This morning, in our gospel, we meet our doubting Thomas. Poor Thomas – throughout history, he has gotten a bad rap, and his own cliché: don’t be a doubting Thomas, people will say, about those who ask too many questions, who are too indecisive and wishy-washy. It is not meant as a compliment. Indeed, we probably wouldn’t put Thomas in charge, if we had the choice, or elect him to a position of power. Doubt has traditionally not been valued as a leadership skill: we want leaders who are confident and decisive, who take charge, and take care of things. We want leaders who make us feel better about our own uncertainty. Wracked with our own doubt, we do not want a doubting Thomas running things. And yet, doubt is trending. According to a recent essay out of the LSE University, doubt is powerful. The London School of Economics published a paper called “The Productive Power of Doubt.” It contains, in fact, rebuttals to the kind of leaders we tend to celebrate - ones who are single-minded and over-confident. Leaders who are blind to their own weaknesses. Who act with certainty in the face of uncertainty. One clear example, of course, has been the pandemic, where facts have been constantly changing, where the science has been rapidly evolving: in that situation, a leader who is comfortable with doubt, who can live with uncertainty, and move forward cautiously in the face of it, was what we needed. Doubt, as the authors of this paper pointed out, forces us to ask questions, to seek different answers, to see another side, to be innovative. The voice of doubt reminds us that we do not – and cannot - know everything. The ability to live with uncertainty, and yet still move forward, the writers concluded, is an undervalued leadership skill. Think about Thomas, who was not there, who did not get the benefit of seeing Jesus as did the other disciples, yet who is now being asked to believe in a miracle. Hold on, Thomas says, I need to see for myself. Until I have seen the marks of the nails on his hand, and touch them with my own, I will not believe. Can we blame Thomas really? It was a lot to ask, and the cost of belief for those disciples was very high – much higher than for us, sitting here today. Thomas asks a question the disciples didn’t have to – for they had already seen proof of the Resurrection with their own eyes. Let’s not be too quick to cast aspersions his way. Jesus hears of Thomas’s doubt and pays him a visit. He invites him to touch the wounds of the nails on his hands, and to reach out his hand to the cut on his side. “Do not doubt, but believe,” he tells Thomas. And we know that Thomas does believe, and becomes one of the most faithful and selfless disciples of the gospel. What a gift Jesus gave to Thomas. In a way, it was the easy way out: Thomas had doubts, and Jesus offered him proof to resolve the matter once and for all. He did not chastise Thomas for his doubts; or kick him out of the disciple club. He did not declare him less worthy. This was not an either/or situation for Jesus: one blessing does not rule out another. Jesus, we are to understand, values us even when we have doubts. Still, Thomas has a clear advantage. It is not likely to be so clear-cut for us, listening to this story more than two thousand years later. Yet, Jesus speaks to us, as if across time: Thomas, Jesus says, now believes because he has seen. Blessed are you who have not seen and have yet come to believe.” We are reminded by Jesus that there are many paths to belief – we may feel the presence of God solidly in our midst, we may read and ponder the scripture, we may sense God in nature, and we may search within and without for the voice of the divine. And so on, and so on. Our paths to belief are our own. And yet, they are most certainly marked by doubt. Peter experienced it when he denied Jesus; Thomas felt it when he demanded his chance to see Jesus, just as we experience it today. Having moments of doubt, living with doubt, is a strength. For Peter, it galvanized his ministry. For Thomas, it made him ask important questions, such as what would he believe from now on? For us, doubt forces us to consider the role of God and the gospel in a modern world that often mocks faith and challenges the just cause. If we never ask: What do I really believe? Why do I believe it? – then how is that belief ever bolstered? It must be strong enough to run up against doubt, and yet remain. Believing without seeing does not make us free of doubt. We are not blind adherents to a leader who makes all the decisions for us. We are followers of a faith, a way of living, that requires consideration and intention on our parts. We can doubt like Thomas and believe at the same time; we can live in uncertainty, and yet feel certain. The gospel exists in a real world, one that is never fully knowable. To doubt, to ponder, to wonder, those are the pillars of faith. To be humble enough to know that we do not know everything; to saviour that which is mysterious; to seek the divine in the midst of uncertainty. Amen.
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- Apr 18, 2022
Christ is risen! Christ is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!
Let’s stop for a minute and think about how we feel when we say those words.
Whatever else we bring to the Easter table, these words have a clear joy about them.
They are celebration. And at the same time, a cheer of optimism. After the dark
contemplation of Lent, they suggest that the time for quiet whispers is over. That we are
free to shout -- these words feel like spring. As if the sun has suddenly come out after a
long winter.
