"THANK YOU, THOMAS"

“THANK YOU, THOMAS”

            The Risen Jesus makes many appearances in the four Gospel accounts, and in John 20, which was part of yesterday’s lectionary readings, he makes three appearances.   The first was to Mary Magdalene, who is the primary witness to the Resurrection.  The second comes to the disciples who are huddled in fear in a room that same night – the males have chosen not to believe Mary when she tells them: “I have seen the Lord!”  They are now stuck in Jerusalem, abandoned by their crucified teacher, afraid to make a move.  Will they be arrested next?  Will they be crucified next?

            Then Risen Jesus appears to them in the room, bringing a profound greeting in a fear-dominated, violence-dominated, money-dominated world:  “Peace be with you!”  It is great and freeing news – at the center of their world is not Rome, but the Risen Jesus.  John’s Gospel makes a point of telling us that Thomas was not present at this second appearance of the Risen Jesus.  When the other disciples tell him, as Mary had told them previously, “We have seen the Lord!”, Thomas responds with words that have marked him forever:  “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hand, unless I can put my finger in his side, I will not believe.”  Thomas has come to be known as “Doubting Thomas,” because he is so skeptical.  He knows that things like Resurrection and new life don’t happen in our kind of world.  At best, all that “Resurrection talk” is only about life after death, and at worst, it’s just Marx’s idea of the opiate of the people, to help us deal with all the deluge and debris of life – violence and greed and domination and injustice.   Thomas knows that death rules over Jesus – it’s over.  Jesus is dead, crucified by Rome.  Rome rules – Hail, Caesar!

            And, we probably should not be chastising Thomas for his doubts – we should be thanking him instead.  Because he speaks for us too.  We should be thankful that the Biblical narrative is not an heroic saga of women and men who are always strong, always on target:  the biblical view is that the first disciples were a lot like us.  We long to believe in a Risen Jesus, but our hearts and imaginations are captured by death.  Like Thomas, our inability to believe is not a matter of rebellion.  It’s a matter of the way we see the world – how we see ourselves, how we see others, how the power systems work, how we see reality.  Like Thomas, the power of death makes us unable to believe in a Risen Jesus, unable to believe in a new order.  We long to hear “Peace be with you,” but we believe “Peace won’t be with you, friends – it’s dominate or be dominated.”  Thomas lives where we live, and so we should be saying “Thank You, Thomas,” instead of “Doubting Thomas.”

            But, the story tells us that the Risen Jesus is coming for Thomas.  John’s Gospel tells us that Jesus appears for a third time a week later, and this time Thomas is in the room where it happens.  The Risen Jesus knows the struggles of Thomas, and he knows our struggles.  The Risen Jesus invites Thomas into this new world of the Resurrection, just as he invites us too.  He appears to Thomas not to chastise him or to ridicule him.  He appears to Thomas so that Thomas can believe, so that Thomas can enter into this new worldview of the Resurrection.  Risen Jesus is not asking Thomas to skip over the Crucifixion, nor is he asking Thomas to leave the pain of the world behind.  Rather he is asking him to have a new vision in a world of deep pain and injustice.   The Risen Jesus invites Thomas into a new way of seeing himself, a new way of seeing the world.  “Come on Thomas, touch the marks of the nails here – peace be with you, my brother.”  And, Thomas does – he too comes to believe in the power of the Resurrection.

            And, of course, we want some of that stuff too, especially in these days.  We want some of that Risen Jesus – we want to recognize him standing right in front of us, too.  We long to live in a vision of life dominated by grace and love and justice, but we carry Thomas in us too.  Death is so powerful, the pain is so deep, and the world is so disappointing.  Like Thomas, we find ourselves saying:  “Unless we can touch the mark of the nails….”

            This Biblical story reminds us that Jesus knows our stories and knows our struggles – we are so much like Thomas.  We’re Doubting Thomas, Unrecognizing Mary and Denying Peter  - we long to believe in life, but we are captured by death.  The Easter story reminds us each year that the Risen Jesus is coming for us, coming to us from the margins to invite us into a new way of seeing ourselves, a new way of seeing others, a new way of seeing the world.   I’ll visit some of those places next week, but for now, let’s thank Thomas and be on the lookout for the Risen Jesus standing right in front of us.

