The Rev. Robert Lundquist           Easter IIA     4/3/05                       St Paul’s, Ft Collins

John 20:19-31   - Online Text -

“Jesus lives!  The Lord has risen!”  That was all they could say to me that evening a week ago.  I couldn’t make any sense of it.  “Thomas, you really missed it, he was right here, it was Jesus!  “Hold on,” I said, “what do you mean, ‘Jesus lives?’”

It was Peter who spoke, trying to explain to me what had them all so excited.  Now you have to understand, Peter is not exactly the most eloquent member of our group.  In fact, he sometimes becomes “emotional.”  He can get angry and say things he later regrets.  But this time Peter was very clear in what he said.  He was just as excited as everyone else, but there was an intensity and a confidence about him that I’d never seen before.  “Thomas,” he said, “Jesus came and stood among us, not an hour ago.  He came right this room and when we noticed him he said, ‘Peace be with you.’”

“You guys left the door unlocked again!”, I interrupted.  I was immediately sorry, because Peter knew right then that I wasn’t believing his story.  And I must admit, I wasn’t taking him very seriously.  You see, I’m the practical one out of the whole bunch.  I make sure the doors are locked and the candles are put out every night.  So when Peter told me someone had come into the room, I just knew they had left the door open again.

Peter looked hurt.  But he didn’t get mad at me this time.  “Thomas,” he said quietly, “the doors and windows were all locked tight.  And despite that, our brother Jesus came into this room and spoke with us.”  He stopped and gazed at me, waiting for my reaction.  I looked around at the others’ faces, each set of eyes peering into mine in silence.  I suppose they expected me to leap for joy, given their excitement.   Something had happened here, that much was clear, but I was still puzzled as to what it was.

I looked back at Peter.  “Then what happened?”  And even though I said it like I didn’t really want to hear about it, Peter began to get wound up again.  “Well, we weren’t sure it was Jesus at first, but after what Mary told us this morning, and after what John & I saw, it made sense – to me, at least.  I called his name, and so did some of the others.  We began to move toward him, but he held up his hands for us to stop.  Then he said, ‘As the Father sent me, so I send you.’”

“That certainly sounds like something Jesus would say,” I ventured.  I was still dubious, but I wanted to hear him out, and I didn’t want to be rude.  “Yes, but there’s more!”  Peter spoke as if he could just barely restrain himself, and the others were watching him, their eyes wide and their heads nodding in avid agreement.  I was glad they weren’t watching me – I was more than a little embarrassed that I found this all too incredible, and at the same time I felt like an outsider to this group that I’d lived and traveled with since before last year’s Passover.

Peter continued:  “Jesus took a small step toward us, took a deep breath, and then blew into the air.”  The others nodded vigorously.  “The stale air in this closed-up room suddenly smelled fresh, and there seemed to be a… a brightness and a stillness.  It’s difficult to describe – it was a special holiness.”  Andrew added, “When Jesus breathed on us, it filled my heart with confidence… and peace.”  And I think it was Philip who said, “It was as though a fire had been kindled in my lungs, which quickly filled my whole body.  The fire was like God’s love fore me, and Jesus’ love too, from when he was with us before his death.  When he blew on us I remembered all the things he had taught us, and I understood them too!”

Meanwhile I was more and more confused.  It was clear to me now that this hadn’t simply been someone who just looked like Jesus, but it couldn’t have been Jesus himself.  I saw his dead body on the cross before they buried him.  True, it was from a distance…  but I’ve seen death, I’ve seen other crucifixions, and Jesus was dead.  My companions couldn’t see my doubt, though.  Peter went on with his amazing story.

“After he breathed on us, Jesus said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.  If you forgive anyone’s sins, they stand forgiven; if you pronounce them unforgiven, unforgiven they remain.’  And then he was gone.’”  “Back through the locked door?” I asked, more than a little facetiously.  “He was just gone,” said Peter.  And they all stared at me again.  I swallowed hard.  I didn’t want to confront them or appear to ridicule them, but I couldn’t go along with all this.  It was just too much, and I couldn’t pretend to them that I shared their elation.

“What about his wrists, and his feet?”, I asked.  They all just stared.  “The marks of his crucifixion,” I shouted, “did you see them?”  There was stunned silence for a moment, then the cacophony of agitated argument.  Some said yes, others couldn’t remember, but no one seemed to realize that they would be the true sign of Jesus’ presence.  I think I told you that I’m the practical one.  Amongst the fishermen and tax collectors, I’m the one who pays attention to the details.  Why would there be any question about the gaping wounds?  Was it really Jesus?

“Quiet!”  I barked.  “Quiet!  We’re in hiding for good reason.”  The room fell silent, and I continued in a low voice.  “Friends, what you have told me is incredible, impossible, and I just can’t believe it.   Something has happened to you all, but what that is I can’t tell for sure.  Jesus is dead, I know because I’ve seen it with my own eyes.  This morning we know that his tomb is empty – that I can believe, for it fulfills the scripture that say his flesh will not suffer corruption.  I believe that God has taken Jesus, just as Moses and Elijah were taken.  We have the words and wisdom of our Teacher to guide us, and when it is safe we should continue to do what he taught us to do.  But to believe that Jesus was raised from the dead and can come among us as before is impossible, even for God.  Unless I see the mark of the nails on his wrists and put my finger into the holes where the nails were, unless I place my hand in his side, I will not believe it.”

There was that stunned silence again, as I knew there would be.  Despite the danger, I quickly left that room, to walk and to think.  I went back to the garden where we’d been with him last.  I stood at the place where they had captured Jesus.  The signs of that night’s struggle were still present:  broken branches, scuffed earth, bits of cloth and rope.  There was the dried blood of Malthus, the servant whose ear Peter had severed and Jesus had healed.  It was caked in the dust.  I left that place of conflict and walked a ways to the place where Jesus had prayed by himself.  That calmed me, gave me a chance to think.

Jesus was so alive, so vital, so good to be near only days ago.  And just when I was beginning to get used to a life without him, the others tell me their story.  “We have seen the Lord!”, they said.  I knew they weren’t taunting me, for they just wouldn’t do that over something so serious.  But it’s just too difficult – no, it’s impossible – for me to rejoice with them.  Something happened – but what?  I wish I could believe them, and it bothers me a lot that I can’t.

A part of me asks, “What if?”  What if Jesus were not simply taken by God to fulfill the scripture, but was somehow raised from the dead to be with us again?  That would change the world.  I mean, everyone would realize the power and love of God, everyone would know that Jesus really is the Messiah, the Chosen One.  We would all be equals, each one with a seat at the heavenly banquet that Jesus told us about.  Everyone would know and drink of the living water that Jesus offered, the water of eternal and abundant life…

But I’m a practical man – I think I mentioned that.  I’m not sure I fit in with our group any more after that night a week ago.  I think I’d better move on, go back to my old life.  Oh, I’ll never forget hearing Jesus teach and preach.  I witnessed many of his healings.  I’ll remember these things and try to be a better person.  But I don’t think the others can tolerate my unbelief.  I wonder who will lock the doors and put out the lanterns when I’m gone…

I’ll tell them tonight when we’re all together in that room.  I’ll tell them of my decision to leave.  It’s difficult for me to think that I’ll never see Jesus again.  It would be even more difficult to live among folks who think they have.  See Jesus, that is.  When I leave them I’ll go back home, pick up the pieces of my life, and things will pretty much go back to the way they were before.  Of that I have no doubt.