“Where did you meet the risen Christ this Easter?” The question from my spiritual director stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t answer it, so she decided to tell her own story. She is a Dominican sister, and for some years she had worked in adult formation in a large Columbus parish. For the Easter vigil this year, she and another sister decided to go back to that parish. As she was walking into the sanctuary, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around. It was a man she had worked with some years back. Let’s call him “Bill.” When my director had first met him, Bill was an alcoholic. He had already lost two marriages and declared bankruptcy twice. Things went well for a while. But by the time my director left that parish, Bill had gone back to drinking, lost another business, and dropped away from the church. However, one look at Bill’s face at the Easter vigil this year told my director that something had changed. “Sister,” said Bill excitedly, “I’ve cleared up my debts, my business is stable, and I’ve been sober for two years!”
Where do we meet the risen Christ? Where did Thomas meet the risen Christ? Actually, if you think about it, we have an odd set of readings for this Sunday. In our lesson from the Acts of the Apostles, we hear Peter’s declaration that he must obey God rather than human authorities, and that, as a witness, he must continue to proclaim Christ crucified and risen. Our psalm exhorts us to praise God joyfully and noisily, most especially for God’s “mighty acts.” In our reading from the book of Revelation, which we will hear throughout Easter tide, John of Ephesus proclaims the Christ “who is and who was and who is to come.” He reminds us that the same Christ has brought us into a kingdom, in which we are all priests – all of us.
And then we hear the gospel passage, which, at first glance, seems to contrast with the joy of the other lessons, especially the exuberant tone of the psalm. It’s a passage, as you’ve just heard, with two episodes. In the first we see the anxious disciples, afraid that they will be the next to be executed. Jesus comes among them and reassures them. He gives them a commission: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Then Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit into them. They are good to go.
We don’t know why Thomas wasn’t with the group of disciples when Jesus appeared to them that Easter evening. Actually, we don’t know much about him at all. We might infer from the three times that he appears in the Gospel of John that he bluntly “tells it like it is.” We first saw him when Jesus heard of the death of Lazarus. Jesus decided to return to Bethany, even though he knew that he was a marked man. “Come along,” Thomas said to the others, “we might as well die with him.” We next encountered Thomas at Jesus’ last meal with his friends. Jesus told them that they would live as he did, since they knew where he was going. Thomas countered, “Master, we have no idea where you’re going. How do you expect us to know the way?”
And now here we are, a week after Jesus first visited the frightened disciples. Like many of us, Thomas refused to accept hearsay evidence. Someone else’s report of the risen Christ would not convince him. And really, wasn’t such good news too good to be true? As we know, he was not the first or the only one to wonder about reports that Jesus had been raised. Thomas was especially not ready to believe that Jesus had been raised – not after that horrific execution. If you were Thomas, would you have believed such a report?
By God’s grace, Thomas receives the confirmation that he needs. He meets the risen Jesus. Jesus has all the wounds that prove that it is he, not a ghost nor a hoax, nor some other deity. Thomas is then able to make a deep profession of faith: “My Lord and my God.” Then Jesus gently reminds Thomas that all those who follow Thomas in faith will not need to see Jesus’ physical body to trust that Jesus was indeed raised from the dead. We hear no more of Thomas in John’s gospel, but perhaps he received the same commission as the other disciples. Tradition has it that Thomas spread the good news in India. In fact, the Mar Thoma church in south India traces its founding to Thomas.
So where do we meet the risen Christ today? We are among those who will not see Jesus’ physical body. But is God still bringing life from death? As I continued to meditate on my director’s question, I thought about a woman I have come to know through the Wellstreams program. When I first met her, I was sure she was “not my type.” And indeed, at first glance ours is an unlikely friendship: she is about fifteen years younger than I, has been a stay-at-home mom to five children, is delightfully artistic, and is a committed Roman Catholic. By God’s grace, when she contacted me after the program ended, I was able to say “yes,” and we have met regularly over coffee ever since. Our relationship has been a gift to me, and I felt truly blessed by our last visit. Has the risen Christ made himself known to me in her?
Perhaps Episcopal priest and writer Barbara Crafton is right. Crafton has a daily e-message. For the last few months, she has been sending paintings of Scripture stories, with her own commentary. On Friday she sent a picture of a painting by the early twentieth-century African-American artist, Henry Ossawa Turner. Depicting Peter and John at the empty tomb, the painting shows a somber, puzzled-looking Peter. On the other hand, John is transfixed. He is radiant and glows with an inner light. We know he has had a life-changing experience. Instinct tells me that Crafton is right. “We see the resurrected Christ best,” she says, “by seeing the people who see him.”