"AT THE MARGINS - JESUS AND RESURRECTION"

“AT THE MARGINS – JESUS AND RESURRECTION”

            One of the oddities of the Resurrection narratives in all four Gospel accounts is that the women disciples are the primary witnesses to the Resurrection.   Though the names of the women differ a bit, all four Gospels agree that the women are primary.  Why is this so odd?  Because the women are at the margins – in Jewish society, their testimony in court is not considered valid unless corroborated by a male.  So…….that creates a big problem for the followers of Jesus – the primary witnesses to his Resurrection are unreliable from the cultural point of view.  This situation also points us to the underlying truth of these accounts – if it had not happened this way, why would patriarchal writers include these accounts, which themselves and their culture will consider to be “fake news.”

            There is also another fundamental truth underlying these accounts of the Resurrection of Jesus – they are in line with his ministry.   His ministry before he was given the death penalty was to people on the margins – those deemed unworthy, unclean, unloved and unlovely.   One of the reasons that the Roman Empire executed him was that many of those on the margins were beginning to believe his message that the primary definition of their lives came not from Rome but from God.  From Rome’s point of view, those are dangerous thoughts, and they executed Jesus as a revolutionary, using the terroristic tool of crucifixion.

            All of Jesus’ followers seemed to think that it was over.  All the male disciples deserted him at the Cross – only the women disciples stayed with him through death.   The women even stayed loyal to him after death – they come to his tomb as soon as possible to anoint his body for burial.  The culture interpreted this as women’s work, but the men could have come.  Fear, shock, and disappointment held the men back, but it did not deter the women.  And the Risen Jesus chooses to appear to these women, to those on the margins.  Some commentators seek to dismiss the power of this metaphor of Resurrection at the margins by indicating that the only reason that the women were the primary witnesses was that they were at the right place at the right time.  There are two problems with this attempt to diminish the witness of the women and the emphasis on Resurrection at the margins of life.  First, as we see in all four Gospels, the Risen Jesus seems able to appear whenever he chooses to appear – he appears to the folks in the Upper Room, to Thomas, to the women on the road, to the travelers to Emmaus, to Peter and the other males who are out fishing.  No, the Risen Jesus chooses to appear first to those on the margins:  the women disciples.  There’s a second and even more definitive answer to this desire to downplay the significance of the witness of those on the margins, and we see it in John’s account of the Resurrection.

            In John 20, Mary Magdalene comes alone to the tomb of Jesus – she is the only disciple mentioned in all four gospels who comes to the tomb of Crucified Jesus.  She’s not looking for a risen Jesus – she comes to anoint a dead body.  When she sees the stone rolled away from the tomb, she is afraid that the body has been stolen, and she runs to get some of the males to come back with her.  Peter and the “disciple whom Jesus loved” (presumably John) race to the tomb and find it empty.  So, these two male disciples are at the tomb with Mary, but Jesus chooses not to appear to them.  They leave, and Mary is left alone at the tomb.  It is then that Jesus chooses to appear to Mary – he CHOOSES not to appear to the men, but he CHOOSES to appear to one at the margins, a disciple named Mary.  We must always keep this fundamental aspect of the Resurrection story in front of us – the Risen Jesus chooses to announce his Resurrection at the margins of life.  The gritty and uncomfortable work of his earthly ministry continues in his resurrection – at the margins of life.

            Mary is no beatific here – she doesn’t immediately recognize the Risen Jesus.  She sees him and talks with him, but her perceptual apparatus is still captured by death – she knows that the world does not work this way.  Only when he calls her name “Mary” does she recognize him.  She runs to tell the other disciples, women and men:  “I have seen the Lord!”   And the tradition and the church has sought to dismiss the importance of her testimony ever since. 

