Thomas witnesses to us a life of honest self-awareness, of trust in Christ and not in ourselves, a life open to questions and therefore open to becoming something completely new in Christ.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The feast of St. Thomas, Apostle
   Texts: John 14:1-7 (with references to John 11 and John 20)

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Where is it written that doubt is bad, a sign of weakness?

Why did we ever believe that, beat ourselves up for that?

Today we celebrate the life and witness of our brother Thomas, Apostle. Witness. Martyr. Saint. Doubter.

Let’s proudly claim that title, St. Thomas the Doubter. We’re used to “doubting Thomas” as an insult. Sometimes we’ve understood his doubt. We’ve said, “sometimes doubt happens to the best of us.” But we’ve rarely claimed doubt as important. Today we say doubt is good. Without doubt, there’s no faith.

Thomas’ doubt helped him become all those other things, apostle, witness, martyr, saint. Thomas’ doubt led him deeper into life in Christ and into faith. Thomas’ doubt reveals truth to us. Thomas’ doubt gives us courage to be drawn into who we are becoming in Christ.

Now, Thomas isn’t an important disciple, which helps us.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke only mention Thomas once each, in their list of disciples. He’s nowhere near the leadership group. He’s an ordinary, everyday follower, about whom, if we didn’t have John’s Gospel, we would know nothing.

Thomas is us. None of us are likely to be famous or remembered beyond our immediate circle of those who love us. The work of God each of us does in the world will be a blessing, but it’s not likely hundreds of years later someone will write a book about the good we did. That’s not bad. Most of the good done in Christ’s name for 2,000 years, most of the sharing of the good news, most of the healing of the sick and preaching of God’s grace and love has been done by people like us, unknown to any but their closest group.

Today we celebrate one of us. And thanks to John, we know a little bit more about Thomas than many of the other anonymous saints of God. In three brief glimpses that take place only in a period of maybe a month, John shows us truth about our brother that can change everything we thought we understood about faith and following Christ.

We first meet Thomas in John 11.

Thomas isn’t central to this story, he’s just his normal, unimportant self. Jesus is in Galilee. His dear friends Mary and Martha in Bethany, near Jerusalem, send a message that their brother Lazarus, his friend, is dying.

Jesus stays two more days, then announces they’re heading to Judea, to Bethany. This is only a few weeks before the crucifixion, and in these latter days of Jesus’ ministry the opposition among Jewish religious leaders has become a real threat. So his disciples speak up and say he’ll be killed if he goes south. They’re right. Coming to Bethany was the beginning of the end for Jesus, and led directly to the cross.

Jesus was going to go whether his disciples approved or not. But it’s anonymous Thomas who speaks for them: “Let’s also go, that we may die with him.”

Listen to him! The leaders of the twelve are afraid. Thomas has to be afraid. But he knows only one thing, he’s following Jesus. If Jesus dies, well, he’ll die, too. Thomas is the only one who speaks up in faith and so he’s the one, not the leaders, who emboldens the others to follow Christ’s way, not theirs.

The next time we see Thomas is today’s Gospel.

Once again, Thomas isn’t a lead player, he’s one of the folks in the crowd. Peter’s already bragged he’ll die with Jesus and has heard the horrible truth that he will in fact betray him. So, Jesus urges Peter and the others not to let their hearts be troubled, to believe in him. Then he starts talking.

Now, this night has been emotionally charged for these women and men, gathered for Passover. They can feel all the tension in Jesus, and in the streets and city about him. Jesus has washed their feet and called them to do the same. He’s fed them the Passover, saying it was his own body and blood. And now he’s going on about rooms in Father’s houses and going away, and coming back for them, and he says, “you know the way to where I am going.”

We know these words so well. We’ve heard them at so many funerals of loved ones and have found comfort and hope in them. But it’s hard to imagine any of them, not even Mary Magdalene or John, had a clue what Jesus was talking about.

But anonymous, unimportant Thomas, is brave enough, courageous enough to say what everyone else was thinking: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jesus. Could you please explain? We don’t know where you’re going, how can we know the way?”

For the second time in only a few weeks, Thomas’ courage gives us a gift, because Jesus explains what we didn’t know, either. “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except by me.”

We may still have questions about what Jesus means, but if Thomas doesn’t ask Jesus, if Thomas doesn’t admit his ignorance and confusion, would we ever get these powerful words of hope we’ve clung to for 2,000 years?

The third time we meet Thomas he’s a lead actor in the story, in John 20.

The risen Christ appears to all the disciples on Easter, the women in the morning, and all of them, men and women, in the Upper Room in the evening. All but Thomas. When he arrives, he’s overwhelmed by their excitement that Jesus is alive again.

He says something to them that could blow away a lot of bad Christian theology if only people actually listened. He says, “Look, any talk of a risen Jesus is worthless, any story of God raising our Lord is meaningless, if I don’t see wounds. I might not know anything, but I know I saw our beloved Lord wounded and killed. That’s the only way I’ll recognize him.”

