like Thomas, "If I could see, I would believe." Jesus answers, "If you would believe you would soon see." God offers us grace. It begins when we really believe – when we stop talking about God and start depending on God's sustaining grace and love. We may not feel anything very significant. We may not see miracles taking place before our eyes at least maybe not any huge ones. But there will come the realization that we are in touch with divine power, the same power that raised Jesus from the dead. Such power can make a difference in our lives. Believing, may we see!
Friday, April 5, 2013
The Second Sunday of Easter
Year C
Opening Locked Doors
Readings: Acts 5:27-32; Psalm 2; Revelation 1:4-8; John 20:19-31
It is evening on the first day of the week. The disciples are huddled behind locked doors. After the death of their beloved leader they are naturally fearful. Jesus’ death had changed everything. Their hopes and dreams had been shattered. They feared for their lives. They had seen their leader cruelly executed. They lived in fear of the consequences of being a follower of Jesus. And so they locked the doors.
Are there doors that we lock for fear? Are there issues that are simply too painful for the Church to look at? Do we close our minds to change because we fear what it will mean in our lives? Does fear keep us from being totally committed to the message of the Gospel? We do not live in a perfect world. We are faced every day with inequities. There are problems we cannot solve. There are situations that seem insurmountable. There are injustices. There are tragedies that cry out for an explanation. There are conflicts that we cannot handle. Sometimes it seems easier and more prudent to huddle behind locked doors.
The disciples did not remain frozen in their fear. They unlocked the doors. They went back out into that same world. They faced those same authorities. They went out preaching and teaching in Jesus’ name. They did it with fervour and commitment. Even jail could not hold them back. “We must obey God rather than humanity,” they declared to the same people in fear of whom they had locked the doors.
What empowered them to unlock the doors? What made them willing to live dangerously for their faith? It had to be more than the hope of winning some nebulous crown in another dimension. Their whole outlook changed. Your whole perspective does not shift without a momentous reason. For them to joyfully risk their lives, to endure beatings and imprisonment for the sake of the Gospel, something unimaginable had to have taken place. They were committed. They were totally and utterly convinced of their cause, and equally convinced of the blindness of those around them.
There is only one possible answer to the change. Nothing, not a lock on a door, not the grave, not their betrayal of him, could keep Jesus from coming. He came and stood amongst them, offering peace, offering hope. And it changed them.
“We have seen the Lord,” they said to Thomas. When you have seen the One you thought you was gone forever, standing before you in all of his risen glory, when you are convinced that the power of death is overcome, then everything changes.
Notice that it didn’t change for Thomas, at least not right away! “If I could see, I would believe!” he tells them. He just cannot see the signs of resurrection. In his deep pain and anguish he cannot see that he has missed something. Something has changed. The disciples have been empowered. He cannot see through his sorrow to the hope in their words. He cannot experience the peace that Jesus has brought.
How like Thomas we are! If only I could see, then I would believe. Prove to me that God is alive. Where can I see resurrection in this world in which I live? I see only death.
There is a sweet ad. I cannot even tell you what it is for. In it, a young boy is hitting a ball with a bat. He says, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!” and then misses totally. Finally after several tries he picks up the ball once more and proclaims, “I’m the greatest pitcher in the world.” Think back to your own childhood. Consider what you believed. As children we were able to believe the impossible. That ability disappeared as we were taught that the world of imagination is not true. Faith requires that we will ourselves not to disbelieve, that we naively recapture the sense of wonder that we had as children.
Perhaps it is easier to do if we consider some words of Aristotle. “That which is impossible and probable is better than that which is possible and improbable.”
Magic is possible, but it is certainly improbable. We have all watched with amazement as a skilful magician works his magic. Our eyes tell us to believe. We want to believe. We know that it is a trick. We try to figure out how it is done, but underneath it all we just want to believe in the magic. We know that things are not as they appear to be.
We live in an age where impossible things become reality every day. Growing up, Saturday afternoon meant a trip to the movies. When the feature was over we would sit mesmerized by a serial. They would show a new segment of a science fiction film about space travel. It seemed far beyond the realm of possibility. Rocket ships! Moon landings! Visiting other planets! Yet not many years later, I listened on the radio as the first people walked on the surface of the moon.
Resurrection on the other hand is impossible; but in the light of the reaction of the disciples it is also probable. If we are a people of the resurrection, then we must live as an Easter people. That may mean a change in our direction. It may mean unlocking the doors that hold us back in our fear. It may mean advocating for justice. It may mean taking a committed stand against society.
