Revised Common Lectionary. Year B Easter 2. Psalm 133. John 20:19-29
On the first Sunday after Easter it is usual for the editors of the Revised Common Lectionary to set down just one First Testament reading, Psalm 133, which for the purposes of this essay, is set alongside the Gospel reading, John 20:19-29.
The Psalm oozes hopefulness within the household. “How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!” How good and pleasant it is when our homes, our schools, our religious centres and our communities are places of peace and harmony.
Given that these ancient writings belong to all peoples of The Book, the psalmic call for unity is directed toward the ear of the Jew, the Christian and the Moslem. It calls for peace and unity between Israeli and Palestinian, between Moslem and Christian, between Shia and Sunni. How very good and pleasant it would be were such kindred to live together in unity!
How very good and pleasant it would be were the religious conservative, evangelical, liberal and progressive to live together in unity and harmony. The likelihood appears so small that one would be justified in doubting its remotest possibility.
As for the reading from John’s Gospel; untold thousands of sermons on this passage have been written, preached, poured over and torn apart.
In at least one such sermon prepared by the writer, to Thomas is attributed the quality of exhibiting a courageous faith, for he shows a willingness to question rather than accept blindly that which others claim to be true. Thomas gives permission for others to question and explore – and to exchange ideas.
Mostly the Thomas episode is approached in two ways.
One focuses on the frightened disciples gathered behind locked doors. Jesus appears among them. He says, “peace be with you”. He breathes on them and says, “receive the Holy Spirit”. This action may be interpreted as the Fourth Gospel’s version of Pentecost – the beginning of the institutional church.
The other approach focuses on Thomas as the doubter, the cynic, the sceptic – interpreted negatively as a model which encourages blind faith. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.”
There is another way to approach this post Easter incident.
“Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side.”
By means of this generous and open invitation to come close and experience intimate presence, to see and touch the wounds, Thomas comes to know Jesus for himself. No longer reliant on hearsay, he comes to know deeply for himself.
Most often we know and are known superficially. We each lock ourselves in solitary upper rooms, holding our breath and hoping that no-one will break through the door, to find the real person hidden inside.
We human beings worry that the real person, the inner person, is unworthy of approval. We plead with the world. “Please do not look too closely, for you may uncover my imperfections and my woundedness.”
Every human being knows what it is to carry scars from deep woundings. The deeper the wound the uglier the scar, and the more we may seek to hide it – perhaps even from ourselves.
While wounds may heal, rough edges sometimes remain as a permanent reminder of what happened. We remember the condemnation, the humiliation, the betrayal, the desertion. Sometimes the rough edges never fade.
Thomas is invited to reach out and touch the wounds of another without being afraid. He is invited into close personal relationship. His fear and disbelief are met with loving acceptance, giving assurance that his probing questions are welcome. He is invited to come close – close enough to see and touch the wounds, to know the other intimately, to no longer settle for a second-hand faith.
In rare moments, when we find courage to let down our guard, allowing our wounds to show, to place our vulnerability on display; in those moments we become knowable truly, and may be known deeply. And somehow, allowing our wounds to show, validates the wounds of others, and gives permission for them to be known also.
The wounds of Jesus symbolise suffering endured, as acknowledgement of, and identification with, human frailty and vulnerability. They remind us of our almost infinite human capacity to inflict pain and suffering on one another and are, equally, a reminder of our almost infinite human capacity to endure.
I have scars. Some are recent and others well faded. Some are visible. I have one on the back of my left hand – the result of an overly close encounter with a soldering iron when I was about eleven. We all end up with scars, one way or another. Some are the result of physical injury while other wounds cut deeply into the soul and psyche.
Our scars each tell part of the story of who we are and whom we have been, of what has happened to us, what has mattered to us, the risks we have taken and the gifts we have given.
There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar signifies that the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, yet the memory remains.
Thomas wanted to see the wounds for himself. He doubted the idea that Jesus was somehow alive. In his quest for truth Thomas was not afraid to ask difficult, probing questions. Doubt is not a bad thing. Doubt is an essential component of a growing and maturing inner life. When there is no data to explain unexplainable things doubt is the catalyst for new ideas and new understandings. Doubt drives the quest for that which is assertable and reasonable.
Yet, there comes a point in our fleeting human existence when reason alone fails to satisfy our growing awareness of that which is patently unreasonable and yet unmistakably real. When confronted by love, self-sacrifice, passion, integrity, trust, courage, compassion, goodness and kindness – the kinds of nebulous qualities which confound prosaic description – the beginning of understanding for these imprecise categories is doubt.
It is doubt which opens us to that which we cannot comprehend, driving us to pursue truth, however elusive it may be, by moving us beyond blind acceptance of that which has been claimed by others. Only doubt has the potential to correct mythologies unworthy of faith or belief, thus opening a window to the purer air of an ever broadening, widening and enriching inner life through which one may encounter penetrating truths which the eye cannot see – and experience the wonder of being known, and held, and blessed by a love whose presence is beyond belief and beyond doubt.
© Roger James Gillies