But there’s more. As the frightened disciples, the walkers on the road to Emmaus, and Thomas discovered, the risen Christ also shows up in unexpected places, in places where old lives are being renewed, where people are welcomed into fellowship, where death is turned to life. Look around you, you may discover him too. Here are some other places he has recently turned up. Marcel Visser discovered the risen Christ through his friendship with a member of the L’Arche community for disabled adults in Cape Breton, Canada. In the Za’atari refugee camp in Jordan, Ibrahim, a six year-old Syrian refugee who is deaf, is learning sign language through the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf and its partner agencies. Ibrahim and other refugee children like him might have been condemned to a minimal life. However, with the support of Episcopal Relief and Development and other organizations, hearing-impaired children, blind children, even those with mental disabilities are receiving education and, with it, hope for the future.
And one more. I don’t normally read the Sunday New York Times sports pages. However, a couple of days ago, an article caught my eye, and I knew that the risen Christ had unexpectedly turned up in, of all places, a boxing club in Toronto.1 You’ll see all the trappings of a standard boxing club in the Newsgirls Boxing Club: a rope, rings, speed bags, heavy bags, and a punching mannequin. Initially aimed at women, the club is now a welcoming haven for all. The club especially welcomes transgender people, who often find daily life difficult, even dangerous. For many the club is a place of sanctuary and empowerment, even though they will never box anywhere else. Recently, a newcomer to the club, who had come for a few times, asked club founder Savoy Howe a simple question that profoundly moved her. “Why are you so nice to trans people?” the person asked. Howe’s eyes filled with tears as she told the interviewer the story. Then she paused, composed herself, and said, “I mean, why wouldn’t you be?”
And you? Where did you meet the risen Christ this Easter? Where are you meeting him? Have you met him at the altar, when he nourishes you with his Body and Blood? Have you met him in your own prayer time, when you stay silent long enough to hear his faint whispers? Have you seen him in the faces of other people who have seen him? Or perhaps you have met him in your loved ones and friends, those who minister to you and bless you, and those with whom you share God’s blessings. Have you met him in nature, when you look with loving eyes on the beautiful earth which God has given us? Have you met him in the faces of those whom you serve, in work or ministry? Or perhaps he has turned up in places where you never expected he would turn up, in places where outcasts are welcomed, the neglected are cared for, and lives are transformed.
I invite you this week to look around you, to see if by chance the risen Christ has shown up. Be sure: he has and he will. And when he does, he will reassure you that, although we do not see his physical body, we are still blessed with his presence in our lives.
1. David Waldstein, “Sunday Sports,” March 27, 2016, pp. 1, 6.
Showing posts with label Easter 2. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Easter 2. Show all posts
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Sunday, April 12, 2015
How Good and Pleasant
“How good and pleasant it is, when brethren live together in unity.” So begins one of the shortest psalms in the psalter. So many of the psalms call for vengeance on the psalmist’s enemies, or beg for God’s saving help. In contrast, this brief psalm celebrates the joys of unity within a family and ends with promises of blessing and “life for evermore.”
Today we said this psalm in response to our reading from the book of Acts. Remember that we are still celebrating Easter. Throughout Easter tide we hear of the impact of the resurrection on various people and communities. Our readings from the book of Acts in Easter tide give us a sense of how the earliest followers of Jesus experienced – or how tradition suggested they experienced – the power of the resurrection. The earliest followers of Jesus were a motley crew, to say the least. They included Galileans and Judeans, diaspora Jews of various backgrounds and political beliefs, gentiles, men and women, slaves and freeborn, even some Roman citizens. The Acts account tells us that, through the power of Jesus’ resurrection, these earliest communities were able to overcome their ethnic and social differences and generously share their resources with each other.
While we as followers of Jesus read Psalm 133 in response to the story of the earliest followers of the Way, the longing for unity among people is a recurring theme in the Hebrew Scriptures. We too can learn something from taking a closer look at this psalm. The psalm is a pilgrimage psalm, one of a group called “songs of ascent,” that include psalms 120 through 134. If you read them all together, you discover that they are all about making a pilgrimage “up to” the temple on the heights of Jerusalem. In this psalm, the psalmist uses two images of extravagant blessing to convey the delight and wonder of harmony among people. The first image is that of anointing, anointing so rich and abundant that the oil flows over Aaron’s head and through his long hair. Now as twenty first-century Americans, who live in a relatively moist climate, we don’t think much about anointing – unless you’re into massage. However, in the dry climate of ancient Israel, anointing with oil was both a necessity and a deep pleasure, especially for someone exposed to the dry heat and dust of a walk to Jerusalem. While anointing was especially associated with kings and priests, everyone in the ancient world could experience its pleasures and knew how necessary it was to life.