It is a standing joke about the Miss World Beauty Pageant as every contestant is asked what their hope is and all make the same reply, “World peace!” But I suspect that if I asked each of you this morning what you hope for that at least somewhere in your first few responses, world peace would appear.
We long for peace and harmony in our world. We hear on the news of terrorist acts and we long for peace. We hear of North Korea arming itself and we long for peace. We hear of young people being shot on our city streets and we long for peace. We hear of family violence and we long for peace. We deal with conflict in our personal lives and we long for peace.
And there is Jesus in the midst of us, wounded hands extended, offering peace. In that gesture, offered to us in the same way it was offered to the first disciples of Christ, we recognize and accept God’s love for us. We accept in faith the teaching of the apostles and their proclamation that they “have seen the risen Lord.” Then we allow God’s gracious Spirit, the peace he came to bring, to fill, energize and propel us toward a committal of all we are and have. Then we will know and experience the power of the resurrected Lord in our lives. We too will proclaim, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!”
Year C
Opening Locked Doors
Readings: Acts 5:27-32; Psalm 2; Revelation 1:4-8; John 20:19-31
It is evening on the first day of the week. The disciples are huddled behind locked doors. After the death of their beloved leader they are naturally fearful. Jesus’ death had changed everything. Their hopes and dreams had been shattered. They feared for their lives. They had seen their leader cruelly executed. They lived in fear of the consequences of being a follower of Jesus. And so they locked the doors.
Are there doors that we lock for fear? Are there issues that are simply too painful for the Church to look at? Do we close our minds to change because we fear what it will mean in our lives? Does fear keep us from being totally committed to the message of the Gospel? We do not live in a perfect world. We are faced every day with inequities. There are problems we cannot solve. There are situations that seem insurmountable. There are injustices. There are tragedies that cry out for an explanation. There are conflicts that we cannot handle. Sometimes it seems easier and more prudent to huddle behind locked doors.
The disciples did not remain frozen in their fear. They unlocked the doors. They went back out into that same world. They faced those same authorities. They went out preaching and teaching in Jesus’ name. They did it with fervour and commitment. Even jail could not hold them back. “We must obey God rather than humanity,” they declared to the same people in fear of whom they had locked the doors.
What empowered them to unlock the doors? What made them willing to live dangerously for their faith? It had to be more than the hope of winning some nebulous crown in another dimension. Their whole outlook changed. Your whole perspective does not shift without a momentous reason. For them to joyfully risk their lives, to endure beatings and imprisonment for the sake of the Gospel, something unimaginable had to have taken place. They were committed. They were totally and utterly convinced of their cause, and equally convinced of the blindness of those around them.
There is only one possible answer to the change. Nothing, not a lock on a door, not the grave, not their betrayal of him, could keep Jesus from coming. He came and stood amongst them, offering peace, offering hope. And it changed them.
“We have seen the Lord,” they said to Thomas. When you have seen the One you thought you was gone forever, standing before you in all of his risen glory, when you are convinced that the power of death is overcome, then everything changes.
Notice that it didn’t change for Thomas, at least not right away! “If I could see, I would believe!” he tells them. He just cannot see the signs of resurrection. In his deep pain and anguish he cannot see that he has missed something. Something has changed. The disciples have been empowered. He cannot see through his sorrow to the hope in their words. He cannot experience the peace that Jesus has brought.
How like Thomas we are! If only I could see, then I would believe. Prove to me that God is alive. Where can I see resurrection in this world in which I live? I see only death.
There is a sweet ad. I cannot even tell you what it is for. In it, a young boy is hitting a ball with a bat. He says, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!” and then misses totally. Finally after several tries he picks up the ball once more and proclaims, “I’m the greatest pitcher in the world.” Think back to your own childhood. Consider what you believed. As children we were able to believe the impossible. That ability disappeared as we were taught that the world of imagination is not true. Faith requires that we will ourselves not to disbelieve, that we naively recapture the sense of wonder that we had as children.
Perhaps it is easier to do if we consider some words of Aristotle. “That which is impossible and probable is better than that which is possible and improbable.”
Magic is possible, but it is certainly improbable. We have all watched with amazement as a skilful magician works his magic. Our eyes tell us to believe. We want to believe. We know that it is a trick. We try to figure out how it is done, but underneath it all we just want to believe in the magic. We know that things are not as they appear to be.