Thomas’ doubt is based on a certainty: he will only know his Master by the wounds his Master bore for him. He doubts any other story that tries to understand what God is doing in this terrible suffering without dealing with the wounds.

A week later, when Jesus shows up and Thomas is there, he sees those wounds. And anonymous, sidekick Thomas is the only one in all the Gospels to declare this truth about Jesus. “My Lord and my God,” he says. “I know you. You’re my Lord, the one I will follow and obey always. And you are God, my God, who was wounded and killed and now lives.” Thomas declares the truth that changes everything about our faith in Christ, that in the risen Jesus’ wounds we recognize him as God.

Thomas is the model of faithful following.

He is the antithesis of the arrogant, smug person of faith who knows all the answers, who never doubts, who can always package up in a neat box with a bow all the truth about God.

Thomas is the person of real faith, a faith that draws on the strength of God through Christ Jesus, not on his own strength. A faith not based on him having it all together, but on his trust that God in Christ has it all together and that’s enough for him.

This is the heart of what we learn from Thomas: only openness to our not knowing, our fears, our doubts, will lead us into the heart of Christ. When we think we have all the answers, and know the path, when we never admit we’re afraid or lost or confused, we’re not walking the path of Christ, we’re making our own. Our doubts and questions are what make us open to centering our lives on the Triune God rather than ourselves.

Thomas never trusted himself to know what was going on. But in trusting Christ Jesus, he showed a path that all people of faith can follow.

But today, on his day, Thomas would want to speak to us.

He would say, “Remember it’s not about me. I’m not important. The only thing I really knew was that I trusted in Christ Jesus, the Son of God.”

He would say: “Walk the path with Christ, knowing you will lose, even die to yourself. It’s Christ’s way, not your way, and on it is life and love and grace.”

He would say: “Ask your questions, even if you think they sound dumb. God will show you Christ’s truth, which becomes your truth. And you’ll bless everyone else who had the same question but was afraid to ask.”

He would say: “Remember when you struggle with suffering and pain – yours or anyone else’s – that any answer that forgets the wounds God suffers with us isn’t worth anything. Resurrection life, Christ’s life, which is now yours, comes through God sharing our suffering and death.”

Thomas would say to us today: “Don’t look at me, look at Christ. Then you’ll also recognize your Lord and your God. You will find the way, the truth, and the life.”

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Only when we know the truth about ourselves, our sinfulness, and why it’s a problem, are we able to hear the truth that we are loved and forgiven by God, and in that truth find abundant life.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 11 C
   Texts: Luke 7:36 – 8:3; 2 Samuel 11:26 – 12:10, 13-15

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

“If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him – that she is a sinner.”

Now there’s some irony. Who knows what about whom couldn’t be more different than Simon imagines. Simon is the only one who doesn’t know the truth at this party.

This amazing woman knows the truth about herself and the truth about Jesus. Even though Luke rudely only calls her by the name “sinner,” implying a publicly known sin like prostitution, she had a name. And she knew full well who she was before, she knew who she was now, and she knew who made her a new person.

Jesus knows the truth about himself and the truth about her, too. This clearly isn’t the first time they’ve met. She interrupts this dinner party filled with tears of joy and gladness, prepared to anoint Jesus in thanksgiving, ointment purchased and in hand. Jesus says her generosity comes from having been forgiven a great deal. That is, she already experienced it, some time before. When he says, “your sins are forgiven,” he’s reminding her of what already happened.

Simon’s problem is that Jesus is a prophet and does know everything about this woman. So he also knows everything about Simon. Simon’s ignorance is impressively vast. It would be hard to know less about this woman, about Jesus, and about himself, than Simon does.

In today’s two powerful accounts, Nathan and the king, and Jesus at the dinner party, the ignorance of David and Simon to their own truths is deeply compelling. There’s something about them echoes in our lives.

It’s interesting: both want to please God, and they mostly do.

Simon is a Pharisee, so he cares about God’s law and tries to keep it. He likes Jesus enough to invite him to dinner, so he might not be an opponent. David’s love for God is well-known, and his desire to be faithful to God is one we repeatedly sing ourselves through his Psalms.

But David has done a great evil, and is acting as if it doesn’t matter. We can’t sugarcoat the rape of Bathsheba – how else do you describe a king commanding a subject to come to his palace and getting her pregnant – and we can’t deny the murder of Uriah to cover up that rape. As marvelous and heroic as David can be, this is utterly horrific and vile.

Simon seems less evil than just normal. Jesus’ story shows he knows Simon’s sinned, like all people. Simon just has a grading system. Whatever sins he may or may not have done, to him nothing compares to this wretched woman who’s spoiling his carefully planned party with this embarrassing display.

How do people who want to do good and serve God become so blind to their own flaws, yet able to see others’ flaws in seconds?

More important, who do we have who can open our eyes when we’re blind?

Who is Nathan and Jesus to us, and tells us the truth so we can actually hear it, and be changed?

Because we do need to hear the truth.

Who do we permit to tell those of us who are white and privileged that we are racist?

