It's been forever since I blogged...too busy living life to reflect on it, I guess. But a number of folks asked for last week's sermon, so I've added it here, along with the text and the folk tale I told as part of the service. Blessings on the journey!
John 20:19-31
When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.’
But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said to them, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.’
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’ Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’ Jesus said to him, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’
Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.
Once upon a time in an Ethiopian village, there lived a boy who was so shy and fearful of the world around him that his family called him Miobe, frightened one.
"Why do you call me that?" the boy asked his grandfather.
The old man laughed. "Because you are afraid," he answered. The boy's grandmother, his mother, his father and the neighbors said the same thing.
Miobe pondered these words and decided he must find a way to conquer fear, and that night when everyone was fast asleep, he packed a sack and set off into the world to find out what he feared and to conquer it.
That night he slept under the wide umbrella of sky and stared up at the darkness. Before drifting off, he whispered to himself, "I see you, but I will conquer you, fear."
He fell asleep wrapped in his blanket, but at midnight the wolves began to howl.
The sound woke Miobe, but instead of running away, he walked toward the sound, saying aloud, "I will conquer you, fear."
He walked until the sun began to rise, and when he saw its golden orb, he smiled with relief, for he had survived the first night. "I am becoming brave," he said as he walked on. Soon he came to a village, and for a moment he thought, "I don't know these people at all. They might be unkind to a stranger."
But he straightened up and walked right into the village, saying aloud, "I will conquer you, fear."
He walked into the village square, and there he found the village elders gathered, muttering among themselves. As Miobe came near, they looked up and sneered, "Who are you?"
"I'm traveling the world to become brave," Miobe answered.
The elders laughed. "Fool! No one can find bravery where it does not exist."
"What do you mean?" Miobe asked.
The elders sighed unhappily. "We are finished," said one old man. "Our village is being threatened by a monster up on the mountain."
Miobe followed the old man's gaze to the top of the mountain.
"See him, there," the old man said.
Miobe squinted. He did not want to insult the man, but he saw nothing there.
"Look," said another man. "See? It has the head of a crocodile. A monstrous crocodile!"
"And his body is as horrible as a hippopotamus. A gigantic hippopotamus!" It's like a dragon!" another man cried, "with fire shooting from its snout!"
Now Miobe began to see the monster. He began to see the smoke and fire, the wrinkled skin, the fiery eyes. "I see," he said, but silently he promised himself he would not be afraid. So he walked away from the elders, into the village proper.
The farmers hovered inside their doorways, hoes and rakes in hand; outside their horses stood unharnessed. "We cannot work," they told Miobe. "If we go into the fields, the monster will come down and get us."
Miobe saw wandering goats, sheep and cows out at the edge of the village, but no one came to milk the animals or tend to them. No one planted crops. Few left their homes, preferring to hide indoors.
"The monster is as big as 10 barges!" they whispered among themselves as Miobe listened. "The monster is going to destroy us!"
Finally Miobe decided it was up to him to destroy the monster. "I wish to conquer fear," he announced, "and so I shall go slay the monster!"
"No, son, don't do it!" the elders cried. Mothers gathered to try to shield the young man from harm. Fathers shook their heads and warned, "You will die."
Miobe shivered and his heart fluttered, but he was determined. "I must conquer fear!" he said, and he set off.
At the base of the mountain, he looked up and felt a chill of fear run down his spine. That monster looked even bigger and fierier than any dragon, fiercer than a whole pack of wolves or a nest of snakes. He remembered the days when he had been afraid. He took a deep breath and began to climb.
As he climbed, he looked up, but now he saw the monster seemed to be growing smaller.
"How peculiar," he said aloud. "My eyes are deceiving me."
He continued to climb.
When he was halfway up, he looked again. He squinted, shielding his eyes, but the monster's eyes no longer seemed so fierce, and the flames no longer shot from its snout.
"The closer I get, the smaller he looks," Miobe said puzzlingly. He continued to climb, though now he pulled his dagger from his sack so that he would be prepared.
As he came around a bend in the path, he saw the summit before him. He gasped. The monster had disappeared.
Miobe turned and looked behind him. Surely the creature was going to sneak up from behind to attack. But when he turned, he saw nothing. He heard nothing. He held his breath. He looked left. He looked right.
He continued to climb.
At long last he reached the summit and all was empty and quiet. Nothing was there.
Suddenly he heard a sound at his feet. He looked down and saw a little creature, just like a toad with wrinkled skin and round, frightened eyes.