The second image of extravagant abundance is that of the dew of Hermon. Now Mt. Hermon is in the north of Israel, almost on the border with Lebanon, while Mt. Zion overlooks Jerusalem in the south. Here, the psalmist declares, the dew is so abundant that it can reach all the way from one mountain to the other. Again, as twenty first-century Americans, who have recently experienced too much natural moisture, we don’t think much about dew – unless perhaps you like to garden or mow the lawn in the morning. However, in ancient Israel, during the dry months of the year, dew was an important source of moisture. In fact, dew is praised in other places in the Hebrew Scriptures as a source of God’s blessings.
So the psalmist has used two extravagant images to remind us that harmony among people, wherever it is found, whether in extended families or in nations, is a wonderful blessing. Indeed, wherever harmony is found, it is life giving and – more important – God’s ultimate will for us. As Christians we claim that Jesus has reconciled human differences and given us, as members of his Body, a foretaste of what human harmony might look like. Indeed, we claim that, whenever we partake of the Eucharist, we are united not only with Christ, but also with each other.
However, as blessed as it is, actually living together in unity is hard work. We are all distinct individuals, and we live in a culture that not only emphasizes our distinctiveness but also often discourages cooperation and compromise. So how do we “live together in unity,” how do we acknowledge our diversity yet strive for unity? Is it beyond us? Spouses, partners, and family members must acknowledge each other’s talents and gaps and find ways to both support each other and receive support from each other. Actually, wherever people partner with each other, in schools, in hospitals, in offices, in parishes, we must seek common ground without snuffing out individual talents and skills. Our elected representatives must somehow put their partisan differences behind them and seek common ground on the issues facing our towns, states, and nations. Faith communities too, whether different Christian denominations or different religious communities, must acknowledge that no one has God in their pockets. They must find their shared ideals and goals without disparaging the practices or ideals of the other community.
All necessary and all very hard work. Years of talks led to the Good Friday accords in 1994 in Northern Ireland. Though the six counties have a functioning political process, much work still needs to be done to bring Protestants and Catholics together on the ground – in neighborhoods, schools, churches, and clubs. As we look at the Middle East, many of us long desperately for peace, as we try to be pro-Israeli, pro-Palestinian, and pro-Christian, all at the same time. At this very moment, we hold our breaths and wonder if fifty years of enmity between the U.S. and Cuba will finally come to an end. Will a nuclear treaty with Iran produce the desired assurances and security? We can only pray so.
Yet, sometimes the hard work of striving for unity and harmony among diverse people has actually borne fruit. In South Africa, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission initiated a process that helped undo the wounds of Apartheid and bring unity to one of the most ethnically divided countries in the world. Commission chair Archbishop Desmond Tutu acknowledged how difficult, yet how essential, the hard work of confession and forgiveness was for bringing in a unified future. He said, “To pursue the path of healing for our nation, we need to remember what we have endured. But we must not simply pass on the violence of that experience through the pursuit of punishment. We seek … restorative justice…. There is no point exacting vengeance now, knowing that it will be the cause for future vengeance by the offspring of those we punish.” Clearly, as we strive for unity, we must also look ahead to the consequences of our actions.
Closer to home is the work of Fr. Greg Boyle. A native of Los Angeles, Fr. Greg entered the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) in 1972 and was ordained a priest in 1984. After teaching English for a few years, Fr. Greg was assigned to the parish of the Mission Dolores, a neighborhood in L.A. rife with gang warfare. At first, he believed that he could help broker peace among the gangs by bringing gang leaders together and helping to negotiate cease-fires among them. However, he gradually began to realize that what drew boys to gangs was that their prior life experiences had given them little reason to believe that they could change their lives for the better. Moreover, many had returned to the neighborhood after being incarcerated, finding that no legitimate business would hire them. Without abandoning his peace-making, Fr. Greg led efforts to establish an elementary school and daycare center in the neighborhood. Then he realized that what the gang members needed most of all were jobs. In 1992, as a response to the civil unrest in Los Angeles, Fr. Greg launched his first business, Homeboy Bakery. Its mission was to create an environment that provided training, work experience, and above all, the opportunity for rival gang members to work side by side. The success of the bakery laid the groundwork for additional businesses. Today Homeboy Industries’ nonprofit economic development enterprises include Homeboy Bakery, Homeboy Silkscreen, Homeboy/Homegirl Merchandise, and Homegirl Café.