We live in an age where impossible things become reality every day. Growing up, Saturday afternoon meant a trip to the movies. When the feature was over we would sit mesmerized by a serial. They would show a new segment of a science fiction film about space travel. It seemed far beyond the realm of possibility. Rocket ships! Moon landings! Visiting other planets! Yet not many years later, I listened on the radio as the first people walked on the surface of the moon.
Resurrection on the other hand is impossible; but in the light of the reaction of the disciples it is also probable. If we are a people of the resurrection, then we must live as an Easter people. That may mean a change in our direction. It may mean unlocking the doors that hold us back in our fear. It may mean advocating for justice. It may mean taking a committed stand against society.
It is a standing joke about the Miss World Beauty Pageant as every contestant is asked what their hope is and all make the same reply, “World peace!” But I suspect that if I asked each of you this morning what you hope for that at least somewhere in your first few responses, world peace would appear.
We long for peace and harmony in our world. We hear on the news of terrorist acts and we long for peace. We hear of North Korea arming itself and we long for peace. We hear of young people being shot on our city streets and we long for peace. We hear of family violence and we long for peace. We deal with conflict in our personal lives and we long for peace.
And there is Jesus in the midst of us, wounded hands extended, offering peace. In that gesture, offered to us in the same way it was offered to the first disciples of Christ, we recognize and accept God’s love for us. We accept in faith the teaching of the apostles and their proclamation that they “have seen the risen Lord.” Then we allow God’s gracious Spirit, the peace he came to bring, to fill, energize and propel us toward a committal of all we are and have. Then we will know and experience the power of the resurrected Lord in our lives. We too will proclaim, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!”
Friday, April 13, 2012
The Second Sunday of Easter, Year B
Faith is Like Falling in Love
Readings:
Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133,; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31
We read in the Acts of the Apostles of a community of believers on fire with enthusiasm for the Christian faith. They are of "one heart and soul". A great transformation has taken place in them since the death of Jesus. These same people who had fled in fear following the crucifixion of their leader are now gathered together and with great power are proclaiming the good news of the resurrection. Their way of life declares their confidence in the risen Saviour. It is a community marked not by words only, but also by its service to others. They are living out their faith.
What a far cry from the discouraged and frightened band of followers huddled behind locked doors that we meet in John's gospel! They are still reeling from the affects of the past few days. They are in mortal fear that the same authorities who killed Jesus will catch up with them. Then suddenly Jesus is with them in his risen glory. This is not some ephemeral ghost, but the risen Lord, the bringer of peace, the one whom they can see and touch and handle. He is back in relationship with them, consecrating them to do mission. His presence transforms their lives.
The readings all point to the kind of faith we need to make us alive in Christ. What was it that brought the early Christians out of hiding? What made them such avid proclaimers of the risen Christ? What turned their fear into action? How can we become like them, enthused with the power of the Holy Spirit?
Fortunately the gospel shows the faith process from all sides. Faith is not always instantaneous. There is the very human reaction of Thomas. I keep thinking how futile it is to try to justify or rationalize St. Thomas' lack of faith. The name 'Doubting Thomas' will no doubt stick! That is how the Church remembers him, the one who refused to believe unless he could see. He made a bad name for himself. So what are we to make of this?
What we know of his life comes in particular from the Gospel of John where he has a rather prominent voice. It is Thomas who urges the twelve to accompany Jesus into Judea to die with him. It is he who asks Jesus where he is going and how the disciples might know the way. He is the one who goes fishing and meets the risen Lord.
Such stories suggest not one who lacks faith, but one who has a generous and tempestuous temperament. That certainly is consistent with the historical portrait of Thomas that has him going as a missionary to India and being martyred for the faith.
I can think of many reasons why Thomas doubted. For one thing he found the disciples sitting in the safety of the upper room. Why had they not left to announce their astounding good news to the world? Why had the experience of the resurrected Lord standing in their very midst not changed their whole lives inexplicably and forever?
For another thing it was unreasonable to expect of someone who had experienced what Thomas had experienced. He had seen Jesus condemned by the Romans to die. He had seen them hang him on a cross. He had seen the dead body of Jesus taken down from the cross and laid in the tomb. He had seen the stone rolled into place. If you have seen someone dead and buried it becomes a reality for you. You accept the death, at least on an intellectual level. In all likelihood that is what happened to Thomas. Along the way faith became for Thomas an intellectual act.
Urban T. Holmes, one of the great Anglican theologians and teachers of the twentieth century, says that there is a difference between faith and belief. "Faith," he says, "implies a deliberate and positive existential involvement; belief is to have an opinion or make an intellectual assertion." In other words, belief is intellectual while faith is like falling in love.
