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Thomas’ core truth is that he is blessed, not that he once doubted, and Christ Jesus likewise comes to us in blessing, no matter where we find ourselves in faith or doubt, confusion or clarity, and we are given peace.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Second Sunday of Easter, year C
   text:  John 20:19-31

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

This is a story about Blessed Thomas, not Doubting Thomas. We’ve been misinformed.

This is actually a story about the risen Christ, where Thomas is the Blessed One, not the Doubter. Let’s stop using Thomas as a straw man for unbelief and see what’s really going on here.

Thomas missed out on seeing his risen Lord with the others. It’s that simple. They were gathered together, locked away. He was gone. He had the misfortune of missing what everyone else experienced.

Maybe he was gone by choice, maybe he had to be away. Maybe he missed the message passed between the disciples that terrible Friday afternoon, “we’re meeting in the Upper Room, where we were before. Here’s the password.” It doesn’t really matter. He missed it.

So yes, he had his doubts. The combined witness of his sisters and brothers, all of whom saw Jesus alive, didn’t fully convince him. Maybe his frustration at missing it all contributed to that.

But we can’t disdain him. Thomas’ faith and courage are well documented in the Gospels. We would do exceedingly well to be as faithful as he was. Here he’s in the middle of his worst days ever, and he’s struggling. That’s it.

We often hear, “don’t be like Thomas and doubt, believe even if you don’t see.” Our truth is the opposite. Thomas is our hope and our beacon of faith. Despite missing everything, Thomas ends up blessed by the peace and presence of his risen Lord, and finds faith and a future. Thomas is the best news we could have.

Thomas connects deeply with us.

It makes us sad and anxious to be left out. To know that loved ones are gathered and we aren’t there. Imagine his sadness when the others excitedly shared their experience with him.

But it’s more than being left out: it’s hard to handle missing out on learning something important, feeling like others got to know or see something we would have loved to know or see, to get news secondhand.

We can see ourselves in Thomas. Sad, confused, wondering. Wanting to believe Christ is risen and everything is new again, but not having seen it.

How often do we see others who seem to have strong faith and wonder what’s missing in us? Or think, “if only I could have seen something, too, if I had her clarity?” Or even, “what did I miss? Why didn’t I get to see it?”

Thomas is our companion today, not our fool. He stands for us.

But what of Jesus’ saying: blessed are those who do not see and yet believe?

Isn’t this a criticism of Thomas’ doubts? Yes, Jesus says these words. But he says them after giving Thomas peace. After letting Thomas see, offering his hands and his side for evidence. Christ comes to Thomas and gives him exactly what he longed for, to see his beloved Master alive again. That feels like gentle joy and welcome, not criticism.

Then he turns to us, the readers, the watchers, and says: you do not see, and yet you will find faith. You are blessed. As John explains, all this Gospel he has given us is explicitly our Thomas appearance. Because we weren’t there, John has written this, “that [we] may believe Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and, believing, have life in his name.”

This is a story about blessed Thomas, about blessed us. The blessing isn’t in found in our faith or lost by our doubt. It’s Jesus, risen, coming to us.

The risen Christ has provided for us, just like Thomas. And we are blessed.

In God’s Word Christ comes to us and says, “see?” I am with you always. And as you hear me, know me, see me through these words, I give you peace. Like Thomas, you can believe.

In this Meal, Christ comes to us and says, “see?” I told you this is my life, my body and blood, my way of joining you to my death and being with you always.”

Remember, Thomas asks the critical question: “wasn’t he wounded and killed? I need to see those wounds. How can God change death into life?” In this bread and wine, Christ once more shows us his wounded hands and side and says, “this is my love for you, and death can’t stop it. Eat, touch, and believe. Be at peace.”

In this community of faith Christ comes to us and says, “see?” I am with you always in them. And in these others you receive my peace, and like Thomas, you can believe.

If we look even more closely at the risen Christ’s actions, we find another, beautiful blessing.

Christ deeply needs his followers, even after the Resurrection. Eating with them, walking with them, talking with them, the Incarnate One, as he always did before, continues to desire his friends. It feels as if Christ comes to Thomas because he missed Thomas. This reveals the Triune God’s deep desire to be in relationship with us. Our joy is that as much as we miss God’s presence in our lives when we don’t feel it, God even more misses us.

And Christ needs a complete community. Without Thomas, it’s not good. This is so central, that often writers like Paul and John join our Lord in saying that their joy is only complete when the fellowship is complete. Christ is not satisfied until all God’s children are together, all can see God’s grace and receive the peace that passes understanding.

