Last week I posted a preview of my first sermon at my current church. What follows is that sermon fleshed out, at least one of its drafts. For reference, the text is John 20:19-31, and this is the second week of Easter.
We know how this story goes. We were here last Sunday; we understand that the tomb is empty. We understand that even death could not hold Jesus. Thomas, though, he wasn’t here, for him the story hasn’t been written yet. For him it is Sunday night, and just a couple days ago Jesus died. This man to whom Thomas had pledged his life, the one who was supposed to change the world, bring about an unrivaled time of peace and joy has been executed like a common criminal over some vague charge of sedition. Thomas is scared, hurt, grieving; he set all of his hope on this man, and now hope is dead.
So he draws away. I understand that. I remember this time a few years ago, I was in a position not entirely like where Thomas is, but I was hurting in ways I had never felt before. Over the course of about a week, I had lost somebody I cared deeply for, seen tragedy in kids I had been close to, seen evil touch the life of a friend, and seen the end of a romantic relationship. I was hurting and grieving, I was angry, I was scared. I remember sitting with a group of pastors, I was in the middle of an internship at the time, and after I told them the story the group just looked at me. “What is it we could do for you?” they asked. What I needed was to withdraw, I needed to find some time to be alone. No roommates, no friends—as much as I might love them—nobody to even kindly and gently draw me into social life. I needed time to myself to balm raw nerves and begin to deal with the new reality of loss.
For Thomas, the new reality is that Jesus is not there. Jesus, with whom Thomas was willing to march toward his death, who was supposed to be the Messiah, the king, who was supposed to lead the people of Israel from the clutches of the Roman invaders, who above all was not supposed to die, is gone, and Thomas is just beginning to deal with that fact. He is just beginning to accept the new truth. His heart was ripped out by that death once, and when the other disciples, his dearest and trusted friends, come to tell him that they have seen Jesus, that they have seen the Lord, he could not possibly be ready to hope again and risk the pain without evidence, without a sign that could only be provided by the risen Lord. How could I blame him for that? How could you? How could we, understanding his situation, continue to call him “doubting”? In fact, as we continue, we may see his deep faith shine through.
This is faith in the way that Thomas has sworn his allegiance to Jesus and only to Jesus. He absolutely refuses to allow anybody else into the role that Jesus would hold. It would not have been out of the question for these deep emotions held by the disciples, whose whole worlds has just been thrown off their axes, to play tricks on their eyes and on their minds. Have you ever lost a dear loved one, and maybe you see somebody on the street who has a similar haircut, or is the same height, or the same build as the one you lost? And perhaps your first thought is, “Hey is that…?” No… no that can’t be him, that can’t be her. This is where Thomas has been, in his grief, in his pain, in his confusion, he recognizes that he needs to be disciplined to protect himself from tricks of the mind, tricks of the eye, tricks of the heart. He will follow Jesus, and until he gets a sign that only Jesus can give, he cannot, will not, shall not open himself up to the possibility that this person they saw might actually be Jesus. This could cause havoc in his life and his ministry, and if he does start to believe again and it is not actually Jesus, this pain, which was so searing the first time around, just might kill him the second time.
Today, now, it has been a week since Easter, a week since Jesus made his first resurrected appearances to his disciples, to his friends. It has been a week since, in the quiet and dark, he stood next to Mary, who did not recognize him until he spoke her name. It has been a week since the ten, as we read in the beginning of today’s gospel lesson, had locked themselves away in a room out of fear. And it has been a week since, as they gathered, Jesus disregarded locks and doors and barriers to seek them out and find them where they are. Now, today, the scene is the same. The disciples are gathered, afraid, the door is locked, but this time there is one more character. Thomas is with them, all eleven are there. And suddenly, locks or no locks, doors or no doors, barriers or no barriers, Jesus seeks them out. More specifically, Jesus seeks Thomas out.
Thomas is still afraid, Thomas is still grieving, Thomas is still, though in the midst of at least ten of his friends, alone. Jesus knows what Thomas needs, he knows Thomas’ heart, he knows Thomas’ mind and his soul. And so, just as Thomas said he would believe when he sees the marks in Jesus hands, Jesus shows him his hands. Just as Thomas said he would believe when he can touch the wound in Jesus’ side, Jesus opens up and invites him to touch.
And now Thomas knows that hope is alive. Now Thomas knows that hope cannot, will not, shall not be defeated by death. Thomas knows that because hope sought him out, hope knows what Thomas, called Didymus, called the Twin needs, and hope gives that to him. Hope digs deep into his soul, does not let doors get in the way, does not let locks get in the way, does not let Thomas’ own heart get in the way, but burrows deep, deep into his soul and blossoms. Hope is alive, and hope just walked through a locked door, and when Thomas recognizes that hope, when Thomas knows who he is, he names that hope, “My Lord and my God!”
