"Sister, I think there's been a miracle!" Sermon for 2nd Sunday of Easter 2018
Sermon for Sunday 8 April 2018
2nd Sunday of Easter
Baptism of Paul A., age 12
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem
The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith
Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ
is risen indeed, Alleluia!
You know you live in Jerusalem when
you stop at the liquor store (for communion wine, of course!) and the
shopkeeper says, “Sister, I think there’s been a miracle.”
I thought we were talking about the
weather, so I said, “Aiwa, the weather is amazing today!”
“No,” he said, showing me his phone.
“I mean there’s been a miracle—in the church!”
I glanced at the video playing on his
phone screen and saw what appeared to be the interior of the Holy Sepulcher
Church, just inside the front door, in the area of the unction stone.
The video was shaky, but it showed a
scene of much commotion—shouting, running, lots of “Hallelujahs”. Suddenly the
camera focused on the slab of stone itself, and I saw it was splattered with
what appeared to be blood.
“See!” said my friend the shopkeeper.
“It’s a miracle. And no one was hurt. No one was hurt! So how did the blood get
there?”
Now, I could think of a number of ways
blood, or something that looked like blood, could appear on that slab of stone,
but I asked: “When was this video taken?”
“Two hours ago,” he answered very reverently.
“They even closed the church.”
Now, I had just left our church
office not 30 minutes before, and the Old City was pretty nuts, being Orthodox
Good Friday, and the end of Passover, and time for Muslim Friday prayers.
Still, I hadn’t noticed the kind of commotion on the Muristan that might
accompany a recent miracle.
And they don’t often just close the
Holy Sepulcher Church.
Needless to say, I had my doubts.
“Wow,” I said, grabbing my bag of
purchases. “Al hamdulillah! Thanks be to God!”
But, as I left the store and started
towards home, my first thought was: I need to go see this miracle for
myself.
I mean, why not? When would I ever
again be around the corner from an apparent miracle? I even thought about
running home to put on my clergy collar, to help me get access to the church…
But no! That would be silly. The video,
the blood, the miracle, was clearly a fake. Who would believe such a thing?
So I drove home. I made a sandwich, took
off my shoes, and sat down.
And then I spent 30 minutes
searching for that miracle video on the internet, so I could see it for myself.
“Have you believed because you have seen?”
asked Jesus. “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to
believe.”
One week ago, on the Mt of Olives,
it was so very easy to believe in miracles. As the Redeemer congregation gathered
in the darkness on the mountain, waiting for the sun to rise, you could feel
the excitement in the brisk morning air. And as the sun lifted slowly over the mountains
of Jordan, illuminating the valley, and the settlements, and even the separation
wall below us, it was remarkably easy to believe in the power of love over death.
It was easy to believe in the ultimate
triumph of justice over injustice.
It was easy to believe in the power
of God’s grace and mercy over humanity’s selfishness and sin.
And it was so easy to proclaim, with
Christians around the world:
Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ
is risen indeed, Alleluia!
But just one week later, although we
are gathered in Jerusalem, around the corner from the Church of the Resurrection,
our certainty in the power of Christ’s resurrection faces some challenges. The
tomb and its power, however, seem to be everywhere:
The situation in Gaza and at the
borders is going from bad to worse…again.
A van in Germany drove into a crowd
of innocent shoppers yesterday...again.
Relationships are still broken or struggling.
Loved ones are still sick or dying.
Away from the glory of Easter
morning, the tomb—which last week clearly represented resurrection hope and God’s
victory over death—can this week just look like death, and the certainty of it.
“Have you believed because you have
seen?” said Jesus. “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to
believe.”
It was later on Easter evening when
the disciples met together in a locked room. It was only hours after the resurrection,
and already fear and doubt were taking hold in their hearts. But Jesus came and
stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” He showed them his hands and
his side—and instantly their fear was replaced with joy.
Now the story might have ended
there, with the Risen Christ providing blessed assurance to his disciples…but
of course Thomas wasn’t with them that night.
Naturally, Thomas had some doubts.
Thomas had some questions for his friends—and
there were no YouTube videos for them to share as evidence!
So Thomas said: “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.”
And then it was an entire week
before Thomas also saw Jesus.
It was an entire week before
Thomas put his finger in the wounds of his hands and his side.
It was an entire week before Thomas also
uttered those famous words, “My Lord and my God!”
You know, it’s almost become a joke
among preachers that nearly every modern sermon on this text includes the phrase,
“Poor Thomas, he gets a bad rap. We shouldn’t call him Doubting Thomas, because
eventually he did believe!”
And I confess I’ve probably preached
a sermon with that same theme.
The thing is, preachers really do want to redeem
Thomas from two thousand years of being called names! We really do want to
convey the message that Thomas shouldn’t be defined by his period of doubt. After
all—the other disciples doubted, too! It’s just that Jesus showed up for them an
entire week earlier.
So this is not a sermon bashing
Thomas.
But neither do I want skip over the fact
that Thomas had resurrection questions.
