"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!

View of Jerusalem from Ras el Amud, 8 April 2018


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