Sermon, Sunday 3 April: 'Closed doors'

1st READING: Rev 1:4-8
2nd READING: John 20:19-31

SERMON
Let’s pray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations
of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O
Lord, our strength and our Redeemer.     Amen.

I almost feel that I should have prayed:
‘For what I’m about to inflict upon you, may the Lord, and you, have mercy’...
and so we begin:
Knock Knock! 
Who’s there? 
Mikey. 
Mikey who? 
Mikey won’t fit in this door!

... oh, there’s more:
Knock knock!
who's there?
Luke
Luke who?
Luke through the peephole and find out! 

Knock knock!
who's there?
Mark
Mark who?
Mark my words, yuh better open this door

I promise – this is the last one:
Knock Knock! 
Who’s there? 
Eileen. 
Eileen who? 
Eileene’d on the door and broke it!

You’ll be glad to know that’s all I've got on the subject
of knock knock jokes about doors!

G.K. Chesterton once wrote:
“Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.
Never forget that the devil fell by force of gravity. 
He who has the faith, has the fun.”

The Sunday immediately following Easter Sunday is often referred to
as ‘Holy Humour Sunday’.
In 15th century Bavaria, churches would cheerfully celebrate this day,
with priests deliberately including stories and jokes in their sermons
to try and get their congregations to laugh.
[as opposed to groan at bad 'knock knock' jokes?!.]
The day had a special name: Risus Paschalis – ‘God’s Joke’, or, the ‘Easter laugh’.
After worship, the faithful were encouraged to gather and play jokes on one another
and tell funny stories. All this was a way of celebrating the resurrection of Jesus:
the ultimate joke played by God upon Satan, by raising Jesus from the dead.
Whether it’s known as Holy humour Sunday, Bright Sunday, or Laughter Sunday,
this is a tradition that’s still carried on in various congregations around the world:
Holy humour, holy laughter –
is the gift of being able to take ourselves lightly,
for we live in the promise of the resurrection...
and so, we need not fear.

So it’s interesting to me, as I read our gospel text today,
that on that first day of resurrection, there’s not a lot of laughter –
rather, there’s a whole lot of fear.
We meet the disciples in the shadow of night,
cowering in an upper room hiding behind locked doors.
The room is fairly reeking with fear.
In the early hours of that same day,
Mary had rushed in to see them –
first, brimming with horror at the thought that
the body of Jesus might have been stolen;
then, a little later, bursting into that same room excitedly
exclaiming that she had seen the Lord.
Two disciples had been dispatched, and had confirmed the tomb was empty...
What did it mean?
Had Mary’s grief driven her mad?
So many questions...

Morning passed into afternoon,
and then to evening,
and still they stayed in the room, paralysed with fear –
doors closed and firmly bolted...
They all stayed, that is, bar one:
Thomas had gone off somewhere.
We are never told where he’d gone,
or what he was doing...
But whatever he was doing, wherever he’d gone,
he was markedly absent from that locked room
when Jesus somehow managed to turn up in their midst,
and meet with the other disciples.
And now, they, like Mary, had seen their Lord.

Jesus knows his friends well:
the signs are clear that these followers of his
are living in fear for their lives.
His choice of words is important.
Speaking to them, the very first words are words of peace:
‘peace be with you.’
He proves his identity by showing them the marks of nails on hands,
the mark of spear in the side –
....while death has been defeated, there are changes;
the scars of that victory remain.
Again, he bids them ‘peace’ and gives them a job to do –
as the Father has sent Jesus, now Jesus sends them to go into the world –
to speak words of forgiveness and love...
or, to choose against that course of action.
And he breathes on them:
this breathing upon them, so reminds me of what happens
in Genesis – the Creation – where God breathes life
into dust moulded into human form
and brings human life into being.
In the upper room, it’s as if Jesus is breathing life
back into the deflated disciples once more –
restoring them by the power of the Spirit
and through the miracle of his resurrection.

