You would have thought that the disciples would have been celebrating – like we did last Sunday. Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed.
You would have thought that they would have been singing rousing hymns with trumpet accompaniment – like we did just seven days ago, Christ the Lord is risen today – alleluia!
You would have thought that they would have been feasting with family and friends – like we did after worship on Easter –baked ham or roast lamb (well, maybe not ham), but asparagus and some special springtime dessert.
But, no, they were hidden away, fearful and silent in a dark upper room. If we piece together all four Gospel accounts of the resurrection, we know that by this time the disciples had all the details from the women – Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome. They knew all about the empty tomb.
According to one account, Peter and one of the others had seen with their very own eyes that the rock had been rolled away from the cave entrance. Upon peeking inside, they had spotted the grave clothes stashed in a corner of the tomb. More significantly, they had seen no sign of Jesus, their crucified, dead, and buried rabbi and leader.
By another account, Mary Magdalene had recognized the Christ in the very same cemetery garden and had even had the briefest of conversation with him when he had gently spoken her name. “I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses, and the voice I hear falling on my ear…”
Oh, they had heard the news. The disciples had certainly heard the news, but they were hardly overjoyed and ready to party. No – they were hidden away, fearful and silent in a dark - and locked - upper room somewhere in the back alleyways of Jerusalem, the Holy City.
And they were afraid. You could smell it in the dusty, closed up, too hot room. You could smell it in the sweat that trickled down their arms. You could see it in their eyes, darting to the windows whenever a floorboard creaked or a breeze rattled the old olive tree in the atrium. You could feel it in their tense muscles, their shallow breathing, in the way their hearts beat too fast for a springtime day. Their fear was so profound and so intense that you could almost taste it.
They were all afraid, though perhaps the least fearful among them was Thomas because he had left the upper room, no doubt furtively making his way through the least known streets and byways of the city.
We do not know why he left. Perhaps they all were hungry and Thomas had picked the short straw and so was venturing forth to beg, borrow, or steal some provisions to last them for a few days until they could figure out exactly what to do next, now that all hope for a future together was dead and buried along with Jesus. Or maybe Thomas just wanted to get a breath of fresh air. Maybe he could not stand the fear any longer.
Of course, those disciples – including Thomas – had good reason to be afraid. First of all, protecting themselves both from the Roman authorities as well as from the Jewish temple bigwigs made a lot of sense.
After all, the crowds had turned against Jesus in a heartbeat. One minute they were cheering him into the Holy City of Jerusalem, the seat of Jewish religious power and prestige. And the next minute they had apprehended and tried him, mocked, scorned and crucified him along with all of their anger, resentment, and petty malice, and left him for dead – which he was, of course - most horribly dead.
Peter, James, John, and the others surely knew that they could still be caught up in the same torrent of events. Being from Galilee and followers of the rabbi who had stirred up so much trouble in the past week was not advantageous.
Who knew if the dust had really settled – or whether they were simply experiencing the eye of the storm? Jesus’ appallingly undignified death was still fresh in their minds – as well is should be. He had only departed this world a couple of days ago.
Of course, it was not only the potential for their own demise that might have had the disciples sweating out their fear. There was also the other possibility – as farfetched as it may have seemed. What if the women’s rumors were true? What if Jesus had returned? What if the love of their God had bullied and finally overcome death itself – as Jesus said that it would? What if Jesus was alive? What if – Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed?
What then? That remote chance was also troubling the disciples – as well it should have. After all, the man who had been their teacher, the one whom they had followed for three years, the one for whom they had left their homes and to whom they had pledged their faithful lives had been murdered – and they had not done much to stop it. What if Jesus was really angry with them?
Peter was undeniably (no pun intended) the worse off from that perspective. Peter who, while warming his hands by the fire burning beneath the hall where Jesus was enduring a trial of sorts - had denied, denied, denied Jesus – three times with growing resentment and ire – declaring that he did not know the man, swearing that he had never met him, lying through his teeth that he was not a follower from Galilee. What if Jesus had heard Peter’s weak words of denial?
But the others as well, each in his own way, had also betrayed Jesus. Looking back on the events of just a couple of days ago, they were deeply, deeply ashamed of their actions. A couple of them had split the scene there in the garden when Jesus had been arrested. They had seen trouble coming - lit by torches held high in the nighttime gloom, and punctuated with the glint of Roman swords and knives. They had hightailed it to safety to save their own hides.
Others of the disciples had stood by silently as Jesus was led away, his arms roped behind him. They were afraid to say anything in his defense, fearful that they too would end up in chains.
Still others had followed the little procession from a distance, curious to see what would happen next. They were the ones who became part of the gathering crowd and when Jesus was brought out to the balcony and the masses got all riled up yelling “crucify him, crucify him” and Pilate the Roman governor washed his hands of the whole mess and went inside and locked his doors and they realized that nothing good was going to come of the night, they melted into the background and ran away.