He bent down and picked it up. "Who are you?" he asked. "How did you become so small?" But the monster said nothing, and so he cradled it in his hand and walked down the mountain.
When he reached the village, the people cried, "He's safe!" and they surrounded him.
Miobe held out his hand and showed them the tiny wrinkled toad. "This is the monster," he said.
"What is your name?" asked the elder. The creature croaked, and the elder looked up at the crowd and said, "Miobe has brought us the monster. Its name is fear."
Sermon: Standing Face to Face
Everywhere I’ve been this week, every place that is a part of my religious circle, I have encountered the look that can only be described as post-resurrection shock. It is not a look of wonder and amazement that Jesus is alive, it is more a look of extreme exhaustion and lethargy. Truly, forty days of Lent takes a lot out of us.
Forty days of trying to be especially focused - forty days of extra programs and prayers - forty days which carried us from the depths of winter across the threshold into the beginnings days of spring. We’ve done a lot and seen a lot in these forty days.
On Wednesday night when we gathered for our mid-week service, the mood was flat, quiet and low on energy. We looked more dead then resurrected. And our text then, as it is today, was a story of the disciples, huddled together on that same Easter day, trying to make sense out of what they had just experienced.
And they too were in post-resurrection shock, and not just from a busy forty days. They were literally in shock, stunned at the news of Jesus’ resurrection, worried about how that news would be received by the political and religious authorities who had orchestrated his death, and terrified about their own safety in such a volatile environment.
Most often when we talk about this text we refer to it as the story of Doubting Thomas, for he is a key actor in the tale, drawing our attention with his demand for tangible proof of the resurrection.
But I would like suggest that the elephant in the room that day, the biggest actor in the story, was the paralyzing fear that had gripped the disciples in the hours following the events at the empty tomb.
It is their fear which sets the scene. “It was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews.
No sooner had they received the miraculous news of Jesus’ triumph over death then they had sealed themselves shut inside a room – doors locked, windows latched – hiding from the possibility that there might be a backlash directed at them because Jesus had risen.
Gone were all his words of encouragement and assurance. Long forgotten were his instructions to move out into the world and to complete the work they had begun together. There was nothing remaining from all his teaching and all his preaching, because in this moment they were seized with a fear so deep that all they could do was hide.
And into that locked room entered the risen Lord. Without doors or windows by which to gain entrance, Jesus simply materializes before them. And he brings them the word they need most to hear: “Peace” he says. “Peace be with you.” And then he sets before them a task. “Just as I was sent here, so I now send you, send you out there.” Out there, on the other side of these locked doors and windows. I send you out them to minister in my name, to heal, to preach, to forgive sins. Receive the Holy Spirit, he said, and go and do this work. And then, as fast as he came he was gone.
Now the story switches to the Thomas event. A week later, they are gathered in the same place…and that’s when the Thomas drama unfolds…but wait…they are in the same place! A week ago, Jesus came to them, breathed the Holy Spirit into their lungs and commissioned them to go out into ministry…and they are still here…AND, the text repeats that the doors and windows are still locked.
Friends, we let ourselves off easy if we think this is simply a story about a man who wanted some proof that Jesus was truly alive. This is a story about a whole group of men, and women too, all of us, who even after Jesus had appeared and showed his wounds, even with all the proof they needed, they still kept the doors and windows locked and were paralyzed with fear.
Like the citizens of the village which Miobe visited, so terrified of the monster on the mountain that they refused to go to school, refused to work the fields, refused to go outside their homes, refused to engage in any kind of life at all because of their terror, the disciples too had shut down and were going nowhere.
Now I’d be willing to be that all of us here know that feeling, that feeling of terror, of fear. We’re not at risk of having the local religious or political authorities knock down our doors and drag us out and sentence us to death….though there are still many places in this world where that threat is real. But even in the relative safety of our lives, we know fear none the less.
Fear creeps into our lives when the doctor sees something unusual on an x-ray or in a blood test. Fear comes knocking when our jobs disappear and our bank accounts begin to empty. Fear takes up residence when our marriages are threatened and begin to crumble. Fear moves in when we look in the mirror and acknowledge that we are no longer young. Fear takes over when the future is uncertain and our path unclear. Fear is immediately present when our child is supposed to be home by now and doesn’t answer her phone.
Fear is ready and available all the time, in all places – eager to be our companion.