What does that mean in terms of our religious life? I suspect first of all that it means that faith requires commitment to God. That comes about not by a single act, but by a progressively fuller commitment until we believe that we live with Christ. Then we begin to reflect his life in our own. It means living as Jesus lived, putting ourselves on the line for others, reflecting God's love, and allowing people to see the risen Lord working in our lives. It means studying and reflecting on the faith so that we have a reasonable basis for our faith.
I have had occasion to speak to people who share with me that they no longer believe in God. I ask them to tell me about the God in whom they can no longer believe. I have to tell you, I cannot believe in their god either. I try to share with them the God in whom I live and move and have my being. Often there is a longing to share in my experience of God. There is a hunger. But there is also a question about how we Christians live our lives.
We are surrounded by people like Thomas, people who are searching for the truth; people who wonder how we can say that we know the risen Lord, and yet behave in the way we do; people who need to see signs that we are living our faith; people who need to see that our faith reflects the Lord we follow.
Like Thomas they say, "If I could see, I would believe." What are the signs that we can share with them? Where do you recognize the risen Lord working in your life? Was it when you found strength you didn't know you had to face a difficult time? Was it the courage you found in the face of adversity? Was it in answered prayer? Was it in the beauty of God's creation? Was it in the birth of a child or the friendship of a loved one? Was it in the kindness of an unexpected action? Was it in the breaking of the bread or in a passage of Scripture? Was it in a simple act of faith or a random act of kindness?
Saint Augustine says that "faith is to believe what we do not see, and the reward of faith is to see what we believe."
Once upon a time there was a terrible drought. The fields were parched and brown from lack of rain. People searched the skies for any sign of relief. Day after day, week after week, not one drop of rain fell.
Finally the clergy of the local churches called for an hour of prayer on the following Saturday. They asked that everyone bring an object of faith for inspiration.
Saturday came. People flocked to the Town Square clutching a variety of objects - rosaries, prayer books, and crosses. They prayed there together, and when the hour ended, a gentle rain began to fall. People cheered and held their objects high in gratitude and praise. One faith symbol, however, seemed to overshadow all the others. One little girl had brought an umbrella.
Do we live out our faith in our lives? Are we witnesses to the resurrection? Are we witnesses to the power of God? The early Christians had a faith that praised. Do we open our hearts in the liturgy? Is our faith in the living, breathing, dynamic Christ who lives and reigns in us? If it is we will experience the deepening faith of the early church. Through worship we will continue to come into God's presence. We will search for depth and balance in our spiritual lives. We will share and grow in faith. We will experience the risen Christ in our lives and in our hearts.
And what kind of church will this be? If we really believe that Christ has risen, if we really proclaim and live it in our lives, then this will be the place it is meant to be – a dynamic and exciting place where Christ dwells. We will be in love with God. We like the early Christians will be alive and welcoming. We will be a community dedicated to the task of proclaiming and demonstrating that Christ is alive and that his saving grace and abundant life are available to every living creature.
So let us fall in love with God all over again! Let us proclaim: Christ is risen, Alleluia!
Readings:
Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133,; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31
We read in the Acts of the Apostles of a community of believers on fire with enthusiasm for the Christian faith. They are of "one heart and soul". A great transformation has taken place in them since the death of Jesus. These same people who had fled in fear following the crucifixion of their leader are now gathered together and with great power are proclaiming the good news of the resurrection. Their way of life declares their confidence in the risen Saviour. It is a community marked not by words only, but also by its service to others. They are living out their faith.
What a far cry from the discouraged and frightened band of followers huddled behind locked doors that we meet in John's gospel! They are still reeling from the affects of the past few days. They are in mortal fear that the same authorities who killed Jesus will catch up with them. Then suddenly Jesus is with them in his risen glory. This is not some ephemeral ghost, but the risen Lord, the bringer of peace, the one whom they can see and touch and handle. He is back in relationship with them, consecrating them to do mission. His presence transforms their lives.
The readings all point to the kind of faith we need to make us alive in Christ. What was it that brought the early Christians out of hiding? What made them such avid proclaimers of the risen Christ? What turned their fear into action? How can we become like them, enthused with the power of the Holy Spirit?
Fortunately the gospel shows the faith process from all sides. Faith is not always instantaneous. There is the very human reaction of Thomas. I keep thinking how futile it is to try to justify or rationalize St. Thomas' lack of faith. The name 'Doubting Thomas' will no doubt stick! That is how the Church remembers him, the one who refused to believe unless he could see. He made a bad name for himself. So what are we to make of this?
