The Pattern (Christmas 1B)

 

The Pattern  
John 1:1-18
Homily delivered First Sunday of Christmas (All Years RCL TEC)
31st December 2023: 9:00am Said Eucharist
Parish Church of St. Mark the Evangelist, Medford (Oregon)

The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
Readings: (Isa 61:10-62:3; Ps 147, Gal 3:23-25; 4:4-7; John 1:1-18)

 

Take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

“O Come, Let us adore Him,” we sing, without a thought about what we are saying. Worship a baby? Barely born and in diapers? (That’s what “swathing bands” were for.) Worship a little creature with a brain that is just beginning to organize sensory input and is still years away from rational thought? How can this be?

But other lines of carols seem to have given the matter some more thought: “Veiled in flesh the Godhead see, Hail the incarnate Deity,” “Of the Father’s Love begotten, ere the worlds began to be,” and “God from God, Light from Light, Lo he abhors not the Virgin’s womb. Very God, begotten, not created. O Come let us adore him.”

 

Today’s Gospel does not tell the story of Jesus’ earthly origins.   John tells us of something quite a bit deeper and much, much more hidden.  He begins also by quoting a hymn, this one to Christ as the Logos, the eternal word of God.  It begins, “In the beginning was the Word.”

This translation misses the richness of the Greek en arche en ho logos. Another way of translating might be, “At the start, at the root of all, the logos existed.”  The usual way it is translated in Chinese captures the idea much better than any I have seen in English: 太 初 有 道 “At the great beginning of all things, there was the Tao.”

The Greek word logos is where we get our words logo, logic, and analogue and dialogue. It means much more than just “word.”   Its basic meaning is whatever it is that creates or conveys meaning or sense, whether in our minds or on our lips.   Something is logical, or has logos, because it coheres and is patterned.  Geo-logy is the patterns we see in the physical world, Gaia.  Theology is a patterned and coherent way of talking about God, Theos.   Logos is a deep pattern, a coherence, that lies behind and beneath disparate and apparently random facts. 

 

Thus, a good way to translate the first verse is, “At the root and heart of all things lies a Pattern, a Meaning.”

I have made the following translation of John 1:1-18, pointing to the meaning that John’s Gospel gives such words as “word,” “light,” and “darkness”: 

 

At the start and in the heart of all things,

there was a meaningful pattern.
The pattern was God’s; God was the pattern.
At the moment of creation, it was already this pattern with God.

Everything came into existence from it.
Nothing exists that didn’t come from it.
The pattern brought forth life and

    the light of meaning for humankind.
This light shines in darkness, and darkness cannot put it out. … The genuine light, the source and meaning of everyone's life,

was coming into the universe,

and though the universe came into being by the light,

the universe did not recognize it for what it was.  

It came into its own realm,

but his own kin did not take him in.

But he empowers all who do take him,

those who trust in all that he is,

to become children of God:  

children not born from masculine will,

    reproductive instinct, and the blood of birth,

but rather, begotten from God alone.  

The pattern and meaning of everything

Took on human flesh

and lived with us a short time.

We experienced how wonderful he is:

as wonderful as a father’s only child,

full of joyful promise, where things are as they should be.  (The Ashland Bible)

 

 

The hymn says that the Word/Meaning/Pattern of God took on flesh. The choice of the word “flesh” is deliberate. In Semitic culture, basar “flesh” was the physical, earthy part of a person that you could see, touch, and smell. It was a key part of you, and not wholly separable from your mind or spirit. The symbol for a man to be part of God’s covenant with Abraham was that he be circumcised in his flesh. For Greeks, sarx “flesh” was the changeable, impermanent part of a human being. For some Greek philosophers, it was the part that resisted reason and had a mind of its own, the part that I think we would identify by talking about addictive, obsessive, or compulsive behaviors. It was in this sense that Saint Paul had occasionally used the word—sarx for him sometimes is shorthand for that part of a human being that resists God’s intentions for us.

When the prologue of John says the logos became sarx, it means that Reason, Pattern, Meaning itself, took on all it means to be a human being: all the limitations, all the doubts and fears, the ignorance, all the handicaps.

 

The hymn adds “he dwelt a short time among us.” The word used for “dwelt a shot time” is eskenasen: he “set up his tent.” The image is of a temporary habitation, like the Tent of the Meeting or the Tabernacle of the ancient Israelites, where God Himself was made manifest to Moses.

The hymn adds, “and we saw his glory, as of a father’s only Son, full of Grace and Truth.”