Since 1992, thousands of young people have left their gang affiliations behind and experienced the mutual respect that comes from sharing tasks and challenges with others. As Homeboy Industries celebrates twenty-six years of work in downtown Los Angeles, the organization and its enterprises give hope to those seeking to leave gang life. Fr. Greg has received numerous awards for his work, while Homeboy Industries has been recognized as the largest and most successful gang intervention and re-entry program in the world.1
My friends, you and I may never travel to Northern Ireland or South Africa. We may not know any gang members or ever have the chance to help them remake their lives. However, we are followers of the One who, before his death, told his friends, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” We follow the One who, after being raised, instead of berating his followers for deserting him in his final hour, said, “Peace be with you.” We follow the One who then said, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” We too are called to work for peace and unity in all areas of our lives. We too are called to bring to others the blessing that comes with unity, “life for evermore.”
1. Krista Tippett’s interview with Fr. Greg is a good place to learn more about him and his work. Find it at http://www.onbeing.org/program/father-greg-boyle-on-the-calling-of-delight/5053
Today we said this psalm in response to our reading from the book of Acts. Remember that we are still celebrating Easter. Throughout Easter tide we hear of the impact of the resurrection on various people and communities. Our readings from the book of Acts in Easter tide give us a sense of how the earliest followers of Jesus experienced – or how tradition suggested they experienced – the power of the resurrection. The earliest followers of Jesus were a motley crew, to say the least. They included Galileans and Judeans, diaspora Jews of various backgrounds and political beliefs, gentiles, men and women, slaves and freeborn, even some Roman citizens. The Acts account tells us that, through the power of Jesus’ resurrection, these earliest communities were able to overcome their ethnic and social differences and generously share their resources with each other.
While we as followers of Jesus read Psalm 133 in response to the story of the earliest followers of the Way, the longing for unity among people is a recurring theme in the Hebrew Scriptures. We too can learn something from taking a closer look at this psalm. The psalm is a pilgrimage psalm, one of a group called “songs of ascent,” that include psalms 120 through 134. If you read them all together, you discover that they are all about making a pilgrimage “up to” the temple on the heights of Jerusalem. In this psalm, the psalmist uses two images of extravagant blessing to convey the delight and wonder of harmony among people. The first image is that of anointing, anointing so rich and abundant that the oil flows over Aaron’s head and through his long hair. Now as twenty first-century Americans, who live in a relatively moist climate, we don’t think much about anointing – unless you’re into massage. However, in the dry climate of ancient Israel, anointing with oil was both a necessity and a deep pleasure, especially for someone exposed to the dry heat and dust of a walk to Jerusalem. While anointing was especially associated with kings and priests, everyone in the ancient world could experience its pleasures and knew how necessary it was to life.
The second image of extravagant abundance is that of the dew of Hermon. Now Mt. Hermon is in the north of Israel, almost on the border with Lebanon, while Mt. Zion overlooks Jerusalem in the south. Here, the psalmist declares, the dew is so abundant that it can reach all the way from one mountain to the other. Again, as twenty first-century Americans, who have recently experienced too much natural moisture, we don’t think much about dew – unless perhaps you like to garden or mow the lawn in the morning. However, in ancient Israel, during the dry months of the year, dew was an important source of moisture. In fact, dew is praised in other places in the Hebrew Scriptures as a source of God’s blessings.
So the psalmist has used two extravagant images to remind us that harmony among people, wherever it is found, whether in extended families or in nations, is a wonderful blessing. Indeed, wherever harmony is found, it is life giving and – more important – God’s ultimate will for us. As Christians we claim that Jesus has reconciled human differences and given us, as members of his Body, a foretaste of what human harmony might look like. Indeed, we claim that, whenever we partake of the Eucharist, we are united not only with Christ, but also with each other.
However, as blessed as it is, actually living together in unity is hard work. We are all distinct individuals, and we live in a culture that not only emphasizes our distinctiveness but also often discourages cooperation and compromise. So how do we “live together in unity,” how do we acknowledge our diversity yet strive for unity? Is it beyond us? Spouses, partners, and family members must acknowledge each other’s talents and gaps and find ways to both support each other and receive support from each other. Actually, wherever people partner with each other, in schools, in hospitals, in offices, in parishes, we must seek common ground without snuffing out individual talents and skills. Our elected representatives must somehow put their partisan differences behind them and seek common ground on the issues facing our towns, states, and nations. Faith communities too, whether different Christian denominations or different religious communities, must acknowledge that no one has God in their pockets. They must find their shared ideals and goals without disparaging the practices or ideals of the other community.