Each disciple had betrayed and denied Jesus. In later years, their shortcomings would be called sins of omission because it was not what they had done so much as what they might have done but did not.
Jesus would surely be angry with them. After all, they had all – every single one of them – deserted him. And of course he would be deeply disappointed in them. It had all turned into a terrible mess, not what they would have expected, and now here they were in a dark upper room, locked away with the sweat of their own fear and waiting for Thomas to get back with dinner.
What if Jesus had returned armed for revenge? After all, they had left him on a cross to die. Worse yet, they had watched him die slowly, agonizingly – and had done nothing. Not even a prayer for his safe passage to whatever it is that comes next had escaped their lips. No wonder they sweated now in fear and trembling.
It was then, of course, that Jesus appeared among them. The locked door and bolted windows were inconsequential. They could not have kept him out if they had tried. Jesus just showed up. They could not believe it at first and surely under the circumstances they probably did not want to believe it. But Jesus displayed his scarred hands and feet, and so they believed in their hearts what they had seen with their eyes.
Thomas, of course, got home with the take out bucket of chicken a wee bit too late – and down through history has received a bad reputation for his timing. Ever since, he has been called doubting and one of little faith when all he asked for was the same documentation freely offered to the others.
We tend to focus on Thomas’ seeming faux pas when we read this first account in the Gospel of John of an appearance of the Risen Christ. However, the significance of this tale for us as we try to wrap our minds around the resurrection lies not Thomas’ request for proof. Rather it lies in the first words to come out of Jesus’ mouth both times he entered that dark upper room. “Peace be with you,” he said. “Peace be with you.”
Jesus was not angry – though he might have been. He knew that Peter had denied him. And certainly he was disappointed (who would not have been?) that none of them had manned up to the situation at hand. However, he chose not to critique and belittle them.
And Jesus was not vengeful – though he might have been. He knew they had stood by and watched as he rolled his eyes in agony and eventually died. He knew that in the end they did not have a courageous bone in their bodies. He knew that they had racked up a lot of sins of omission that fateful evening.
And yet, the first thing he said to them was “Peace be with you.” They first thing he did was forgive them. Jesus returned, and his concern was not about himself, but about them. He offered them peace, and they dissolved into joy – as will Thomas a week later.
We often presume that the story ends here – and the party finally begins. But not so! You see, Jesus not only forgives the disciples. He also empowers them with a mission. The Gospel writer tells us that Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit on them (whatever that means) and sends them forth to forgive with authority, to forgive as he has now forgiven all of them.
As Episcopal priest Charles Hoffacker writes, “This action is a second creation, an early Pentecost, a commissioning of them for ministry. Their business is to be about forgiveness, the reconciliation of humanity with God and each other. The prototype for their work is to be the forgiveness (Jesus) has given them. From this upstairs room, forgiveness is to spread like wildfire.”
The power of forgiveness is profound – and a deep set need for all of us. We learned that here in church a couple of weeks ago when I shared a story by Ernest Hemingway. It was such a wonderful tale – and so applicable here – that I am going to briefly re-tell it. Remember, it is about the Spanish father who sought reconciliation with his son who had run away to the city of Madrid. The father put an advertisement in the local newspaper, which read: "Paco, meet me at the Hotel Montana at noon on Tuesday. All is forgiven! Love, Papa."
Now Paco was such a common name in Spain that when the father went to the Hotel Montana the next day at noon there were 800 young men named Paco waiting for their fathers! You see, forgiveness is about the most wonderful gift we could ever give to one another.
But Jesus gives the disciples even more than peace and the power of forgiveness. He also gives them a purpose for their lives. They are to be the mouthpiece for Jesus, forgiving and offering peace to all they meet. They are also to be the hands and feet of the Risen Christ, ensuring that peace and forgiveness are more than empty words.
And so it is for us, we who call ourselves followers of the Risen Christ, we who in so many ways have shut the doors of our minds, imprisoned our hearts, and locked our lives away. It is not enough for us to celebrate the resurrection with rousing hymns, festive meals, and acclamations that Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed.
There comes a time when we must live the resurrection. Jesus has come through the locked doors and barriers we have set up and blown as much of the Holy Spirit on us as he did on the first disciples in the dark and locked upper room in the Holy City.
Jesus has offered us peace - forgiveness. But Jesus has also given us the power to forgive those around us, the power to forgive all the Pacos of our lives who gather in the village square, desperate for a clean slate and a new start. And Jesus has challenged us with a purpose – not only to be his mouthpiece in the world proclaiming his gospel message of the power of love and reconciliation, but also his hands and feet – healing, blessing, feeding, and eventually transforming the world.
by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, ME
www.rvccme.org
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