Let’s give thanks for blessed Thomas, who gives us great hope.

Like Thomas, whenever we feel left out, or forgotten, we look up and see our Living Lord smiling and saying, “I’m so glad I found you, I’ve missed you.”

When we don’t understand the pain and suffering of this world, or are afraid of being wounded ourselves in service to God, like Thomas we come here and meet our wounded, crucified, risen Lord who transforms death into life.

When we doubt because we haven’t seen what others have, or fear that faith is harder for us than it should be, or are anxious because we don’t know what to believe, we come here with our sisters and brothers, like Thomas, and Christ comes to us.

And blesses us with peace. So we are ready to join Thomas in being that blessing to the rest of those whom Christ is constantly seeking. Because that’s what’s next for us, and that’s where we’ll really find complete joy.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Christ Jesus comes to us wherever we are – faithful or fearful – and gives us the gift of peace, so we know God’s resurrection life is true and real and changing the world, and our lives become credible witnesses to this.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Resurrection of Our Lord, year C
   texts: Luke 24:1-12; Isaiah 65:17-25

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

How do you know if something is an idle tale or not? 

It’s easy from here to criticize the male disciples, locked away in fear while the women disciples did what needed to be done. Because of their faithfulness, these women heard the good news first. But when they came to the locked Upper Room to tell the good news to their brothers, Luke says they were met with disbelief. “An idle tale,” they heard. “Nonsense. Foolishness.”

Actually, from our perspective, if we’re honest, we might agree with the men. Today we hear bold claims of healing and restoration, powerful promises of life in the midst of death, of God’s new creation of peace and love.

Yet sometimes doubt finds us even this morning. Sometimes we hear, “Alleluia, Christ is risen,” and don’t know what it means for us to reply, “Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!” How do those beautiful words sometimes get stuck in our throats because of tears? Or doubts? What if this is an idle tale?

Outside that locked room was a frightening world, that’s why it was locked.

For us, too. If Christ’s resurrection is the beginning of Isaiah’s promised new creation, do we see that? We also fear our world. Every day there are terrorist attacks, and not just in Europe, where Americans only pay attention. Sisters and brothers of ours in this country live under oppression and constant threat of violence many of us do not know, because their skin is a dark color. Or because they weren’t born here. Injustice is as powerful and pervasive here as it ever has been. Wolves and lambs may eat together, Isaiah, but Muslims and Christians find it hard. Especially when American followers of Christ carry guns to church and to the market because they believe the Prince of Peace says they should. Locking ourselves in seems a wise precaution.

Or, if God’s new creation is actually a future thing to hope for, in a life to come, are we any surer of that? Some of you have lost dear ones to death since last Easter, and you long to believe the women’s story. Some of our losses from years past still pain us, and doubt and sadness sometimes still suprisingly wash over us, grief stabs at our hearts, and we wonder, “is this true?”

How do we know an idle tale from a true one?

Let’s start with this new creation.

Because if we pay attention to what Jesus actually said, it seems he expected it would begin here, in this world.

Jesus wasn’t a political Messiah; he didn’t come to lead revolution and overthrow the Roman government. Christ let both secular and religious government kill him.

But the way Christ taught and lived is deeply intended for the life we actually live here. He meant to bring the healing of the nations. He meant to begin a new creation here where not only wolves and lambs would share a meal but also human enemies. Where all had equal access to justice and peace, there was enough food for all, and humanity saw sisters and brothers in everyone. But Christ didn’t plan to achieve this through force, violence, or politics.

Christ Jesus came to win over the hearts of humanity, and so change the world. The love of the Triune God was so committed to this, the Son of God died to win us over in love. By changing the hearts of people – forgiving their wrongs and hatreds and sins, and transforming their hearts into Christ hearts – God’s Messiah intended to begin a new creation.

So maybe we can give a little slack to the disciples who were locked away this morning.

Peter tried to be brave. He came out of the room to see what the women saw. But after looking into the empty tomb, he went right back to the room with the others and locked the door again.

We get that. After leaving the beauty of this liturgy, when we’re back in our homes, and seeing the world be exactly as it was yesterday, it’s tempting to wonder if what we saw this morning meant anything. If it is true, that in rising from the dead, Christ Jesus is beginning a new creation in this life, the healing of the nations, and ending death’s power, it’s often hard to see.

But there is this good news today: Christ does not leave us alone in our fear and doubt, and this is where we learn the difference between the truth and an idle tale.