What we know of his life comes in particular from the Gospel of John where he has a rather prominent voice. It is Thomas who urges the twelve to accompany Jesus into Judea to die with him. It is he who asks Jesus where he is going and how the disciples might know the way. He is the one who goes fishing and meets the risen Lord.
Such stories suggest not one who lacks faith, but one who has a generous and tempestuous temperament. That certainly is consistent with the historical portrait of Thomas that has him going as a missionary to India and being martyred for the faith.
I can think of many reasons why Thomas doubted. For one thing he found the disciples sitting in the safety of the upper room. Why had they not left to announce their astounding good news to the world? Why had the experience of the resurrected Lord standing in their very midst not changed their whole lives inexplicably and forever?
For another thing it was unreasonable to expect of someone who had experienced what Thomas had experienced. He had seen Jesus condemned by the Romans to die. He had seen them hang him on a cross. He had seen the dead body of Jesus taken down from the cross and laid in the tomb. He had seen the stone rolled into place. If you have seen someone dead and buried it becomes a reality for you. You accept the death, at least on an intellectual level. In all likelihood that is what happened to Thomas. Along the way faith became for Thomas an intellectual act.
Urban T. Holmes, one of the great Anglican theologians and teachers of the twentieth century, says that there is a difference between faith and belief. "Faith," he says, "implies a deliberate and positive existential involvement; belief is to have an opinion or make an intellectual assertion." In other words, belief is intellectual while faith is like falling in love.
What does that mean in terms of our religious life? I suspect first of all that it means that faith requires commitment to God. That comes about not by a single act, but by a progressively fuller commitment until we believe that we live with Christ. Then we begin to reflect his life in our own. It means living as Jesus lived, putting ourselves on the line for others, reflecting God's love, and allowing people to see the risen Lord working in our lives. It means studying and reflecting on the faith so that we have a reasonable basis for our faith.
I have had occasion to speak to people who share with me that they no longer believe in God. I ask them to tell me about the God in whom they can no longer believe. I have to tell you, I cannot believe in their god either. I try to share with them the God in whom I live and move and have my being. Often there is a longing to share in my experience of God. There is a hunger. But there is also a question about how we Christians live our lives.
We are surrounded by people like Thomas, people who are searching for the truth; people who wonder how we can say that we know the risen Lord, and yet behave in the way we do; people who need to see signs that we are living our faith; people who need to see that our faith reflects the Lord we follow.
Like Thomas they say, "If I could see, I would believe." What are the signs that we can share with them? Where do you recognize the risen Lord working in your life? Was it when you found strength you didn't know you had to face a difficult time? Was it the courage you found in the face of adversity? Was it in answered prayer? Was it in the beauty of God's creation? Was it in the birth of a child or the friendship of a loved one? Was it in the kindness of an unexpected action? Was it in the breaking of the bread or in a passage of Scripture? Was it in a simple act of faith or a random act of kindness?
Saint Augustine says that "faith is to believe what we do not see, and the reward of faith is to see what we believe."
Once upon a time there was a terrible drought. The fields were parched and brown from lack of rain. People searched the skies for any sign of relief. Day after day, week after week, not one drop of rain fell.
Finally the clergy of the local churches called for an hour of prayer on the following Saturday. They asked that everyone bring an object of faith for inspiration.
Saturday came. People flocked to the Town Square clutching a variety of objects - rosaries, prayer books, and crosses. They prayed there together, and when the hour ended, a gentle rain began to fall. People cheered and held their objects high in gratitude and praise. One faith symbol, however, seemed to overshadow all the others. One little girl had brought an umbrella.
Do we live out our faith in our lives? Are we witnesses to the resurrection? Are we witnesses to the power of God? The early Christians had a faith that praised. Do we open our hearts in the liturgy? Is our faith in the living, breathing, dynamic Christ who lives and reigns in us? If it is we will experience the deepening faith of the early church. Through worship we will continue to come into God's presence. We will search for depth and balance in our spiritual lives. We will share and grow in faith. We will experience the risen Christ in our lives and in our hearts.
And what kind of church will this be? If we really believe that Christ has risen, if we really proclaim and live it in our lives, then this will be the place it is meant to be – a dynamic and exciting place where Christ dwells. We will be in love with God. We like the early Christians will be alive and welcoming. We will be a community dedicated to the task of proclaiming and demonstrating that Christ is alive and that his saving grace and abundant life are available to every living creature.
So let us fall in love with God all over again! Let us proclaim: Christ is risen, Alleluia!
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