            But, as we begin this Easter season, let us linger a bit with this fundamental truth of the Easter story.  Jesus lived his life and did his ministry on the margins – the church has often tried so hard to deny that.  Yet, his Resurrection reminds us of that truth.  The life-changing and society-changing event of the church, the Resurrection of Jesus the Jew – it happened on the margins of life.  If we’re wondering where to find the Risen Jesus in our day, if we’re looking to hear the Risen Jesus call our names, let us join the Risen Jesus and Mary and many others at the margins.  That’s where we’ll find Jesus, and that’s where we’ll find our lives.

"RIDE ON, KING JESUS"

“RIDE ON, KING JESUS!”

            Ride on, King Jesus!   Those words from the African-American spiritual are about as apt a description of Holy Week as there is.    The week begins with the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.  In John’s Gospel, Jesus has already been to Jerusalem several times, but in the other three gospels, this is Jesus’ first glimpse of the Holy City.  The disciples are excited and thrilled and hopeful as Jesus enters Jerusalem, and why shouldn’t they be?  He has healed their bodies and their hearts, and now they are going to the capitol of Judaism – maybe this is the time!  Maybe this is the time when God will overthrow the hated Romans and the corruption of the despised religious leaders.  Next year, Jerusalem!  And now, it is this year!  Ride on, King Jesus, and so he does!

            So begins the drama of Holy Week – in excitement and high hopes.  Yet this story is also filled with resistance and struggle.  Jesus rides on into Jerusalem in this atmosphere of liberation and into a belief system that lifts up violence and domination and death.  This week encourages us to enter into that drama, entering from whatever perspective we bring and entering in with whatever agenda we have.  Some of us bring the high hopes and excitement of Palm Sunday.  Some of us bring the puzzlement and confusion of Jesus’ refusal to overthrow the Romans.  Some of us bring the struggles of life – trying to figure out why Jesus seems so intent on offering redemption and life to everyone, even the dreaded enemies.  Some of us bring the disappointment of Maundy Thursday, when Jesus has an opportunity to strike the blow for freedom – instead he yields so easily to arrest.   Ride on, King Jesus – by the way, where exactly are you going?

            The drama of Holy Week – some of us know the defeat of execution, of Good Friday.  We’ve known sorrows all our days, and this day of crucifixion touches those places of defeat and sorrow and suffering.  Were we there when they crucified our Lord?  Yes, many of us were, and we continue to be there, with our sons and fathers and husbands locked up in mass incarceration, with many of us trapped in a cycle of drug abuse and homelessness and domestic violence.  Yes, we know that defeat, we know that suffering.  We were there when they crucified our Lord.  Ride on, King Jesus!  Well, maybe, but are you sure that you know where you are going? 

            The drama of Holy Week is our story and God’s story.  Ride On, King Jesus!  And he does ride on, not to the throne of glory, or even to the throne of Rome.  Rather he is given the death penalty by the state, as it is revealed to him and to us, that we would rather execute Jesus than be transformed by his love.  After the cheering crowds of Palm Sunday, he ends up alone and feeling abandoned.  The Gospel accounts indicate that all the male disciples flee in terror when Jesus is arrested – only the women disciples stay with him. Although Peter tries as hard as he can to keep his promise to follow Jesus to the end, even the Rock of the church decides to flee before the end arrives.  We may not holler out “Crucify him!” but we definitely indicate that he is such a disappointment to us.  Ride on, King Jesus – or maybe just ride on out of here.

            This is the drama of Holy Week – we’re longing for love, but we’re believing in death.  That’s the truth revealed to us in Holy Week – the truth that we do not have our acts together.  The truth revealed to us is that we’re always scrambling to find that magic formula that will make us feel better, whether its guns or money or race or sex or sexual orientation or nation or control of women’s bodies – the list seems endless, but they all end up looking like and sounding like Holy Week.  We’re longing for love but believing in death.

            Ride on, King Jesus – and he does.  Not to the throne of Rome but to the death penalty.  It’s not the end of the story, but we must go through this part of the story this week.  We worshipped at Hillside Presbyterian yesterday, and in her sermon, the Reverend Sylvia Wilson kept emphasizing the mantra for the week:  “Stay woke and take notes.”  Let us find our place in this story and use that mantra – Ride on, King Jesus!

