Sermon: Peace in our wounds (April 23, 2017)

Easter 2A

April 23, 2017

John 20:19-31

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            On Good Friday, we heard the story of Jesus’ death: his pain, his wounds, his disciples’ betrayal, denial, and desertion. We heard about the brokenness of the story of Jesus. Then on Easter we heard the story of his resurrection! Jesus rises from the dead, and we gave thanks that God has defeated the power of death. Then always, on this second Sunday of Easter, we return to wounds: when Thomas misses Jesus’ appearance to the disciples, he insists that he wants to touch Jesus’ wounds, before he can really be sure that Jesus is, indeed, alive.

            From brokenness to new life and back to brokenness: It’s a resurrection sandwich on wound bread.

            Though this particular sandwich is not one available at the Wegmans deli, it is one that we often encounter in our lives. Always, the meat of life (or perhaps the grilled veggies, if you are not meat-inclined) is God’s promise of resurrection and new life, but it so often comes to us when pain and woundedness are close beside.

            That’s not meant to be dismal – after all, what’s the point of the resurrection promise if it is not spoken into a world of pain? Why would we need it if

Hand of Christ/Palm of Peace
http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55740

everything was roses and rainbows all the time? Still, perhaps we’d rather hear a different gospel today – one that erases Christ’s wounds and, while we’re at it, the wounds of the world, rather than one in which Christ’s wounds remain as a stark reminder that ours remain as well. But, it is not so: wounds and scars and brokenness are all still very much a part of our reality.

            What I love about having this story today, and this particular reminder of Christ’s lasting wounds, is that it draws attention to the lastingness of our own wounds – that is, those things we can’t seem to shake or let go of, the things that hang onto our hearts, whether or not we are consciously aware of them. In a word: our baggage. Even in the face of new life, this story draws our attention here, giving us an opportunity to face those things that would hold us back from living into that new life.

            One of the ways baggage and past woundedness can hold us back from fully embracing new life is the way it can taint how we proceed through the world, viewing others with skepticism and lack of trust, assuming the worst of people, and perhaps most painful of all, taking things personally. Our wounds cause us to view the world with a furrowed brow, and always on the defensive. While it may seem like a safer approach to life – always on guard for someone to attack or let you down – this is also perhaps the best way to avoid living into the new life Christ promises.

            In her recent book, Brene Brown recalls an encounter with a woman who has no regard for rules, and indeed laughs at those who do. Brene is so infuriated by the encounter, she talks to her therapist about it, who suggests that really, people, even this woman, are doing the best they can. This infuriates Brene even more! How ridiculous, she thinks! She storms off to the bank, where she watches the woman in front of her in line yelling at the bank teller, a young African American man, saying, “I didn’t make these withdrawals! I want to see a manager!” When he points to his manager, another black man, the woman says, “No! I want a different manager!” Brene immediately chalks the woman’s behavior up to racism. So when it is her turn to talk to the teller, she asks him, point blank, “Do you think people are doing the best they can?” He smiles and asks if she saw what just happened. Brene says yes, and that it was obviously racism. The man shrugs and says, “She’s scared about her money.” He goes on to say he does think people do the best they can, but the best they can might not be very good at any

given moment. He says, “The thing is, you never know about people. That lady could have a kid on drugs stealing money from her account, or a husband with Alzheimer’s who’s taking money and not even remembering. You just never know. People aren’t themselves when they’re scared. It might be all they can do.”

            Hm. It makes me think about those disciples on that Easter night, when they were locked in the upper room for fear of the Jews. It makes me think of Thomas, who didn’t have the benefit of seeing Jesus and receiving his breath of peace, who is perhaps still very scared. It makes me think of all the disciples who, just a few days earlier, had deserted their friend because they were scared of what was happening to him, what might happen to them. “People aren’t themselves when they’re scared. It might be all the can do.”

            We’ve all been there! And don’t those mistakes – those times when “all we can do” ended up hurting someone or getting ourselves hurt – don’t they just hang onto our hearts? Don’t they just get packed tightly away into our emotional baggage, threatening always to make an appearance when we least expect or desire it? “People aren’t themselves when they’re scared” – and oh, how that reality can come back to bite us again and again!

            And yet, even though we’ve been there, how quick we are to label the disciples as doubters, deniers, betrayers, deserters. How quick we are to label one another as liars, careless, thoughtless, incompetent, mean. Even though we know: people aren’t themselves when they’re scared, and they are probably just doing the best they can.

            Brene Brown continues to grapple with the question or whether or not people are doing the best they can, until she finally asks her husband. He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, he says, “I don’t know if they do or not, I really don’t. All I know is that my life is better when I assume people are doing their best. It keeps me out of judgment and lets me focus on what is, and not what should or could be.”

            Ah, to me, this possibility – that simply assuming people are doing the best can actually make our lives better (shout out to the 8^th commandment!) – this feels like Jesus’ breath of peace. Did you notice, Jesus says, “Peace be with you,” not once, not twice, but three times in this text? Peace be with you – peace be with you in your fear, in your disappointment, in your anxiety, in your uncertainty. Peace be with you when you are just about to judge someone else for their failure or shortcoming. Peace be with you when your wounds or scars try to thwart or taint Christ’s invitation to you to join him in new, resurrected life, into a life where death and fear do not have the final word, but rather, God’s own love and grace do. Peace be with you.

            And to prove the point, Christ invites Thomas – and so also us – to touch his own wounds. It becomes a reminder that wounds can exist, whether still open and aching or long ago scarred over, at the same time as peace. Our wounds and our scars and our pain and brokenness do not have to have power over us, because even into those wounds, Christ breathes his peace.

            Maybe, especially into these wounds, Christ breathes his peace. “Peace be with you” is not a word of grace to those who are already whole. It is grace to those who still seek healing, who still experience brokenness, who still have pain. It is grace to those who long for new life. It is grace to all who carry with them the baggage of past mistakes – either our own or those others have made that have hurt us.

            It is grace and gift… and it is also a call – to bring that peace to the world and its brokenness. It is a call to seek forgiveness and healing in relationships, to search for and embrace that which will bring peace to all the places in our life and the world that need that peace of Christ which surpasses all understanding.  It is a call to bring into a wounded world in need of healing the promise of the resurrected Christ.

            Peace be with you, sisters and brothers in Christ.

Let us pray… God of peace, when we are scared and wounded and unable to be the people we’d like to be, you breathe your peace into our hearts. Be in our every breath, O God, as we go about the work of seeking healing and wholeness in this hurting world, so that all might know the joy of your resurrected life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.