The Third Sunday of Easter, Year B

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Readings: Acts 3:13-15, 17-19; 1 John 2:1-5; Luke 24:35-48

The gospel writers found themselves needing to prove that Jesus really did rise from the dead. There were many who doubted. The narratives in the gospels tell the stories of the doubters. There are the holy women who come to the tomb with spices for embalming, find it empty, and run away in fear. There is Thomas who missed a resurrection experience earning himself the nickname “the doubter”. He wants proof positive. He cannot bring himself to believe what the other disciples have seen based on their word. He wants to put his finger in the wounds in Jesus’ hands and side. He wants to know for himself. There is the couple on the road to Emmaus who walk with Jesus, in rapt attention to what he is saying, and yet do not recognize him until he is actually breaking bread at their table. Then they rush to let the others know that they have seen the risen Christ.

And close on that encounter comes another. Jesus comes in to the disciples, offering words of peace. They are startled, terrified. They react as if they have seen a ghost. He gives them reassurance. “I’m not a ghost!” he is saying. “I’m real! Touch me and see.” Even when they see Jesus standing before them, even when they touch him, the fear remains. Through their joy they are still wondering, still considering somehow. How could any of this be?

And then to offer further proof he asks for something to eat. After all, ghosts don’t eat. A piece of broiled fish is brought to him. He eats it. Later as they reflect on all that has happened, the disciples come to understand through seeing, touching, feeling, knowing, eating, it really did happen. They did encounter the resurrected Christ. Jesus really was raised from the dead.

“How would we have responded?” we might ask ourselves. Would it have seemed like some dreadful dream? We have all had nightmares, those terrible dreams that seem so real. We think we have seen a ghost. It is a terrifying experience. We try to run and find ourselves unable to move. We feel its terrible presence gaining on us. Sometimes we even have waking nightmares. When someone we love dies we enter a period of mourning that can feel like a terrible nightmare out of which we cannot seem to rouse ourselves. Those are the times that it is easiest to lose faith. Our faith simply fails us. We feel as if we have nothing to hang onto. We are plunged into gloom.

It was not until later when they began to reflect rationally on those days following the death of Jesus that the holy women began to understand the message of the empty tomb. It was not until Thomas saw for himself that he was able to utter words of faith, “My Lord and my God!” It was not until it was all over that the two disciples understood fully what had happened to them on the Emmaus road. When they did understand they were quick to share the good news.

And isn’t that how it always is in real life? When we are going through the experience, we have no perspective, no understanding. All we can do is cope day to day, or perhaps even hour to hour. It is only afterwards, perhaps long afterwards, that our eyes are opened and we begin to truly understand the experience. Even then we can miss the real significance of what has happened if we do not allow the experience to transform our lives.

One of our parishioners told me a wonderful story this week about growing up in Jamaica. He was at his great grandmother’s house. Times were tough for her and it was March, a fallow season in Jamaica. There was not a scrap of food in the house. His great grandmother said to him, “I don’t think the Lord wants us to go hungry. Go check out the breadfruit trees. See what you can find.” He went out as he was asked and checked all the breadfruit trees and found not one piece of fruit. He went back sadly and reported to his great grandmother. “Go and look again!” she said. “Look more carefully!” Off he went once more. He checked all the trees, looking in the likely places on the tips of the largest branches. Not one breadfruit did he find! Back he went to his great grandmother. “Just check one more time!” she asked him. Back he went again for the third time. This time he scoured the trees. His couldn’t believe his eyes. There nestled on a shoot was the largest bread fruit he had ever seen. “There is only one explanation,” he told me. “It was a miracle! God put it there! A perfectly ripe, beautiful breadfruit in the most unexpected place!”

We humans need to touch and see. We need to touch and see for ourselves. Our senses inform our perceptions. When do you know that spring has really arrived? Is it when you see the first shoots appearing along the side of the house? Is it when you smell that first hint of warmth in the air? When you feel that warmth on your face? Is it when you hear the nestlings chirping in the trees in the darkness and still of the early morning hours? What triggers those memories of spring?

The senses arouse our memories. I have a Staffordshire floral basket of my mother’s. She had a collection of them. She treasured them. They moved with her down to Jamaica and back. Just looking at it evokes memories of her. I can see her holding it lovingly in her hands. Holding it, I remember her.

Our Anglican liturgy is a feast for the senses. Vestments and altar hangings that change colour with the seasons of the church year, hymns and songs of praise, smells and bells are all part of our tradition. And Sunday by Sunday we take bread and wine and bless it. We share in the body and blood of Christ. Through those actions, we touch and see. We encounter the presence of God.

An old familiar hymn puts it so succinctly for me.

“Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face;
Here faith can touch and handle things unseen;
Here would I grasp with firmer hand Thy grace,
And all my weariness upon Thee lean.”

It is when we allow that transformation that we begin to understand the message of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We allow its truth to touch our lives. We allow it to bring healing and wholeness into our lives. We can truly say, “Christ is risen! Alleluia!”