Sometime after this encounter, Thomas comes back to the upper room
and knows something has changed:
fear seems to have dispersed,
joy lights up the dark corners of that place.
And Thomas can’t quite believe it – can’t believe the word of his friends
who say that they, like Mary, have seen the Lord.
...And then, a whole week passes.

I have a hunch, given the disciples’ sighting of Jesus,
and Thomas’ refusal to believe them, that it wasn’t an easy week –
more like downright awkward.
But here’s a thing:
the rest of the disciples had seen Jesus and he had talked
of sending them into the world...
and yet a week later, they’re still there, in that upper room,
still with the door firmly closed and bolted,
still just sitting there, holding on to this appearance of Jesus.
For all that they may have been overjoyed to see him in that encounter,
they’re not going anywhere.
Thomas, at least, has an excuse.

And back to that room, comes Jesus, and this time, Thomas is present.
Again, the first words uttered by Jesus are words of peace:
‘peace be with you’,
words gently pushing aside the fear that still seems
to be present within the disciples’ midst.
Turning straight to Thomas,
Jesus challenges him with the very words Thomas had himself used –
of seeing the marks of nails, of the spear...
of touching them.
‘Come and see, come and touch’ says Jesus,
‘stop doubting and believe’.
Inviting his questions...
And, unlike the other disciples,
there’s almost the sound of a key turning the lock of Thomas’ heart,
of his imagination,
and of the window of his soul being opened
so that he sees Jesus for who he is:
‘My Lord...  and my God.’
There’s no shocked sucking in of breath from the rest of them in the room...
Jesus doesn't chastise him for blasphemy.
Rather, the title is accepted, acknowledged.
The deep truth of Jesus’ identity is finally understood by the one
who down through the centuries has been called ‘the doubter’.
I’d suggest that perhaps Thomas is better called ‘Thomas the faithful’.

There’s a saying that the opposite of faith is not doubt;
rather, that the opposite of faith is certainty.
Thomas is an encouragement to us all:
he reminds us that, if we say that we believe in a supernatural being
who created the heavens and established the earth...
and, that if, in faith, we believe that this same One became human -
to better understand us,
to better build a relationship with us...
then, this same God, who we worship is big enough, compassionate enough,
to cope with our questions in the midst of all this divine mystery.
Questions don’t display a lack of faith:
rather, they demonstrate a faith that actively seeks to understand God –
a living, and engaged faith.
At this point, this side of heaven, we see in part, and don’t have all the answers.
In faith, we put one foot in front of the other, and keep going...
and part of our faith experience might very well be to ask questions –
and asking questions is a valid, healthy, and natural response
to the ‘Creator of the vast cosmos’ who ‘not only knows we exist 
but cares deeply and passionately about our ups and downs, 
our hopes and dreams, and all the rest.’ [David Lose]

We work through our faith in different ways:
for some, faith comes easy;
for others, it’s more difficult.
For those like Thomas, there’s a need for something more personal and direct.
There are many ways of living in faith.
But never be afraid of asking questions:
‘because questions and wonder and doubt and even scepticism 
are signs of interest and curiosity...and these, quite often, 
are the soil in which vibrant faith is born.’ [David Lose]

Thomas comes to faith, because he first has the chance to voice
his doubt and questions, and then experiences Jesus for himself.
Through his questions, his doubts, the door of his heart is opened...
he sees, understands,
his faith is taken to a whole deeper level,
and moves him, shapes his life,
in a way that he could never have predicted.

Sometimes, we’re afraid to ask questions of God:
we hide behind closed doors,
or try to build walls of doctrinal certainty.
Our gospel passage today reminds us that faith works in
many different ways, and that God is quite amenable
to his people asking questions – for questions help us to learn and grow.
So, may this faith community be a place
where questions
and wondering
and exploring
are welcome as we journey and grow together in our love and knowledge of God.
Like Thomas, may we open the doors of our hearts, souls, and imaginations
and allow the breath of the Spirit to banish our fears,
and shape our faith, and move our lives in ways that we might never have predicted:
For, that’s what happens when we worship the living God,
the God of resurrection surprise:
the God who has the last laugh on death.
Amen.