And yet, our gospel asks us to linger another moment in the shadow of that winter, on
the burial day of Jesus. Jesus has been taken down from the cross and laid to rest in a
tomb. The followers – the women who stood by him until the end – have gone to check
on him, to prepare for the next stage of their funeral ritual. And they discover him gone.
Mary runs to tell the disciples, who also come to check it out. And yes, they agree,
Jesus has disappeared. It all has a bit of a surreal, almost comedic sensibility to it. It’s
also more than a little depressing.
So how do we reconcile this with our feeling of joy and relief at Easter, on this morning?
Our music is joyful. The snow is melting, the days are lengthening. It feels as if
everyone is waking up. There is the promise of better times in the wind, a chance to
look forward. Do we really need to go there – back to the tomb?
Actually, we do.
The Easter story is complicated: perhaps more so than most other events in the Bible, it
asks us, as Christians, to believe in something truly miraculous. The resurrection of
Jesus Christ. And that may not be easy, especially these days. But how we interpret the
Easter story, how we reach our own personal truth of the events that day, how it
translates into our faith narratives, is not the most important part of the story. We can
argue about the details; about what happened when and who was there – this is good
practice. The gospel sends us forth as seekers of truth. But the lesson of Easter is that
there is also power to be found in that which is unknowable. There can be purpose in
what we can’t explain, strength in uncertainty.
Easter is one of those times. Easter is one of those perplexing events that make no
sense, that seem unreal, that feel miraculous. And that’s just the point: it feels
miraculous. Easter is a day for feeling our faith just as we might lift our faces to the sun
or smell an Easter lily. It is the day when we bask, even if for a moment, in the comfort
that the world is turning, and things are taken care of. That God has got it handled.
Easter is a breather. Savour it.
Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!
But hold on, there is still the business of the tomb, and Mary and the disciples running
back and forth, as if they aren’t sure what to do next. Easter wasn’t much of a breather
for them, travelling from grief to shock to joy, when they finally realize what’s happened,
when Jesus appears to them and explains. It all sounds exhausting.
But let’s call it the Easter small print. If we sit here feeling the joy of the morning, it
should be like people getting fuelled up for what’s to come next. That feeling of joy has
to go somewhere. For Mary and the disciples, the path was soon set. They didn’t hide
away and grieve over the death of Jesus. They didn’t party for weeks over his
resurrection. They were fired up to do what came next.
There is a reason why we stall for so long in the shadow of Lent. Ideally, we ask
ourselves some big questions: What do we stand for? How are we living? What are the
priorities we are setting? Are we on the right path? Those answers don’t come
overnight; they take thought and contemplation. And chances are we never really reach
satisfactory answers. Chances are those questions just lead to new questions.
But then Easter comes along. Easter is the moment when God says: enough. You have
gone through it – the march to Jerusalem with the awareness of what was going to
happen, or for us, as modern Christians, perhaps, you have reached the understanding
that some parts of life aren’t easily fixed, and some priorities aren’t easily changed.
Maybe you had – during Lent or at another time – a Good Friday moment, when
everything went horribly wrong, and when you really hit rock bottom. This, then, is your
Easter, too: the moment when God says: Enough. Enough contemplation. Enough
pondering. Enough stewing. Now you will lift your head and look around at the spring
that’s coming. You will experience the resurrection. You will hear the Alleluia.
Because ultimately, the story of Easter is about a group of people lifted out of despair,
given the gift of a miracle, told to rejoice in the love of God and one another, and then
sent out. After a time of looking inward, we are now called to look outward. To act upon
the parts in us that are hypocritical – that side of ourselves that recites the words of the
gospel and then acts in a completely opposite way. To choose not to be bystanders. To
look up and act – in the name of the gospel.
It is impossible to be an effective messenger of the gospel without being thoughtful.
Faith without questions, without debate, without intellectual challenge is an empty
vessel. But Easter is the day when we free ourselves up to feel. It is like a divine energy
drink.
Because the message of Easter should be the most moving one of our faith lives: God
loved us so much that Jesus walked among us, and lived with us, and bravely taught
us, knowing the danger that this meant, knowing the price that he would pay. And the
people who knew Jesus, who had been taught by him, who had walked with him, who
had followed him and even failed him, were, nonetheless, strong enough to rise out of
shame and grief and loss to carry on his teachings so that we might be sitting here
today, listening to the Easter story. However you tell it, it’s a story that proves the value
of human life and the power of the human spirit, and the role of divine mystery weaving
through it all. What Easter teaches is that we all have value. We all may be powerful.
That’s the joy of Easter day, the optimism of the resurrection. It’s not that it happened to
me, or it happened to you. Easter solidifies our collective responsibility to one another. It
articulates our duty to tend to and care for the gospel as if it were a living thing, a seed
that we fling as far as we can. But because of Easter we are freed from the bitterness of
sacrifices that are made out of guilt. Because of Easter, our duty is not a burden but an
opportunity.