And when we feel its presence, we do just what the disciples did. We slam the doors and latch the windows and huddle together unable to do much else. We shut ourselves off from life, from what we are called to do, from who we are called to be. Stuck in fear, our lives cease their forward movement and we may as well be in the tomb ourselves.
If we were honest, most of us could tell our life’s story by listing a chronological series of fears.
· As a child, I feared the shadows in my bedroom. I feared the wrath of my brother. I feared that I had been abandoned by my real parents and adopted by my current family.
· At school, I feared Mrs. Sigafoos and her ruler. I feared that the Soviets would attack my country with missles.
· In High School I was afraid I’d never get a date. Afraid I was too dumb for trig and calculus. I was afraid my friends would be drafted and sent to Viet Nam.
· In college, I was afraid to choose a major, afraid I’d fail my classes, afraid of not having anything to do when I graduated.
· I was afraid I’d never marry. Once I was married, I was afraid of divorce.
· I was afraid my call to ministry wasn’t real. Then I was afraid that it was real and that I wouldn’t measure up. I was afraid I’d fail my ordination exam, afraid no church would ever hire me. Afraid I’d never be able to write a sermon.
· When I got pregnant, I was afraid that something would be wrong with my babies. Once they were born, I was afraid that something might happen to them.
· And the fears don’t stop. Even today I’m afraid that maybe I don’t have the stuff to help turn this church around, I’m afraid that my husband will die before me, I’m afraid that I’ll never manage to lose this weight, I’m afraid I’ll die before I write the book I want to write.
I have known fear. We all have. And when we make space for our fears, there is little room for anything else. And all we can think about is the fire coming out of the dragon’s mouth and its glistening scales and sharp claws, and so we stay hidden in our huts. We gather with our closest companions in our upper rooms and lock the doors and windows tightly.
"Fear is pervasive and may be one of the most debilitating diseases of our time. It ravages our bodies and minds. It drives us to despair and even to violence against ourselves and others. And if we reside there too long, we risk missing the wondrous gifts and rich opportunities that life affords us."1
Theologian Henry Nouwen has written some remarkable work on spirituality and the life of faith, and he once wrote that we have a choice of two homes in which we might live. The House of God or the House of Fear.
And he said quite simply, that if you walk through life on the path of fear, you will end up living in its house, for that is the only place that path leads. If you want to get to the House of God, he says, you will have to choose another path, and that path, is the path of love.
It’s rather simplistic and it is at the same time, remarkably true. Love is the way out. Love is the antidote for fear. Love liberates us from oppression and empowers us to take risks; it is love, John reminds us, that “casts out fear,” that renders it null and void.
Jesus knew that, and because he loved his friends so deeply, he came back a second time, back into their den of fear, back into their hiding place. He showed his proof to Thomas, as he had to the others, and then standing face to face with them, he speaks again. “Peace” he said. “Peace be with you.”
And friends, that’s what he says to all of us as well. He breaks into our hiding places where we are hovering with our fears, and he breathes his holy breath upon us and wishes us peace. He comes to us as the embodiment of love and his presence is so real, so rich, so full, that there is no room left for fear.
And he sends us out, asks us to take the risk, asks us to love ourselves and each other, knowing full well, if we are busy with acts of love, if our hearts are full and overflowing with grace and love and acceptance of ourselves and our neighbors, that our fears will melt away and true peace will come.
Miobe learned that the monster only began to grow smaller when he began to face it, to walk toward it, to announce to himself, “I will conquer you fear.” Once he had said those words and forced himself to take the risk of walking up the mountain, the monster grew smaller with each step until it was no monster at all.
If we set out on the path of love and point ourselves toward the House of God, the path of fear will fade in the distance; the house of fear will all but disappear.
Friends, Christ faced his own fears, even to the point of death, in order to free us from our own. We show the proof of his resurrection to ourselves and to this world, when we boldly and willingly face our fears, unlatch the windows and unbolt the doors and step outside our hiding places. We prove the resurrection when in the face of fear, which is so much like death, we choose to live in love.
It is love that will turn the greatest monster into a wrinkled toad. It is love that will fill us with confidence and power. It is love that will free us from every prison that holds us captive and lead us safely to the House of God.
Peace, my friends, he said. Peace be with you. Wherever you are today, whatever fear has a claim on your heart, hear his words, be filled with his spirit, and choose love.
Blessing and honor, glory and power, be unto such a God as this. Amen.
1 Dr. Louis Stulman. commencement address
1 Dr. Louis Stulman. commencement address