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention today what happened in the Southern regions of the United States on Wednesday. A once in a generation storm ravaged parts of Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Georgia. Thousands are hurting right now, hundreds dead, unimaginable numbers out of their homes and their livelihoods. Hope probably seems gone for many of them. Let me say here, now, from the depths of my faith, that hope is not gone. God was not in those storms, God was not in those tornadoes, they were not God’s hand, God did not wreak havoc and destruction on God’s own people. But the storms did happen, and God is there, hope is there, present, alive. God is with those who are hurting, God is with those who are grieving, God has left none of them. God grieves with the grieving, weeps with the weeping, and lifts up all who are hurt, who are scared, who are confused, who do not know where their lives go from here. God is not absent, hope lives, and hope cannot be confined. That is the joy of Easter, that hope will not be confined, even by death.
So now we have a job; it is our job as God’s people, it is our job as Christ’s body to personify that hope. The first time Jesus appeared in that locked room, when he stood among his disciples, when Thomas was absent, he breathed on them. He spoke to them, “Peace be with you, as the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Jesus personifies hope and always will, and Jesus sends us, just as he is sent, to be that hope to all others. We are empowered by the Holy Spirit—Jesus says “Receive the Holy Spirit.”—we are empowered by the Holy Spirit to go and be that hope. We are empowered and we are called to go and seek those for whom hope seems lost. Because we know, we were here last week, we know that hope is not lost, hope is never lost, even death could not keep hope, and so hope lives.
Some of you know that I spent most of a year serving with the Red Cross in Lansing as an AmeriCorps member after I finished seminary. This was a fantastic experience, and one that comes to mind when disasters happen, like the one we were just talking about in the South. While most of the work I did was preparation, I spent some time during that year responding to disasters. If you were to ask me to describe what the Red Cross does in response, I would say it is something akin to bringing hope. When a disaster strikes–particularly in a local disaster like a house fire–when a family is cast out into the elements because their home is simply gone, the Red Cross has decided that the family’s greatest need is to figure out what happens over the next three days. After three days insurance might kick in, other assistance might be there, or, at the very least, the family has had a chance, after three days, to come to terms with the situation and begin to get life in order again. These initial three days are when people are most likely to fall apart, or to fall through the cracks. The Red Cross does not let them fall through the cracks. The Red Cross, by ensuring that the family has food and shelter and clothing for the next three days, makes sure that they will land on their feet and be in a position to re-build their lives. The Red Cross brings hope. Disaster strikes and very soon there are people wearing one of the most widely recognized emblems saying, “We are here to help.” And in doing so, they say that there is hope.
The Red Cross is just one example. United Methodists from around the country, from around the world, working through the United Methodist Committee on Relief, are on their way down to Alabama, Tennessee, Georgia, Mississippi, as they already are in the Carolinas, in Japan, in Liberia, in Côte d’Ivoire. These volunteers have left home to go to people and to bring hope into their lives. The Red Cross, UMCOR, United Methodist Volunteers in Mission, The Southern Baptists, the Salvation Army, and many other relief agencies are finding people and bringing hope directly to them when all might seem hopeless. They are identifying people’s greatest needs and are, thereby, showing them that hope is not dead, hope is indeed alive, hope can never be conquered.
Of course, it has been said before, you don’t need to go abroad, you don’t need to cross the state line, you don’t need to leave this city. Any of us can seek those who feel lost, who are grieving, who are hurting, who are struggling, who don’t know where to turn, who have lost sight of hope and we can, as Jesus called us and calls us to do, bring hope into their lives. Yes, we bring hope when we respond to disaster. Yes, we bring hope when we feed the hungry, when we clothe the naked, when we heal the sick, bring sight to the blind, when we set the prisoner free. Yes, we bring hope then in grand gestures. But we bring hope by simple means as well. Jesus brought hope to Faithful Thomas simply by showing him his hands, showing him his side. We can bring hope when we visit somebody whose greatest desire is the comfort of a friend, right Stephen Ministers? We can bring hope when a child’s greatest desire, greatest need is an open, loving, safe, and judgment free group of peers to gather with, to fellowship with, to learn from, right youth group? Right, Sunday School teachers? We bring hope when someone’s greatest desire is to praise God by making a joyful noise, by producing sweet, sweet music, right choir? We bring hope when we gather around the altar, when we gather around the table, when we engage in this most holy of meals. We bring hope when we embody the love of Christ, for we are the body of Christ. We are empowered by the Holy Spirit, we are called by Christ, to show love, to bring hope.
Hope is always present. I don’t know if I have said it yet this morning, but hope is alive, hope is not dead, cannot be kept by death. We are empowered by the Holy Spirit to show that hope, hope for a better world, hope for the future, hope for love, peace, justice, and joy. Thomas named that hope when he found it, or, more accurately, when it found him. He named it, “My Lord and My God!”
Is Baseball Theological? 