All necessary and all very hard work. Years of talks led to the Good Friday accords in 1994 in Northern Ireland. Though the six counties have a functioning political process, much work still needs to be done to bring Protestants and Catholics together on the ground – in neighborhoods, schools, churches, and clubs. As we look at the Middle East, many of us long desperately for peace, as we try to be pro-Israeli, pro-Palestinian, and pro-Christian, all at the same time. At this very moment, we hold our breaths and wonder if fifty years of enmity between the U.S. and Cuba will finally come to an end. Will a nuclear treaty with Iran produce the desired assurances and security? We can only pray so.
Yet, sometimes the hard work of striving for unity and harmony among diverse people has actually borne fruit. In South Africa, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission initiated a process that helped undo the wounds of Apartheid and bring unity to one of the most ethnically divided countries in the world. Commission chair Archbishop Desmond Tutu acknowledged how difficult, yet how essential, the hard work of confession and forgiveness was for bringing in a unified future. He said, “To pursue the path of healing for our nation, we need to remember what we have endured. But we must not simply pass on the violence of that experience through the pursuit of punishment. We seek … restorative justice…. There is no point exacting vengeance now, knowing that it will be the cause for future vengeance by the offspring of those we punish.” Clearly, as we strive for unity, we must also look ahead to the consequences of our actions.
Closer to home is the work of Fr. Greg Boyle. A native of Los Angeles, Fr. Greg entered the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) in 1972 and was ordained a priest in 1984. After teaching English for a few years, Fr. Greg was assigned to the parish of the Mission Dolores, a neighborhood in L.A. rife with gang warfare. At first, he believed that he could help broker peace among the gangs by bringing gang leaders together and helping to negotiate cease-fires among them. However, he gradually began to realize that what drew boys to gangs was that their prior life experiences had given them little reason to believe that they could change their lives for the better. Moreover, many had returned to the neighborhood after being incarcerated, finding that no legitimate business would hire them. Without abandoning his peace-making, Fr. Greg led efforts to establish an elementary school and daycare center in the neighborhood. Then he realized that what the gang members needed most of all were jobs. In 1992, as a response to the civil unrest in Los Angeles, Fr. Greg launched his first business, Homeboy Bakery. Its mission was to create an environment that provided training, work experience, and above all, the opportunity for rival gang members to work side by side. The success of the bakery laid the groundwork for additional businesses. Today Homeboy Industries’ nonprofit economic development enterprises include Homeboy Bakery, Homeboy Silkscreen, Homeboy/Homegirl Merchandise, and Homegirl Café.
Since 1992, thousands of young people have left their gang affiliations behind and experienced the mutual respect that comes from sharing tasks and challenges with others. As Homeboy Industries celebrates twenty-six years of work in downtown Los Angeles, the organization and its enterprises give hope to those seeking to leave gang life. Fr. Greg has received numerous awards for his work, while Homeboy Industries has been recognized as the largest and most successful gang intervention and re-entry program in the world.1
My friends, you and I may never travel to Northern Ireland or South Africa. We may not know any gang members or ever have the chance to help them remake their lives. However, we are followers of the One who, before his death, told his friends, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” We follow the One who, after being raised, instead of berating his followers for deserting him in his final hour, said, “Peace be with you.” We follow the One who then said, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” We too are called to work for peace and unity in all areas of our lives. We too are called to bring to others the blessing that comes with unity, “life for evermore.”
1. Krista Tippett’s interview with Fr. Greg is a good place to learn more about him and his work. Find it at http://www.onbeing.org/program/father-greg-boyle-on-the-calling-of-delight/5053
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Blessed are those who Believe
As the boy stepped out onto the steps leading from the house, he noticed some markings in the newly fallen snow.1 “What’s that?” he asked his father. The father glanced down at his watch and then looked closely at the tracks.
“Why, those are cat tracks,” he said, pointing to the four-toed prints. Walking a little farther, they noticed that one set of tracks veered away from the other. “Oh, it’s two cats,” said the boy. “See, one went into the bushes and the other near the car.”
As they walked down the driveway, the father stopped at another set of tracks. “A rabbit?” asked the boy, “but where did it go? Did it go back towards the garage to get away from the cats?”