Everywhere his followers were, the Risen Christ came. That’s the wonder.

Yes, the women saw him first. They bravely went out on Sunday morning and got a great blessing, according to two of the evangelists, for he met them on the road.

But he remembered Peter and the other boys who double-bolted their door. That very evening he came to them, too, and gave peace. Thomas was missing, so a week later, Christ came again.

Then there were those two disciples living close by who weren’t in the Upper Room because they left early in sadness and confusion, and walked home to Emmaus. Christ visited them, too.

It doesn’t matter if we’re faithful or afraid, if we lock ourselves away or boldly go out into the streets, our risen Lord and God will come to us. Will bring us peace. And we will be changed.

That’s the other way we know a true story. By the changed lives of the witnesses.

Wherever the disciples first met the risen Christ, they were changed. Within weeks they dared stand before judges and risk their lives to tell others about the new creation begun in that empty tomb. About what it means that death can’t stop God’s love.

But the world around them looked exactly the same. Still filled with frightening things, frightening people. Still filled with death.

Yet they were changed. Resurrection, God’s life, filled them, and they witnessed bravely and beautifully by their lives to what God is doing.

We still see lives of credible witness to the resurrection of Christ everywhere we look today.

In those beloved elder saints whose lives and words witnessed by hope and faith in God’s resurrection life, even when their lives were hard and painful, those who first taught us to believe, in their eyes we saw the light of Christ’s resurrection as they witnessed.

In the person without a home who came here hungry on a Good Friday evening, forty minutes before liturgy, and found a Cantorei member happy to cook a hot meal for him and make sandwiches to take with him, we see Christ’s resurrection in that witness. So did he, as he witnessed in the note he left behind: “God was here today; gracias por la comida.” “Thank you for the food.”

In those of different faiths who refuse to bend to fear but reach out to each other in the love of the God they both worship, we see God’s resurrection in their witness. In those who stand under oppression in our own city and boldly cry for justice, and expect to see it, we see God’s resurrection in their witness.

In our loved ones who entered death in peace and hope, trusting the women’s story, who knew there is life to come and died witnessing to their faith, we see Christ’s resurrection in their witness.

Our lives are full of people who have seen the Risen Lord and whose lives witness to God’s new creation. That’s how we can tell the truth.

And here is a deeper joy: what we see in those witnesses is happening to us.

Christ comes to us, risen, with life and hope. Like before, Christ’s visits aren’t always long, and there are moments of fear and doubt in between. Those first disciples, while changed, still had moments of doubt afterward. They weren’t superheroes, nor are we. But Christ continues to come to us, give us peace, and tell us all things are being made new. And we are changed.

Even if the world looks the same, we are changed. We become credible witnesses ourselves, as we live lives of resurrection and hope, instead of lives bound by fear and hatred. We have met Christ Jesus, and we know his life. And in the Spirit’s grace our lives are witnesses, and the story goes further into the world.

But if any of you still feel fear or doubt this morning, remember those beautiful words you will say are in bold print in our service folder. We say them together. If “Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia,” gets stuck in your throat for fear or sadness, we will say it with you. Together we will witness to this life we have seen, this new creation we know is coming, and is already begun.

Christ is risen, indeed. And nothing will ever be the same for us again.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

On the night of his betrayal by his own friends, our Lord Christ reveals the depths of the intimacy of the community of faith he creates: no barriers, no privacy, nothing between us in Christ.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   Maundy Thursday
   texts: John 13:1-17, 31b-35; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26

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

Feet are awkward and ugly. They often smell bad. That’s the point.

Pay attention to this thing Jesus does, because it makes us feel uncomfortable. How many churches won’t do foot-washing today because it’s too awkward, it makes them uncomfortable? Many worship planners try to imagine a new ritual comparable to what Jesus did, a “foot-washing” for our day that conveys how shocking this was.

We don’t need to invent a comparable intimacy. We don’t have slaves who regularly wash feet dusty from walking dirt roads in sandals. But deep down we know that other people washing our feet makes us squirm. And that’s Jesus’ point.

Calling bread and wine “body and blood” is kind of disgusting. That’s the point.

Pay attention to this thing Jesus does, because we should feel uncomfortable. We say these shocking words so often we don’t hear them carefully, but the early Church’s neighbors knew how uncomfortable they were. “Those Christians eat flesh and drink blood at their worship,” people said.