"PASSOVER, ISRAEL, AND THE PALESTINIANS"

“PASSOVER, ISRAEL, AND THE PALESTINIANS”

            Holy Week and Passover both begin next week, and of course, Holy Week is rooted in Passover.  It was the celebration of Passover that brought Jesus and his followers together in what became the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.  As these two holy seasons intertwine, as they often do, we should recall that Jesus was Jewish – he lived as a Jew, he died as a Jew, he rose as a Jew.   As with so many other captivities, I grew up with anti-Semitism as one of my values.  In many ways, I had no idea what that meant.  I remember coming home one day from middle school to tell my mother that I hated Jews.  When she asked me why I hated Jews, I said something like “because they are Jews.”  Then she replied:  “Do you hate Raymond?”  I said “Of course not, he’s one of my friends.”  “How about Ruth?” she replied.  “Well, she’s a girl {the hormones had not hit yet}, but she’s nice, so, no I don’t hate her.”  My mother then drove it home:  “Nibs, they both are Jews.”  “Wow, I said – I’ll have to think about that!”  And, in my thinking, I also decided not to tell my mother so much – she was too nimble in her thinking and in her questions!

            I thought of these issues about a decade later. It was after my junior year in college, in the summer of 1967, when I was scheduled to travel around the western USA with one of my college roommates, Sidney Cassell, who was the child of the only Jewish family in Tunica, Mississippi.  We were scheduled to start our travels in his VW bug in early June, 1967.  He called me to tell me that we might have to cancel our trip because his home country of Israel was at war with Egypt, Syria, and Jordan.  If things started to unravel in Israel, he indicated that he would have to go over here to fight for his homeland.  I was stunned at the possible loss of our trip, but I was even more stunned by his loyalty to Israel.  

            As those in my age category know, Israel routed the Arab armies in what became known as the Six Day War from June 5-10, 1967.  Sidney and I could take our trip, and it was great indeed!   It was in days when people were less afraid, so we stayed in Presbyterian churches and in Jewish synagogues, and if those were not available, the rabbis or pastors would often find families to put us up.   There were many gifts that I received from that trip, but one was an understanding of the powerful dedication of Jewish people to the state and existence of Israel.  Sidney was no doctrinaire Israeli, but he had a deep sense of the necessity of the existence of Israel – he and his family could still smell the ovens of Europe.  There would be no trusting of the West to save Judaism – the Jews would take care of themselves from now on.

            It is in this context that I approach Holy Week and Passover of 2019, the Israeli elections this week, and the apartheid that has developed in Israel toward the Palestinian people.  I have another friend, Fahed Abu-Akel, a former Moderator of our denomination. He is a Palestinian Christian, and he has reminded me of the difficulties of his history.  His family home was taken in the “Nakba,” (The Catastrophe") the taking of the homes and lands of the Palestinians in 1948, in order to create the modern state of Israel.  Fahed’s family came to the USA as part of their forced trail of tears.  The millions of descendants of those Palestinian peoples are now homeless and landless, and it looks more and more likely that those Palestinian Israelis will soon lose their citizenship, as Israel’s desire for ironclad security moves them far, far away from their dream of a democratic, secure nation. 

            On our recent trip to see our daughter Susan, Caroline and I made a side trip to take the “Sally Hemings” tour at Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello.   Sally Hemings was the enslaved woman who had at least five of Jefferson’s children, and that side trip is the stuff of another blog.  I bring it up now because our docent for the Hemings tour was a self-proclaimed Jewish woman who began the tour indicating that this story was “complicated,” with the great American author of the idea of “equality” having children with an enslaved woman, whom he never granted freedom.  As our docent saw the leftish leanings of our group, she dropped the “complicated” language and indicated that it was what it seemed – at best some relationship between the two, and at worst, continuous rape by Jefferson.  In many ways the relation of Judaism and Israel and the Palestinians is equally complicated.  Yet in the end, the impetus that drove Judaism (and the West) to create Israel has equally disappeared in the fervor to rid Israel of Palestinians, both past and present.  It will not happen, and that brings us to the difficult images of the both the Cross and the Passover lamb.  There are no easy answers, but answers of justice there must be.  As the Jewish prophet Amos put it so well:  “I hate the noise of your songs, take away from me the noise of your harps- but let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”  As we begin our important religious rituals of Holy Week and Passover, let us remember the powerful words of Amos, and let us lean toward them.