Feel the joy of this Easter day. Feel the optimism of a new beginning. Feel the fresh
start of the Resurrection. Then look up and act – in the name of the gospel. Christ is
risen! Christ is Risen Indeed! Alleluia! Amen.
- Apr 18, 2022
What a party! You can tell they were having a really good time on the streets of Jerusalem that day. After all, everyone loves a parade. And for most of the people in Jerusalem, life was pretty bare bones – subsistence living, really. They were more than eager to stand at the side of the road, waving palms and cheering, hoping for a glimpse of the celebrity everyone had been gossiping about. “Hosanna!” they shout. “Hosanna!” We can imagine them craning their necks, hoisting their children on their shoulders, hoping for a peek so they could say, later, that they had been there. We all know, however, that there were shadows looming over that parade. Any wise person standing in the crowd would have understood this, even as they applauded from the sidelines. Certainly, Jesus knew. And the disciples, much as they prayed otherwise, knew it, too: this could not end well. It’s an old story in human history: the people’s king – the popular leader – who goes up against the establishment. The ones who succeed – who topple the reigning power, usually lose something of themselves in the process, with their strategizing and forced alliances. The ones who run head long, without guise or subtlety, who stand up to be counted: well, history has proven that lesson as well. More often than not, when the dust has settled, the establishment is still very much established. And Jesus, as we know, was not aiming for subtlety: he was walking righteous steps toward his destiny. Not that he wasn't a showman as well: the donkey - that was a pretty smart move. But he was trying to change the game - not play the same old one. It would take much more than a party at the city gates. The thing about Palm Sunday is that the whole celebration in Jerusalem feels off - like an event staged for social media. Perhaps this is foresight - we know what is to happen. We already know there are whisperers in the seemingly joyful crowd, spreading hate like a cancer. But aren’t we, too, just like the mob? A party is so much easier. Let someone else worry about the clean up the next day. We could also say the same about society in general. Until the pandemic knocked us down and forced a wake-up call. But this week, we learned from UN’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change that the fight to keep global heating under 1.5 degrees had reached an immediate now-or-never stage. This is not a surprise - scientists have been warning us for years and years. And yet we continued to party - buying stuff insatiably, driving bigger cars, wanting bigger houses, and not pushing back against the interest-driven profit over the environment. Now here we are with the world’s fossil fuel energy supply threatened by war and the pandemic shaking us all out of our revelry. Now here, even with Covid cases creeping steadily up again, we are so keen to abandon rules and mandates - so eager to party - more voices are beginning to ask whether we are on right path. Perhaps, like the people of Jerusalem, we hope for a saviour - someone sure and steady - to step in and set things right - even though, as Christians, we already had that saviour, someone reminding us to take careful, conscious steps in the world. A party is so much easier. Let someone else worry about the clean-up the next day. Perhaps, in the end, this is why the mob turned so quickly against Jesus in the days that followed. They were disappointed: he, who was called a King and the Son of God, had not, with a wave of his hand, fixed their problems. In that doubtful space, a seed could be planted by leaders nervous about the crowd’s loving this Jesus a little too much: perhaps he was a charlatan? Perhaps he’d come not to give power to them but to take it for himself. Perhaps he was not who he said he was at all. And so the narrative cycles on repeat: a masterful act of disinformation and conspiracy. Who does this guy think he is, anyway? Perhaps, in the end, this is why the mob turned: deep down, they were the angriest with themselves. What if, instead of waiting, instead of partying, they had laid the groundwork for the arrival of Jesus? Taking their own challenges to the corrupt leaders of the city. Asking their own questions about unfair laws. They missed their chance: Jesus, who might have helped them get there at last, became the scapegoat for their own failures. They missed their chance – and that is where Palm Sunday leaves us, heading into the darkest day of our faith lives – our most horrible of failures. We have made some grave errors – and we have not been helpless puppets in the making of them. Palm Sunday is a day to wave palm branches and shout Hosanna. It is the day that marks Jesus’s arrival in the city, and that indeed was a celebration. But the party of Palm Sunday is not the lesson - the party was only concealing what was already underfoot. - what everyone should have been able to see. What was warned of repeatedly on the journey to Jerusalem? What are we also missing? There is one more week of Lent – and it should be the hardest week of all. If we don’t own up to our mistakes, if we don’t see the world as it is, and not just as we wish it were - as the people of Jerusalem would soon have no choice to do – then we go right back to partying, while the shadows gather. This is the week – this is the time in our communities, and in our country – to see the shadows for what they are. And to get ready for the next step. The people of Jerusalem got their wake-up call – a hero, a saviour they loved, was left to die on a cross. How long will we stay awake? Amen
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