“Perhaps,” said the father. “Look, we’re going to be late.” As they reached the car, the boy saw more prints on the hood. “Another cat,” he exclaimed.
“No,” said the father, they’re too small. I’ll bet a squirrel made those.” See, it came out on that branch, there – “ he pointed to a thick branch hanging over the car – “jumped down on the car, then ran around and jumped off.”
“Cool! Maybe he was avoiding the cats too.”
“Maybe. Now let’s get going, or we’ll be late for church.”
All the way to church, the boy talked about the tracks. When he saw his mother, he ran to her and shouted, “Mom! We had a bunch of animals running around our house this morning!”
“Really? I didn’t see any animals when I left for church.”
“Neither did we,” he said, “but we know they were there – we saw the tracks!”
“Then it’s just like God,” she said.
“What do you mean?” the boy asked.
“I mean we never really see God, but we can see what God has done in the world around us, and we can know that God has been there.
Isn’t this the reality of our faith? We have not seen the risen Jesus in the flesh, but perhaps we can see his tracks. Actually, at best only a handful of people ever saw the risen Jesus. We have a few of their stories in the gospel accounts: Mary Magdalene and the other women at the empty tomb, the eleven in the upper room, or the two men on the road to Emmaus. Paul tells us that no more than five hundred people saw Jesus before his ascension, and that he himself was not one of them.
Among those who most likely did not see Jesus in the flesh were the writers of the gospel according to John and the letter attributed to Peter. Yet both offer assurance that seeing the risen Jesus is not necessary to trusting and believing in his presence with us. John’s gospel was composed at least sixty years after Jesus’ death for a fledging Christian community that was in conflict with the religious establishment. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe,” Jesus tells them in the evangelist’s account, reassuring them that they have made the right choice in electing to follow him. In what was most likely the original ending of the gospel, the evangelist reminds them that, “Through believing you may have life in his name.”
The letter attributed to the apostle Peter was most likely written early in the second century to a Christian community that was now experiencing discrimination and persecution. Many in this community were gentile women and slaves, who were despised by the rich and powerful people around them. And so the letter as a whole consoles them, and, like the gospel, reassures them that becoming disciples of Jesus was the right choice. “Although you have not seen him,” the writer assures them, “you love him, and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy….”
Despite the assurances of the evangelist and the writer of First Peter, we may still wonder whether those who actually saw the risen Jesus in the flesh had an advantage over those who did not see him. Would our trust in the reality of Jesus’ resurrection be stronger if we could have looked into his eyes or put our finger into the nail holes? Many people who met Jesus rejected him, even some who saw him after he had risen. As the gospel of Matthew reminds us, even among the eleven, some initially doubted. Thomas seemed to have needed to actually physically see the risen Jesus. However, like the others, as soon as Thomas was actually in Jesus’ presence and heard Jesus address him, his recognition of Jesus’ true identity was immediate. Without actually even touching Jesus’ hands or side, he exclaimed, “My Lord and my God.”
What do we need to see so that we can trust in the reality of Jesus’ resurrection? We cannot see him in the flesh. And anyway, could it be that physically seeing as a way of truly understanding is over-rated? Barbara Brown Taylor tells the story of Jacques Lusseyran, a French resistance fighter during World War II, who had been accidentally blinded as a schoolboy.2 Lusseyran’s family elected to keep him in public school and teach him how to function in a seeing world. He learned to use a Braille typewriter and attend so carefully to his surroundings that his friends marveled at how much of the world around him he could describe. He could tell trees apart by their shadow and sound and the height or width of a wall by its pressure on his body. Able to see into the deeper nature of people and things, Lusseyran realized that sight directs us only to outer appearances, letting us see quickly the surface of things but little else. Slowly gliding our fingers over a person or thing, he taught, or attentively listening, or using our other senses, enables us to know people and the world more deeply and more intimately than we can through sight.
Since we cannot see Jesus physically with our eyes, how might Lusseyran help us to see Jesus in other ways? What are some of the other ways of authentically sensing Jesus’ risen presence? We might begin with the gospels. Reading the gospels attentively, even out loud, listening deeply and carefully to Jesus’ words, and imagining ourselves into the gospel stories are all ways of “seeing” him. Icons are another way to encounter the risen Lord. Icons are like gospel stories in visual form. By praying with them and meditating on what they teach us about Jesus we may more clearly “see” him. Contemplative prayer, in which we intentionally silence our own voice and mind, is another way of coming into his presence and listening to him. Mystical poetry is also an avenue into Jesus’ presence, as we let the ancient seers, the medieval mystics, and modern poets all open God to us through their deft use of language. Many of you sense God’s presence in the natural world. I have long loved Canticle 12 in the service of Morning Prayer. Listen to just one verse from it:
Let the earth glorify the Lord,
praise him and highly exalt him forever.