Grace—joyful and tender love, without condition.  Truth—genuineness, authenticity, things being as they ought to be. It is here that the conflict between divine and human, the perfect and imperfect, the boundless and the bounded is resolved: Grace and Truth. For despite all our limitations, we human beings can on occasion transcend ourselves and open ourselves to Grace and Truth. On even fewer occasions, we can even become the channels or instruments by which Grace and Truth can be given to others.

“We saw the glory of God made flesh, we saw the beauty of the pattern behind the worlds placed within this apparently meaningless world—and we recognized that glory as Grace, we recognized that glory as Truth.”

It is in Jesus’ gracious love and authenticity that the Gospel of John says we can recognize the pattern of the universe, see Jesus is the Logos from all eternity.   But he adds “the only child of the father.” Jesus is monogenes—one-of-a-kind.   Despite all he shares with us, he is different in this one way.  Despite the limitations his humanity imposed, Jesus as Eternal Pattern of Meaning is Transcendence Itself.

The hymn to the Logos ends by saying, “The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.”

The Ultimate Meaning of the universe found a place in human flesh, in the person of this helpless baby, who was only beginning to enjoy the good things life offers. But he was also just beginning to suffer everything that life can throw at any of us. Despite it all, he remained ever steadfast.

 

This only Son of God offers us Grace and Truth.  He gives us the chance to be born as Children of God, to share in the pattern and meaning.  Grace and truth:  Joy, love and thankfulness on our part. 

 

As helpless, pathetic fellow human beings, let us accept what he offers, and in Love offer the same Grace and Truth to those around us.

In the name of God, Amen.

 

Epiphany Door Blessing

last year's blessing

Fr. Tony's Paw Prints Message 

Friday Dec. 29, 2023

Epiphany Door Blessing

 

The Feast of the Epiphany on January 6 (next Saturday) commemorates the manifestation of Christ to the world. The word Epiphany comes from the Greek word for manifestation or to show forth.  Epiphany falls on the twelfth day of Christmas and thus ends Christmastide.  It begins a period before Lent where the Church focuses on who Jesus really is.  In some traditions, the liturgical color is green (being the first little bit of ordinary time before Lent that will be resumed after Eastertide with the large season of ordinary time), in others, it is white for an expanded Epiphany tide.  In the old Sarum (Salisbury Cathedral) use of pre-reformation England that served as the mainstay for the first prayerbooks, its color was orange.   Whatever the color, the theme of the readings and hymns in church during this season start with light and then focus on the wondrous deeds of Jesus in his ministry.  For us here at St. Mark’s Medford, the Sunday after Epiphany marks the start of the ministry of our new Rector, Fr. Les Ferguson, and provides us an occasion to shine “this little light of mine” and perhaps re-invent ourselves as a parish community. 

The January 6^th celebration commemorates the arrival of the Magi told in Matthew 2:  strange Persian religious figures (“wizards” is the best translation of “magi” that I can think of who follow a star to find the baby Jesus and come to pay him homage and to bring him gifts.   

 

For centuries, Western Christians (those stemming from the Latin-speaking Church) have had a special tradition of celebrating the end of the Christmas season and praying for blessings in the New Year.  It is a practice of simple January 6 door decoration.   Since the early Middle Ages, some Christians have marked the doors to their homes with the year, the letters C, M and B, and four crosses.  They generally mark these in chalk above the main entrance to their homes.  This year’s marking is this:  20+C+M+B+24

The letters C, M, and B stand for the names ascribed to the wise men in medieval poetry (Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar).  They also stand for the Latin phrase of blessing:  Christus mansionem benedicat, translated as “May Christ bless this house.”

If you would like to bless your home for the New Year and mark it with chalk on January 6, please take with you some of the blessed chalk we will be setting out for you at the end of our Church service on this Sunday, and use the following words as you write the blessing on the space above one of your house’s doors:

[STAR]

20 +  C +  M +  B + 24

“Lord Jesus, around two thousand (20) and twenty-four years (24) ago, by the light of a great star (STAR) you showed the way for the three Wise Men
Caspar (C), Melchior (M),
and Balthasar (B) to find you as a newborn baby (20+).  Christ (C+) fill our home (M+) with Your light and bless us (B+).  Remain with us throughout this New Year.  You are the Son of God made flesh, and showed yourself to the whole world.  Help us now to show forth Your light to all through our acts of love incarnate.  Amen.” 

A happy bright new year to us all, and to new and re-invigorated life in the parish with Fr. Les. 

 

–Fr. Tony+

 

Uncle Kees' Christmas Rebellion (Christmas Day)

 

Uncle Kees’ Christmas Rebellion

Christmas Day (Year C)

Isaiah 52:7-10; Hebrews 1:1-4,(5-12); John 1:1-14; Psalm 98

Homily delivered at St. Mark’s Parish, Medford Oregon
25th December 2023: 9:00 a.m. Said Mass

The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

 

I thought for this morning’s homily, instead of trying to impress you with my wit, theological acumen, and rhetorical skills, instead I’d read you a Christmas story that is a favorite of many. 

 

Uncle Kees' Christmas Rebellion
Pierre Van Paassen

"During my boyhood in Holland, Christmas was by no means a joyous
celebration. Our spiritual leaders clung to the interpretation handed
down by that gloomiest of men, John Calvin. Even the singing of carols
was considered tantamount to blasphemy, and festive candles and gaily
decorated fir trees were deemed pagan abominations.

But one old-fashioned Calvinist Christmas lingers in my mind with delight.
It was bitter cold in the great church that morning, for the vast nave and
transept were unheated. Worshipers pulled the collars of their overcoats
up around their chins and sat with their hands in their pockets. Women
wrapped their shawls tightly around their shoulders. When the
congregation sang, their breath steamed up on faint white clouds toward
the golden chandeliers. The preacher that day was a certain Dr. van
Hoorn, who was a representative of the ultra-orthodox faction.

The organist had sent word to my Uncle Kees that he was too ill to fulfill
his duties. Kees, happy at the opportunity to play the great organ, now
sat in the loft peering down through the curtains on the congregation of
about 2,000 souls. He had taken me with him into the organ loft.

The organ, a towering structure, reached upward a full 125 feet. It was
renowned throughout the land and indeed throughout all Europe. Its wind
was provided by a man treading over a huge pedal consisting of twelve
parallel beams.

In his sermon Dr. van Hoorn struck a pessimistic note. Christmas, he
said, signified the descent of God into the tomb of human flesh, "that
charnel house of corruption and dead bones." He dwelt sadistically on our
human depravity, our utter worthlessness, tainted as we were from birth
with original sin. The dominie groaned and members of the congregation
bowed their heads in awful awareness of their guilt.

As the sermon progressed Kees grew more and more restless. He scratched
his head and tugged at his mustache and goatee. He could scarcely sit
still.

"Man, man," he muttered, shaking his head, "are these the good tidings, is
that the glad message?" And turning to me he whispered fiercely, "That
man smothers the hope of the world in the dustbin of theology!"

We sang a doleful psalm by way of interlude, and the sermon, which had
already lasted an hour and forty minutes, moved toward its climax. It
ended in so deep a note of despair that across the years I still feel a
recurrence of the anguish I then experienced. It was more than likely,
the minister threw out by way of a parting shot, that of his entire
congregation not a single soul would enter the kingdom of heaven. Many
were called, but few were chosen.

Kees shook with indignation as the minister concluded. For a moment I
feared that he could walk off in a huff and not play the Bach postlude, or
any postlude at all. Down below, Dr. van Hoorn could be seen lifting his
hands for the benediction. Kees suddenly threw off his jacket, kicked off
his shoes, and pulled out all the stops on the organ. When the minister
had finished there followed a moment of intense silence.

Kees waited an instant longer while the air poured into the instrument.
His face was set and grim and he looked extremely pale. Then throwing his
head back and opening his mouth as if he were going to shout, he brought
his fingers down on the keyboard. HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!

The organ roared the tremendous finale of Handel's chorus of *Messiah*.
And again with an abrupt crashing effect, as if a million voices burst
into song, HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! The music swelled and
rolled with the boom of thunder against the vaulted dome, returning again
and again with the blast of praise like breakers bursting on the seashore.

Kees beckoned to me. "More air!" he called out.

I ran into the bellows chamber, where Leendert Bols was stamping down the
beams like a madman, transported by the music, waving his arms in the air.

"More air!" I shouted. "He wants more air!"

"Hallelujah!" Leendert shouted back. "Hallelujah!" He grabbed me by the
arm and together we fairly broke into a trot on the pedal beams.

Then the anthem came to a close. But Kees was not finished yet. Now the
organ sang out sweetly the Dutch people's most beloved evangelical song:
"The Name above Every Name, the Name of Jesus," sung to the tune very
similar to "Home, Sweet Home."

We sang it with all our heart, Leendert and I, as did the congregation on
its way out.

It was a tornado of melody that Kees had unleashed. Mountains leaped into
joy. The hills and the seas clapped their hands in gladness. Heaven and
earth, the voices of men and angels, seemed joined in a hymn of praise to
a God who did not doom and damn, but who so loved, loved, loved the world."

 

A very Merry Christmas to us all.

 

 

How Not to Ruin Christmas (Christmas Day)

 

How to Not Ruin Christmas

Christmas Day (Year C)

Isaiah 52:7-10; Hebrews 1:1-4,(5-12); John 1:1-14; Psalm 98

Homily delivered at St. Mark’s Parish, Medford Oregon
24th December 2023: 7:00 p.m. Sung Festal Mass

The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

 

Welcome all wonders in one sight,

Eternity shut in a span,

Summer in winter, day in night,

Heaven in earth and God in man.

Great little one whose all-embracing birth

Brings earth to heaven,

Stoops heaven to earth.

 

The Right Reverend John Chane, the former Bishop of Washington DC, once told me the story of his most memorable liturgical disaster.  He was serving as the Dean of the Cathedral in San Diego, and for Christmas Eve, they had an early evening service for families, with full Nativity Pageant.  One particular year, the Blessed Virgin was played by a demur 12-year-old girl who clearly was teacher’s pet at school: she organized all the other players, scolding when necessary and making admiring and praising comments as she deemed right.  Among the shepherds were two brothers who seemed to be the opposite of teacher’s pets.  During the main service, not the rehearsal mind you, one of the brothers elbowed the other, provoking a swift push back.  The first brother fell, right into the thurible stand, knocking the smoking censer filled with hot coals out onto the rug, which burst into flames.  Pandemonium ensued:  shrieks of terror, crying, and jostling to get to the exits.  The verger ran into the sacristy and returned with a fire extinguisher:  a loud SHHHHHHHUUUUUFFFFF and a cloud of white retardant put the fire out.  As the cries and moaning subsided and the children returned to their places, the 12 year old prissy Blessed Virgin was heard to say over all the rest, shooting daggers with her looks at the two brothers, “Look! Now you’ve gone and ruined Christmas!” 

 

“Ruined Christmas!”  How many of us have heard those words hurled at us, or hurled them at ourselves, either as kids or as adults. 

 

“Ruined Christmas!”  Whether it was late gifts or decorations, some untoward scene at the dinner table, spurred on perhaps by too much holiday cheer, or, if in church, misspoken lines or wrong turns in procession, a spectacularly wrong note in an anthem, or burning down the Nativity Pageant: “Ruined Christmas.”  

 

But the Feast of the Nativity, or Christmas, is the Feast of the Incarnation, of God becoming truly human.  We honor the birth of a little child into poverty, knowing that in him God is taking on all that it means to be human, including suffering and death.  Yet we think we can ruin Christmas by not measuring up in one way or another.  If we think that the feast can so easily ruined by human failing, then we have misunderstood the feast.

 

We often hear this time of year complaints that there is a war on Christmas when we try to wish more inclusive happiness on others by saying “happy holidays.”  But this is mere tribalism at its worse: my group’s holiday is bigger than yours.  

 

We also hear calls to “put Christ back in Christmas.” People complain about commercialization, too much partying, and not enough praying.  This phrasing of the question gets the issues all wrong. It separates the partying and celebration from spirituality. Granted, some people see the holiday solely as a consumer or marketing event. The holiday is thus diminished, often becoming a source of stress and depression, something easy to ruin.  

 

The problem, however, is not too much celebration, but too little. “I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my whole being shall exult in my God” says Isaiah. It is not just “the spiritual side” of us that should rejoice. To want to turn Christmas into a sectarian prayer meeting rather than the public, boisterous, and commonly shared party that it currently is—for both believer and unbeliever—stems from bad theology.  Incarnational theology demands that our prayer be common prayer, prayer in community, and our holidays be shared with others in whatever way they feel comfortable with.    

 

The incarnation marks a radical continuity between our human lives and God’s, and that implies sacredness in all it means to be human, even things that we find embarrassing, demeaning, or silly. We often miss the point, wrongly thinking that somehow God came among us without truly being one of us. This “God incognito” is a total warping of the meaning of the incarnation. God became truly human in all ways (except in resisting God), and that means it’s O.K. to be fully human. In fact, it means God calls us to be fully human, and to do that he calls us to follow his example when he was among us, and not resist God so much. It is only thus that we can find our true and full humanity.