Every time we eat of this bread and drink of this cup, Paul says, we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. We come to this altar and are given bread, but we are told, “This is the body of Christ, given for you.” We come to this altar and are given wine, but we are told, “This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.”

Every time we eat this meal we eat our Lord’s death. That’s so uncomfortable we hardly ever think it. And that’s Jesus’ point.

Passing a cup to share is something we don’t do except here. That’s the point.

Pay attention to this thing Jesus does, because it’s uncomfortable. How many churches won’t share one cup because they’re afraid of germs, because it doesn’t seem civilized? If you ate at my house, I wouldn’t take a glass, drink from it, and pass it to you as if that were normal. I would, however, share a glass with a close family member.

And here, as if we were family, we follow our Lord’s command and do that. It’s a little uncomfortable. And that’s Jesus’ point.

Pay attention  to the things Jesus asks of us that are uncomfortable, awkward, make us anxious. They are the doorway to life.

If others washing our feet is off-putting, Jesus says, “that’s just the start of it.” If we worry about sharing a cup, Jesus says, “you’ve only begun to understand.” If we quail at the gross language of eating flesh and drinking blood, Jesus says, “now you are starting to see.”

Jesus has proclaimed a life of love of God and love of neighbor for three years. Now, the night before his death, with little time left, he tries once more to get these women and men who have followed him to understand.

The Incarnate One reveals the true life of God’s children: it is a life with no barriers between people. No “us” and “them.” Not even between us and God, who took on our body.

Jesus gives one, last, most critical commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.” When we let others wash our feet, when we share this meal together, when we say, “this is Christ’s body and blood,” we begin to understand what “as I have loved you” means.

Because if we aren’t even willing to wash each others’ feet, how will we find the courage and will to die for each other? How will we learn to lose all to find true life?”

These rituals are gifts of awkward discomfort, for they reveal this deeper truth and shape our hearts over years to understand truly what love of God and neighbor means.

The beauty of these gifts is we readily understand them and get uncomfortable.

The only time we permit anyone to wash us is when we cannot stop them. When we are infants. When we are incapable due to age or illness. “Now you see,” Jesus says, “that’s the intimacy I need you to find always.” The only time we share glasses and plates with people is with our closest family. “Now you see,” Jesus says, “that’s the way it is to be among you always.”

In our willingness to love each other without barriers, our willingness to let others love us – which we often resist the most – we find this intimacy.

In this new creation Christ Jesus is making, we are brothers and sisters in such a profound way there are no barriers between us of privacy, no barriers of personal space. That’s both wonderful and deeply troubling. But how will we know God’s abundant life for us if not where God reveals?

When we risk such intimacy we are deeply, frighteningly, vulnerable.

Jesus knows he will be betrayed by the people in this room, not just Judas. Yet he takes a towel and humbly washes their feet. He shares a cup with those who will turn on him, as if they were family. This is the entrance to the new community Jesus is making.

Jesus knows his betrayal will lead to a brutal death the next day. So he changes the Passover meal. He says, when you eat this bread you are eating my life, my body. When you drink this cup, you are drinking my life, my blood. This is the utter vulnerability of God’s love for us and for the world.

These rituals Jesus gave us, the washing of feet, the sharing of a cup, the eating and drinking of his death for us, are dangerous if we don’t want to be changed. They have power to move us into a new place. To make sisters and brothers out of “other people,” who are so vital to our lives there is nothing we wouldn’t do for them.

And then, Jesus says, once you’ve learned that here, I’ll open these doors and send you out into the world to learn it with everyone, even those you do not know. Even those you fear. Even those who are different from you. Even your enemies.

Jesus asks tonight, “Do you know what I have done to you?”

We could spend our lives on that question.

And the only way we’re going to know, to see where he is leading, is to do. To get on our knees and wash, and permit others to do the same to us. To share the gift of Christ’s death with each other as if we are the closest of relatives.

Tonight Jesus shows us what love of neighbor looks like, when neighbor becomes sister and brother, and there is nothing between us. Tomorrow he will show us the end of that road, that such love leads to willingness to lose everything for the sake of the other.

And Lord Jesus, we are afraid of this love. We are afraid to let others inside. We are afraid of what you have done to us.

But the one who so calls us, who has done this, loves us, loves you, beyond death itself. There is nothing to fear, for we are loved forever and in the power of that divine love, we are given hearts like Christ, hearts big enough to love the whole world, hearts daring enough to let the world truly know and love us.

Do we know what Christ has done to us? Not fully. But we’re starting to see.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen