“My Lord and My God”
Second Sunday of Easter (Year A)
27 April 2014
Homily Delivered Trinity Parish Church, Ashland, Oregon
God, give us hearts to feel and love,
take away our hearts
of stone
and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.
Today is the Second Sunday of Easter. In the Eastern Church it is called
Thomas Sunday. The Gospel reading tells us the story of how St. Thomas came to
faith in the risen Lord. In the West we know him as “Doubting
Thomas,” the one who said, "I won’t believe it until I touch it!” But the Eastern Church remembers Thomas for
his confession "My Lord and my God," and says he was the first to
publicly proclaim the two natures of Christ: human and divine. His story
tells us about experience, faith, and doubt, and should be a model for all us
seekers.
It really is unfair to call Thomas a doubter among the other disciples.
From the stories, it seems that doubt was the norm for early believers, not the
exception. We shouldn’t be ashamed of or
feel guilty for doubt today. Doubt is a
healthy part of faith, of integrating the teachings and tradition into our
personal lives, of making these stories our own. Just
look and see how many doubters are in these stories of the resurrection
appearances.
Women disciples in Mark’s Gospel see an angel at the tomb announcing that Jesus
is not there but has risen, and telling them to report this to the
others. The women run away “trembling with astonishment” and tell no one
about it “because they were afraid” (Mark 16:8).
In Luke, as the women come back, they remember words that Jesus had said to
them while he was alive, and this gives them the confidence to announce what
the angel has said. But the apostles take it as “an idle tale,” and they
do not believe the women (Luke 24:10-11).
In Matthew, when Jesus appears to
the disciples after their return to Galilee, “they saw him and worshipped him,
but some doubted” (Matt. 28:17).
In Luke, like in today’s Gospel from
John, the disciples gather together late evening on Easter Sunday. Jesus
appears to them, but where John says simply that the disciples (absent Thomas)
“were glad when they saw the Lord” (John 20:20), Luke tells
more: the ten other disciples
cannot believe their eyes, and think that maybe they are seeing a ghost.
Jesus replies, “see my hands and feet, it’s really me; touch me and see, for a
ghost doesn’t have flesh and bones as you see I have” (Luke 24:39). They
still “disbelieve from joy” (Luke 24:41). It is only when Jesus eats a
bit of roast fish that they can believe their eyes (Luke 24:42-43).
So when Thomas says, “unless I touch the wounds, I won’t believe,” he is no
more a doubter than any of the other disciples, or than any of us.
And that’s the thing about these
stories: they not only retell what
happened long ago. In all of them, we are
the disciples, unable to believe what has happened, the love of God, the life
of God, just too good to be true.
I
have a secret vice. It’s Christian
radio. Despite a lot of what I dislike,
in fact, really loathe, about it—despite the right wing politics and Biblicist
fundamentalism, its tendency toward Calvinism, and its lowest common
denominator popular cultural taste in music that tends to manipulate emotions—I
find its overall innocent sincerity, general lack of irony, and ability to
connect to emotions assuring and thought-provoking. Like the prepubescent boy Milhouse in the
Simpsons when he first accidentally comes across an adult channel on T.V., it
is all “disgusting but strangely alluring.”
One
thing that still creeps me out somewhat is the “Jesus you’re my boyfriend” kind
of song. Modeled after popular love
ballads, the beloved is simply replaced with Jesus. So “I’m crazy, madly, deeply infatuated with
you” becomes “God, I love you,” or “Jesus, I’m yours forever.”
This bothers me probably because the emotions they are based on tend to be so fickle and
painful. I can hear a moving popular
song about lost love, disappointment, and breaking up and place in the stead of
the rejected lover God or Jesus:
… I am
feeling so small
It was over my head
I know nothing at all
And I will stumble and fall
I'm still learning to love
Just starting to crawl
Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
Anywhere, I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you
That is what the disciples are
feeling at the death of Jesus. They are
ready to give up on God, the loving God who Jesus said would come through and
overthrow all the wrong in the world. Jesus’
death, his abandonment on the cross, and his pitiful burial—the disciples in
their hearts are saying, “I’m giving up on you.” That’s what lies behind the disbelief, the
doubting, the not recognizing Jesus in these stories. We are letting our disappointing experience
with life tell us what actually is possible, and so we simply won’t believe the
Easter proclamation.
Yet when Jesus comes the next Sunday evening, it turns out that Thomas doesn’t
need to touch Jesus to accept his resurrection after all. He takes one
look, falls to his knees, and declares, “My Lord and My God.” Fr.
Raymond Brown says this is the “Christological high point of the Gospel of
John.” And the Gospel of John is the Christological highpoint of the
Bible.
No wonder the Eastern Church praises
Thomas as a model of faith. The doctrine of the two natures of
Christ would not become clear to the Church for another 200 years. But
Thomas’ confession is at its core: when you look at the face of Jesus you
look upon the face of God; if you have seen Jesus you have seen
God. It is the very fact that Thomas was so skeptical that allows
him to make the affirmation. Thomas knows that in this world, dead men do
not walk about alive and well once they’ve died. So it must be God at
work in front of him, though he still recognizes the person he knew as his friend
Jesus. So he must simply confess, “My Lord, My God.”
Earlier in John’s Gospel, Thomas told Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you
are going. How can we know the way [to follow you]?” To this Jesus said,
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except
through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. (John
14:1-7) In today’s story, when Thomas says, “My Lord and my God,”
it is clear that he now knows the Father and sees him through Jesus.
Jesus himself praises Thomas for his affirmation, “Happy are you because you
have seen and believed.” And then with no negative comparison implied, he
adds, “how much happier those who do not see but still believe.”
Jesus here is talking about us. We are in the same place
as the disciples before they actually see the risen Lord: we each have
our thresholds and barriers we set up for faith. “I won’t believe in God
if he doesn’t prevent evil and suffering.” “I can’t believe in God unless I see
some miracle or vision.” “I can’t believe in God unless I understand
everything I desire to know.” But this is just our beaten down hearts
talking, afraid to trust because we have been hurt in the past, deceived by
those we loved, or disillusioned by the world. “It is too good to be
true.” This is not a description of the world, but an expression of
our pain.
But that’s exactly what these stories are about. Jesus taught by word and
deed that this whole world is occupied enemy territory. God’s putting
things right, the in-breaking of God’s true kingship, was already set in motion
in his person. But Jesus’ death seemed to prove the foolishness of his
teaching. It was unjust, wrong, and horrible, a perfect proof of
just how bad this monstrous world actually was.
But a full day after his burial, Jesus, more alive than he had ever been
before, came back to his friends. They had no doubt that he had been
dead. And the one before them now was so burningly alive that many of
them had problems recognizing him.
If we
and the disciples are saying to God, “Say something, I’m giving up on you,” then
this is God’s reply in the ambient silence in our lives. Thanks be to God. Our love songs must continue.
In the name of God, Amen.