Glorify the Lord, O mountains and hills,
and all that grows upon the earth,
praise him and highly exalt him forever.
Go outside sometime, let the wind blow over you, hear the birds make melody, and recite the whole canticle. Feel God’s presence and gifts more deeply.
Without a doubt the risen Lord is present to us in the breaking of the bread. As he promised on his last night on earth, and so we experience every time we receive his body and blood, he is present to us. Just like those who were privileged to know Jesus in first-century Palestine, we too meet him in the flesh here at the altar rail. Martin Luther tells us that,
Here in the Lord’s Supper he wants to be neither born nor seen nor heard nor touched by us but only eaten and drunk, both physically and spiritually. Accordingly, by this eating we obtain just as much and arrive at the same point as they with their bearing, seeing, hearing, etc. and he is just as near to us physically as he was to them.3
And finally, and perhaps most important, the risen Lord is present to us in the faces of those whom we serve. Remember as you fill plates or carry-out boxes for Loaves and Fishes, or as you come to the park next week to worship with our street church congregation, the Lord will be among them all. If we look carefully enough, we will surely see him.
We are always in God’s presence. It is in God that we “live and move and have our being.” The risen Lord is always among us. The risen Lord is always leaving his tracks. Open your eyes, your ears, your hands. Experience his presence now. Know that you too are among those who are blessed by their trust in his love, mercy, and grace.
1. Adapted from Keith Hewitt, “Tracks,” Lectionary Tales for Preaching and Teaching (Lima, OH: CSS, 2013), 96ff.
2. In “Light without Sight,” Christian Century, 131, 7, April 2, 2004, 22ff.
3. Quoted in Lisa Dahill, Truly Present (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2005), 85.
“Why, those are cat tracks,” he said, pointing to the four-toed prints. Walking a little farther, they noticed that one set of tracks veered away from the other. “Oh, it’s two cats,” said the boy. “See, one went into the bushes and the other near the car.”
As they walked down the driveway, the father stopped at another set of tracks. “A rabbit?” asked the boy, “but where did it go? Did it go back towards the garage to get away from the cats?”
“Perhaps,” said the father. “Look, we’re going to be late.” As they reached the car, the boy saw more prints on the hood. “Another cat,” he exclaimed.
“No,” said the father, they’re too small. I’ll bet a squirrel made those.” See, it came out on that branch, there – “ he pointed to a thick branch hanging over the car – “jumped down on the car, then ran around and jumped off.”
“Cool! Maybe he was avoiding the cats too.”
“Maybe. Now let’s get going, or we’ll be late for church.”
All the way to church, the boy talked about the tracks. When he saw his mother, he ran to her and shouted, “Mom! We had a bunch of animals running around our house this morning!”
“Really? I didn’t see any animals when I left for church.”
“Neither did we,” he said, “but we know they were there – we saw the tracks!”
“Then it’s just like God,” she said.
“What do you mean?” the boy asked.
“I mean we never really see God, but we can see what God has done in the world around us, and we can know that God has been there.
Isn’t this the reality of our faith? We have not seen the risen Jesus in the flesh, but perhaps we can see his tracks. Actually, at best only a handful of people ever saw the risen Jesus. We have a few of their stories in the gospel accounts: Mary Magdalene and the other women at the empty tomb, the eleven in the upper room, or the two men on the road to Emmaus. Paul tells us that no more than five hundred people saw Jesus before his ascension, and that he himself was not one of them.
Among those who most likely did not see Jesus in the flesh were the writers of the gospel according to John and the letter attributed to Peter. Yet both offer assurance that seeing the risen Jesus is not necessary to trusting and believing in his presence with us. John’s gospel was composed at least sixty years after Jesus’ death for a fledging Christian community that was in conflict with the religious establishment. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe,” Jesus tells them in the evangelist’s account, reassuring them that they have made the right choice in electing to follow him. In what was most likely the original ending of the gospel, the evangelist reminds them that, “Through believing you may have life in his name.”