This week, I’ve been contemplating
that weeklong period when Thomas was, actually, legitimately, a Doubting
Thomas.
What was that week after Jesus’ resurrection
like? How did the other disciples treat him?
Did they include Thomas in their
prayers, in their meals, in their strategizing about the next steps for the
community? Or did they whisper, and talk behind his back, and exclude him for
his unbelief?
And what was it like for Thomas during
those days? I imagine he felt left out. But he must have also been frustrated. Angry,
even. Why didn’t Jesus show up for him, as he did for the others? Hadn’t he
been a faithful disciple? Why was belief so hard for him?
I’ve been thinking about Thomas’ week
of doubt, because it seems to me, being called a “Doubting Thomas” is only an insult
if it is utterly unthinkable to have doubts.
And the truth is, Thomas’ no good,
very bad week is where most of us will spend our lives as disciples. Of course,
in the journey of discipleship there are moments of assurance. There are mountaintop
experiences and flashes of spiritual insight. And yes, there are everyday
miracles, if our eyes and hearts are attuned to them.
But most days we will not enjoy absolute
certainty—neither about God, nor about life and how to live it.
If we are honest, Christians live
the majority of our days with Thomas in that week of uncertainty. We have questions.
We wonder about things we learned in Sunday School. We learn more about the world,
and then read the Bible with new eyes. We struggle with things our friends seem
quite certain about.
Often we may feel ashamed of this doubt—or
are made to feel ashamed, by church, by family, by culture. If we dare to express
doubts to others, we may feel unwelcome at the communion table, or at Bible
study, or among friends who seem to have it all together.
But what would happen if we accepted
doubt as a natural part of the life of faith?
What would happen if we heard the story
of Thomas as confirmation that not only is it ok to have doubts, but God
works in and through doubters? After all, God has used sinners, prostitutes,
tax collectors, and former persecutors of Christians to build the church. God
has called all kinds of imperfect people to be pastors, preachers, bishops, and
even missionaries in Jerusalem. Do we really think God can’t use doubters? Do
we really think our questions are enough to stop the power of the Gospel? Do we
really think our struggle to believe in resurrection can halt the love and life
bursting forth from the empty tomb of Jesus?
Indeed, even when we struggle to say
the words, the stones will cry out:
Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is
risen indeed, Alleluia!
Listen, I never did find that video
of the blood on the unction stone in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I have so
many doubts about its veracity. It’s probably a prank of some kind, perhaps a
video released on Orthodox Good Friday as internet clickbait.
But it has occurred to me that maybe,
just maybe, it was an act of devotion.
Maybe the whole dramatic scene was the
work of a doubting pilgrim, someone whose heart desired evidence of Jesus’ crucifixion
and resurrection that was beyond what could be see on the typical Jerusalem
city tour.
Maybe, during her long week of doubting,
she lost faith that Jesus would ever show up for her.
Maybe, like Thomas, she simply
needed to see it with her own eyes—and she made it happen.
Whatever the story, my heart is
filled with compassion and understanding today for all of us who walk with
Thomas, the doubter. I am reminded that St. John of the Cross, when writing
about the “dark night of the soul,” says that in these times God is not passive,
but is active, walking with us and working through our doubts and questions.
Dear siblings in Christ, in a few
short minutes, our brother Paul will be baptized and welcomed into the global
church as a newborn Christian. I have gotten to know Paul, and see that he is a
thoughtful young man who loves Jesus, and is so very excited about this new
step in his life.
But today, I feel it is important to
speak a word of truth to Paul:
Dear brother, do not be afraid of
doubts.
Do not be afraid of questions.
Do not be afraid to open your heart
to new ideas, to new people, to new ways of reading and interpreting the Gospel
of Jesus Christ.
When moments, or weeks, or even
years of doubt come (and they will!) it may feel confusing. You may feel alone.
You may feel that Jesus will never again seem so close to you as he does today.
But the Risen Christ always shows
up, dear Paul.
It won’t always happen in a dramatic
way—walking through locked doors, for example, or blood miraculously appearing on
video in Jerusalem.
But the Risen Christ will come to
you. He will not abandon you.
You can look for him in the bread
and in the wine.
You can look for him in the Holy Scriptures,
which are your faithful companion through times of doubt and times of certainty.
And you can always look for him wherever
two or three are gathered in his name.
For as our sister Dorothy Day wrote:
“We have all known the long loneliness, and we have learned that the solution is love,
and that love comes in community.”
Do not underestimate the power of a
faith community! Here is where others can sing for you, when your voice fails.
Here is where others can profess the creeds alongside you, when the words seem
to have lost their power.
And here is where you can come to be
reminded, when the rest of the world has failed you, the resurrection miracle
which is most certainly true:
You are a beloved Child of God,
You have been sealed by the Holy Spirit,
and marked with the cross of Christ forever,
And nothing can ever separate you
from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus:
Not a stone blocking the entrance to
the tomb!
Not a locked door!
And never your doubts, or your worries,
or your sins.
Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen
indeed, Alleluia!
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| View of Jerusalem from Ras el Amud, 8 April 2018 |
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