That we do things without even knowing that perpetuate systems rigged against people of color? That, even though right now many of us are thinking, “That’s not really true of me,” we all operate within a system of privilege that we don’t want to give up, but that is not the experience of anyone whose genes color their skin darker?

We know there are problems with racism in our country. But Simon and David lurk in our hearts, and we don’t like to see our part in those problems. We want to do good, we do. But there are truths each of us struggles to see and believe about how racism infects all our lives. Who do we let into our lives who can speak that truth to us, help us see our own sin?

Who do we permit to tell those of us who are men that we are sexist?

Who will we trust to tell us that we men are so embedded in a culture that favors us we likely could read today’s Scripture readings and nine times out of ten not even notice that neither Bathsheba nor this woman were named? Or notice that the sinfulness of the men involved wasn’t remotely punished by society, while both women were scorned and reviled?

Listen, we’re David and Simon. We want to be good, we do. But this is a reality many of us men can’t see. Who do we let tell us that we men are blind to the reality that because of a Y chromosome we get paid far better than our sisters? Who will we listen to who can challenge us men who are Christian with the inequities in the Church of Christ, including our use of language, that consistently diminish our sisters’ gifts and calls?

We too often are blind to how we each are part of the problem. Who will tell us the truth?

Who do we permit to tell us that our everyday activities we so blithely do without thinking are destroying our planet?

Who gets to break through each of our stubborn habits, our laziness, our inability to even want to try, and say a truth we can hear, that we cannot keep at our lifestyle and hope to survive as a human race?

Listen, we’re Simon and David. We want to do good. We do. But each of us does things every day that waste water, pollute the air, deplete resources, and because we can afford to do it, we keep doing it. Who do we allow into our lives enough to call us to account for this? Who will we listen to when they ask us to stop letting the water run the whole time we brush our teeth, or consider whether we need to drive everywhere, or ask where our food comes from and whether people are fairly paid for it and animals well treated?

Who do we permit to tell us that our lifestyles and choices are oppressing the poor and making people suffer unbearably?

Who gets to tell us that we can’t demand low prices on goods we buy and expect the people who work to sell us those goods to be paid fairly? That we will all have to pay more in taxes and other costs to build a society where the minimum wage is actually one people can begin on and start to feed their families? To build a society where people can find safe, affordable housing, and the dignity of being neighbors and contributors to the well being of all? Who gets to point out that our choices deeply affect those who have few choices?

Listen, we’re Simon and David. We want to do good. We do. But we cannot keep living above a level that cannot be sustained for all on this planet. Who do we let into our lives that can tell us this truth so we will hear it?

Who do we permit to tell us when we are not being loving, not being Christ?

Daily we hurt others, we do things we probably think of more often when we confess our sins than those other, deeper, sins. Things that we know are not of Christ. But we can be as blind to them as anything.

So if we truly want to be good, like Simon and David, who gets to tell us when we’re being a jerk? Who gets to say, “Be quiet, that was unkind?” Who gets to challenge us for not being loving to another person? Who do we let into our lives who we trust to tell us the truth?

That’s the deeper question. Who speaks to us truth we can actually hear, and are convicted to seek forgiveness and a new way of life?

The truth-tellers we hear best are the ones who love us.

Nathan loves David, and David knows it. Nathan knows his king wants to do justice and be good, and serve God. He makes up a story he knows will incite David’s innate justice and goodness because he knows how David will react. And he breaks through David’s blindness.

Jesus loves Simon, and Simon can tell it. He doesn’t rebuke him or rail at him. He, too, makes up a story Simon can hear, using Simon’s world, a world of debts and repayments.

We deeply need such people in our lives, and we’ll hear them because they love us. They’re not seeking to destroy us, or cut us down. They may be deeply sad about what we’re doing, but they love us.

And when we listen to them, we open ourselves to hear the words of Scripture when we couldn’t hear them before. When we listen to them, we find the desire to seek forgiveness and healing from God. When we listen to them, we open ourselves to the Holy Spirit’s leading and power to make us new.

Jesus said, “If you continue in my Word you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” [1]

That’s what we long for. That we know the truth so we can ask forgiveness from our crucified and risen Christ and receive love and grace and freedom. So we find the joy of our sister who washes and anoints Jesus’ feet in gratitude and happiness at her new reality. That generosity only comes from first receiving the generosity of the love of God that has no limits.

In our tradition, when we confess our sins together we do it at the start of the liturgy. That can be a hard place to begin, having just scurried to our seats, dealt with the stress of getting out of the house, and just as we settle in we’ve got to face difficult truth. The Book of Common Prayer gives our Anglican and Episcopal sisters and brothers the option to confess after the Prayers.

We’re going to do it there today. We’ll come to confession having heard the truth first. We’ll have heard God’s Word and heard a sermon. We’ll have sung our response to God’s Word, and prayed our concerns for each other and for the world. Then we can consider what truth we need to speak to God for our forgiveness and life. We’ll rise, forgiven, and offer each other the same peace of Christ.

This order could be very helpful to us, like Nathan and Jesus, opening our hearts both to the truth about our lives and the truth about God’s love. So we can see. And, forgiven, live.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

[1] John 8:31-32