The letter attributed to the apostle Peter was most likely written early in the second century to a Christian community that was now experiencing discrimination and persecution. Many in this community were gentile women and slaves, who were despised by the rich and powerful people around them. And so the letter as a whole consoles them, and, like the gospel, reassures them that becoming disciples of Jesus was the right choice. “Although you have not seen him,” the writer assures them, “you love him, and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy….”
Despite the assurances of the evangelist and the writer of First Peter, we may still wonder whether those who actually saw the risen Jesus in the flesh had an advantage over those who did not see him. Would our trust in the reality of Jesus’ resurrection be stronger if we could have looked into his eyes or put our finger into the nail holes? Many people who met Jesus rejected him, even some who saw him after he had risen. As the gospel of Matthew reminds us, even among the eleven, some initially doubted. Thomas seemed to have needed to actually physically see the risen Jesus. However, like the others, as soon as Thomas was actually in Jesus’ presence and heard Jesus address him, his recognition of Jesus’ true identity was immediate. Without actually even touching Jesus’ hands or side, he exclaimed, “My Lord and my God.”
What do we need to see so that we can trust in the reality of Jesus’ resurrection? We cannot see him in the flesh. And anyway, could it be that physically seeing as a way of truly understanding is over-rated? Barbara Brown Taylor tells the story of Jacques Lusseyran, a French resistance fighter during World War II, who had been accidentally blinded as a schoolboy.2 Lusseyran’s family elected to keep him in public school and teach him how to function in a seeing world. He learned to use a Braille typewriter and attend so carefully to his surroundings that his friends marveled at how much of the world around him he could describe. He could tell trees apart by their shadow and sound and the height or width of a wall by its pressure on his body. Able to see into the deeper nature of people and things, Lusseyran realized that sight directs us only to outer appearances, letting us see quickly the surface of things but little else. Slowly gliding our fingers over a person or thing, he taught, or attentively listening, or using our other senses, enables us to know people and the world more deeply and more intimately than we can through sight.
Since we cannot see Jesus physically with our eyes, how might Lusseyran help us to see Jesus in other ways? What are some of the other ways of authentically sensing Jesus’ risen presence? We might begin with the gospels. Reading the gospels attentively, even out loud, listening deeply and carefully to Jesus’ words, and imagining ourselves into the gospel stories are all ways of “seeing” him. Icons are another way to encounter the risen Lord. Icons are like gospel stories in visual form. By praying with them and meditating on what they teach us about Jesus we may more clearly “see” him. Contemplative prayer, in which we intentionally silence our own voice and mind, is another way of coming into his presence and listening to him. Mystical poetry is also an avenue into Jesus’ presence, as we let the ancient seers, the medieval mystics, and modern poets all open God to us through their deft use of language. Many of you sense God’s presence in the natural world. I have long loved Canticle 12 in the service of Morning Prayer. Listen to just one verse from it:
Let the earth glorify the Lord,
praise him and highly exalt him forever.
Glorify the Lord, O mountains and hills,
and all that grows upon the earth,
praise him and highly exalt him forever.
Go outside sometime, let the wind blow over you, hear the birds make melody, and recite the whole canticle. Feel God’s presence and gifts more deeply.
Without a doubt the risen Lord is present to us in the breaking of the bread. As he promised on his last night on earth, and so we experience every time we receive his body and blood, he is present to us. Just like those who were privileged to know Jesus in first-century Palestine, we too meet him in the flesh here at the altar rail. Martin Luther tells us that,
Here in the Lord’s Supper he wants to be neither born nor seen nor heard nor touched by us but only eaten and drunk, both physically and spiritually. Accordingly, by this eating we obtain just as much and arrive at the same point as they with their bearing, seeing, hearing, etc. and he is just as near to us physically as he was to them.3
And finally, and perhaps most important, the risen Lord is present to us in the faces of those whom we serve. Remember as you fill plates or carry-out boxes for Loaves and Fishes, or as you come to the park next week to worship with our street church congregation, the Lord will be among them all. If we look carefully enough, we will surely see him.
We are always in God’s presence. It is in God that we “live and move and have our being.” The risen Lord is always among us. The risen Lord is always leaving his tracks. Open your eyes, your ears, your hands. Experience his presence now. Know that you too are among those who are blessed by their trust in his love, mercy, and grace.
1. Adapted from Keith Hewitt, “Tracks,” Lectionary Tales for Preaching and Teaching (Lima, OH: CSS, 2013), 96ff.
2. In “Light without Sight,” Christian Century, 131, 7, April 2, 2004, 22ff.
3. Quoted in Lisa Dahill, Truly Present (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2005), 85.
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