 

William Stringfellow wrote,

 

“Jesus Christ means that God cares extremely, decisively, inclusively, immediately, for the ordinary, transient, proud, wonderful, besetting, frivolous, hectic, lusty things of human life. The reconciliation of God and the world in Jesus Christ means that in Christ there is a radical and integral relationship of all human beings and of all things. In Christ all things are held together (Col. 1:17b)”  (A Public and Private Faith, 1962, 40-44).

 

Incarnation tells us to accept who we are—gifts and strengths, disabilities and ugly deficiencies, and all. We must accept who others are as well. We must be gentle both on them and ourselves.  I think that is the most important thing if we do not want to “Ruin Christmas.”  

 

As God became truly human in Jesus, let us accept our own humanity, with all its limitations and failings. Let us follow Jesus, and try to live in his light. Though we might make every effort not to ruin Christmas, let us as a first step not worry at all about getting everything just right. 

 

A happy and joyful Christmas to all of us! 

 

Longest Night (Dec. 21)

 

The Longest Night

Bereavement "Blue Christmas" Prayer Service

St. Mark’s Medford (OR)

Thursday, Dec. 21, 2023

The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, Ph.D., SCP

 

We use Sarum Blue as our Advent Color here at St. Mark’s, not for its “blue holidays” overtones, but for its honoring the Blessed Virgin.  But our annual “Blue Christmas Service,” held on the longest night of the year, December 21, does indeed try to address the grief and bereavement some of us feel as we enter into a time where it at times seems de rigeur to be joyful and happy, even though we may not feel it at all. 

 

When I was about thirteen, I went into an adolescent depression that lasted several weeks.  I was unhappy with myself and the world. Like the clothes and shoes I was always growing out of, things in general just didn’t feel like they fit.  My father took me aside and asked what was wrong.  When I said “everything” but couldn’t point to any one specific thing, he said, “That’s alright Tony.  You’re growing up, and growing up means realizing we don’t fit completely in this world.  What most don’t see is that we came from God, and go back to God when we die, and as wonderful as this life is, we are made for someplace else, and won’t feel completely at home until we get there.”   Since he had told me that it was OK to be not OK, it comforted me, and I came out of my blue funk. 

 

Made for someplace else: ill at ease, and not wholly belonging here.  The idea is found in the story of Israel.  Exodus says that when Moses was in hiding before his call, he and his family were aliens in Midian:  His son says, “I am a stranger in a strange land” (Exod 2:22). 

 

At year’s end, we look backward and forward; memory and expectation are mixed.    At one extreme, we might feel regret for the past year and fear for the coming one; at the other, our hearts might be filled with gratitude and hopeful anticipation.  The Advent liturgies point us to look for the second coming of our Lord even as we reflect back on his first coming.   But like much of life, most of us feel somewhere in between.

 

Some say that horror and suffering, grief and death, are signs of why we should not believe in God.  But I think that they are the first evidence of the existence of God.  Why should we be so upset and uncomfortable at horror at all?  If this world were all there was, why would we be so revolted at something that clearly is part of the deal?  Our discomfort tells us that we were made for something better than what is before our eyes.  The fact that we simply cannot accept it tells us that the image of God within us expects something better, kinder, and more lovely.   

 

Most of us here today have all lost loved ones recently or at this time of year.    Grief is closely related to regret and fear, but this need not be so. 

 

In thinking about bereavement and grief, I was reminded of a wonderful poem by John O’Donahue. 

 

Though we need to weep your loss,
you dwell in that safe place in our hearts,
where no storm or might or pain can reach you.
Your love was like the dawn
brightening over our lives
awakening beneath the dark
a further adventure of colour.
The sound of your voice
found for us
a new music
that brightened everything.
Whatever you enfolded in your gaze
quickened in the joy of its being;
you placed smiles like flowers
on the altar of the heart.
Your mind always sparkled
with wonder at things.
Though your days here were brief,
your spirit was live, awake, complete.
We look towards each other no longer
from the old distance of our names;
now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
as close to us as we are to ourselves.
Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,
We know our soul's gaze is upon your face,
Smiling back at us from within everything
To which we bring our best refinement.
Let us not look for you only in memory,
where we would grow lonely without you.
You would want us to find you in presence,
beside us when beauty brightens,
when kindness glows
and music echoes eternal tones.
When orchids brighten the earth,
darkest winter has turned to spring;
may this dark grief flower with hope
in every heart that loves you.
May you continue to inspire us:
to enter each day with a generous heart.
to serve the call of courage and love
until we see your beautiful face again
in that land where there is no more separation,
Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,
and where we will never lose you again.