"THE MEANING OF THE CROSS"

“THE MEANING OF THE CROSS”

            Several people have wished me happy or a blessed Easter this week, and since we are still deep in Lent, those wishes have been a bit jarring.  Easter comes about as late as it can this year (April 21), so maybe the bursting out of spring in the South has called forth these ideas of resurrection and Easter a bit early.  Yet, whatever we are wishing or hoping, we still are immersed in the power of death.  The recent votes in state legislatures to adopt the FGFBM’s proposals (Forced Gestation and Forced Birth Movement) on the “heartbeat” bills are a reminder of the power of death, as evidenced in this white, male supremacy.   We are in the season of the Cross, in the season of atonement, and I am feeling it.

            Still, I am always uncomfortable with this emphasis on the Cross.  Perhaps it is my own sinfulness which makes it uncomfortable – I don’t like this emphasis because it is  reminder of my own captivity to so many of the powers.  I don’t have  problem with the emphasis on captivity  or “sin” or whatever label you want to give it.  I have a problem with the idea that God wants to kill us, and that the Cross is testimony to both the depth of God’s hatred for us and the depth of God’s love for us. 

I grew up with this kind of God, a God who must kill someone in order to be reconciled to us.  I’ve seen that God over and over again in my life – the God who hates communists and Vietnamese and Muslims and Americans and African-Americans and immigrants – the list seems to be endless.  I’ve grown up with that kind of killing God. 

            I’ve spent my entire life in the South, and in this region, we are dominated by a violent, killing God.  We white Southerners believe in violence – we love the death penalty;  we hate human beings when they come out of the womb;  we cut government budgets for support for poor people as often as we can.; we believe that people with brown skin are inferior to those classified as “white,” we believe that women are inferior to men.   This kind of God afflicts the whole American identity, but it seems to have deeply permeated the white, Southern identity.  It has soaked in so deeply because deep in our hearts, we know that in order to keep our power as white people, our hands must be soaked in blood.  Violence is in the Godhead, and so must it be in us – the Cross, the death penalty, the execution – those are central to God, and so must they be to us.

            Through God’s grace, my perceptual apparatus has been changed – I no longer understand God as a killing God but rather as a loving God, a God who desires us and wants us to respond in love.  The Cross, then, is not the price that Jesus must pay for us to be reconciled to God.  It is not, as I had been taught, the fact that God hates me and wants to kill me but killed Jesus instead.  It is rather – and to me this is stunning –  that God takes that pain of injustice and brokenness on Her own self.  The crucifixion of Jesus was not God’s will or desire but rather our will and our desire.  The Jesus who welcomed all, the Jesus who called for all of us to center our lives on God and on justice, the Jesus who loved us – this Jesus was too threatening to the religious establishment and to the empire.  The Cross reminds us of this difficult truth – we would rather kill Jesus than to be transformed by his love.  So, yes, at its base, the Cross has an obvious motive of a desire for killing.  That desire, however, is in us and not in God.  In this season of Lent, we are asked to reflect upon our particular captivity that causes us to want to kill Jesus also. 

            There is a thin balance and a strong tension in the Cross.  There is the “love” part -  in the Cross we see the depth of the love of God – nothing will ever separate us from the love of God, a love so deep that She will take upon Herself our pain and our injustice.  There is also the “justice” part, the immigrant mother watching her children taken from her at the border, the mother held as a slave watching her child sold down the river – who will pay for these heinous acts?  I’m aware that I’m writing as a comfortable white man, but I must answer – who will pay for these?  God will.  It is an answer that I do not understand, and it is an answer that I often reject, but I must say that I believe that it is the meaning of the Cross.