 

May all of us be set free from our blue demons.  May we recognize that it’s OK to be not OK.  May we see in our alienation here a sign of the glorious home for which we were made and for which we are bound.  We will be reunited with those we love. 

 

Dearest ones:  Grace and peace, and a serene, and perhaps even a joyful, Christmas to you all.  God bless us each and everyone. 

 

Saint Thomas (Dec 21)

 

Saint Thomas the Apostle (Dec. 21)

 

St. Thomas the Apostle

Homily for Evening Home Mass for Advent 

December 20, 2023  

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, Homilist  

Habakkuk 2:1-4; Psalm 126; Hebrews 10:35-11:1; John 20:24-29

  

Tomorrow is the feast day of St. Thomas the Apostle.  In the West we know him as “Doubting Thomas,” the one who said, "I won’t believe it until I touch it!”  In so doing, we omit the detail in the story that Thomas expresses full faith in Jesus before actually touching the risen Lord.  In the Eastern Church, Thomas is remembered for his confession "My Lord and my God," and is seen as a model of faith.   The story is about us all, in our doubts, experience, and faith, it is a good story to remember just before Christmas. 

 

I think we often get this story wrong:  when Jesus says “Blessed are you Thomas, because you believed when you saw; but more blessed still are they who do not see and still believe,” we think that this means he is encouraging mindless acceptance of someone else’s word on something and belittling getting our own experience and understanding on it.    Not so.  When Jesus says “believe” here, he means, “give your heart to,” “be faithful,” or “trust.”   Thomas is blessed because he trusts after experience.  Jesus adds that those who can manage trust even before experience, that is, those whose basic default position is trust and openness, have a deeper form of blessedness.

 

But that doesn’t mean blind submission to authority should trump reason and heuristic use of doubt.  It doesn’t mean that personal testimony and experience are less valuable than taking someone else’s word.   Having one’s own experience, and knowing and understanding mystery and beauty through personal knowledge is a profound real kind of understanding.  Believing someone else’s word for something is a pale imitation.  Note in the story that Thomas in the end doesn’t have to touch the wounds as he had insisted.  It is just seeing and hearing Jesus that brings him joyfully to his knees.  It is openness of heart where blessedness lies, where God can grab hold of us and change us.  In itself, such openness to trust is a deep, moving experience of its own.    

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 God as Father except through me.  If you know me, you will know my Father also.  (John 14:1-7)   When Thomas says, “My Lord and my God,” it is clear that he now knows the Father because he has seen him through Jesus.  

 

Later tradition has Thomas going to India (the Kerala district) and founding the Church there.  He is said to have suffered martyrdom in Madras by a spear thrust.  This has particular resonance, since it was the spear wound in Jesus’ side that Thomas had wanted to touch. 

 

John Bell and the Iona Community set words about this story to the traditional Scots Gaelic tune Leis an Lurghainn, and called it Tom’s Song:  

 

Where they were, I’d have been;

What they saw, I’d have seen;

What they felt, I’d have shown,

If I knew what they’d known.

 

Refrain

“Peace be with you,” he said,

“Take my hand, see my side.

Stop your doubting, believe

And God’s spirit receive.” 

 

So I made my demand

That unless, at first hand,

I could prove what they said,

I’d presume he was dead. 

 

All their tales I called lies

Till his gaze met my eyes;

And the words I’d rehearsed

Lost their force and dispersed.

 

When I stammered “My Lord!”

He replied with the word,

“Those who live in God’s light

Walk by faith, not by sight.” 

 

Some, like me, ask for proof,

Sit and sneer, stand aloof.

But belief which is blessed

Rests on God, not a test. 

 

Refrain

“Peace be with you,” he said,

“Take my hand, see my side.

Stop your doubting, believe

And God’s spirit receive.”

  

As we go into the celebration of the incarnation of God in the birth of Jesus, fully one of us yet fully God in all ways, let us have open hearts, and trust.  Let us take hold of the risen Lord’s hand, take faith to heart, and with hope transcending this world’s threats and fears, including death itself, come joyfully to the manger cradle of our beloved Lord there with his mother Mary, our Lady.