Tag Archives: Thomas

The Two Miracles on Easter + 7 (2nd Sunday of Easter, 4/7/2024)

Readings

Among the characters in Winnie the Pooh, one of my favorites is Eeyore. Eeyore knows that the glass is half empty. Among the apostles, Eeyore’s stand-in is Thomas, center-stage in the second half of today’s Gospel.

The story starts —as Thomas expected— with a crucifixion. On that last journey up to Jerusalem most of the disciples had been arguing about who’d be greatest in the coming kingdom; Thomas’ contribution was “Let’s go up to die with him.” And it wasn’t just Jesus hanging up there; it was the last three years of Thomas’ life, and a lifetime’s worth of hopes and dreams.

Now the other disciples are telling him that Jesus appeared to them the evening of the first day of the week. If they’re to be believed, it was quite a meeting: Jesus showed them his hands & side. He breathed on them: “Receive the Holy Spirit” (“Like the Garden of Eden”). “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Thomas: I need to see, insert finger, hand…

By the disciples’ telling, Jesus had given them the Holy Spirit & their marching orders, so there was no reason to think Jesus would appear again. Nevertheless, a week later Jesus appears again and offers Thomas the proof he demanded. Thomas responds with a confession unparalleled in the NT: “My Lord and my God!”

There are two extraordinary elements in the story: the encounters with the Risen Christ, and Thomas being with the other disciples at that second meeting. It would have been so easy for them to split. Imagine: eight days of the others celebrating Easter & Thomas still observing Good Friday. Altar Guild: what liturgical color would you use to keep everyone happy? Thomas could have written them off as gullible; they could have written Thomas off as faithless.

Why did they stay together? Simple garden-variety virtues —I think— like faithfulness, patience, humility, the virtues that keep us going when all else falls away.

Humility: not having an artificially low opinion of oneself, but an accurate opinion. Not incidentally, this is precisely what the writer of 1 John is aiming at: 8 If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. 9 If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 10 If we say that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.

While the obvious connection between 1 John and our Gospel is the business about “what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands,” it was, I think, something of the shared ability to recognize themselves before each other as sinners that helped them stay together.

How much might have been lost for both Thomas & disciples if they’d split. Thomas might never have encountered Jesus; the other disciples might never have found the words Thomas found to capture their experience: “My Lord & my God!”

The point is that if we’re to encounter the Risen Christ, we do so in the midst of the disciples, in the midst of each other, warts & all. And that requires these mundane human virtues: faithfulness, patience, humility. These virtues, it turns out, are necessary not simply for human community, but for any sustained encounter with the divine.

Our texts speak to us pretty directly in a variety of ways. On the day to day, the living together in unity that the psalm celebrates and that the apostles achieved turns out to be remarkably difficult. The difficulty sometimes is over big issues (is the Lord risen or not?); more often it’s over small issues of the “squeeze the toothpaste in the middle or roll it up from the end” variety. But as anyone who’s lived in a family knows, it’s remarkably easy for these little issues to transition into big issues, and suddenly the toothpaste tube is about who always gets their way, who is being inconsiderate —you fill in the blanks. This is where humility and its twin, a sense of humor, help enormously.

What is at stake here is captured in the first two verses of our reading from Acts: Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all.

The unity among believers is important because it makes the economic solidarity possible, a solidarity that historically speaking formed part of the appeal of the Gospel. Listen to the pagan emperor Julian complaining about the Christians: [I]t is disgraceful that, when no Jew ever has to beg, and the impious Christians support not only their own poor but ours as well, all persons see that our people lack aid from us.

And that in turn makes me wonder about Luke’s next statement: With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. That “great power” and “great grace” —something unconnected to the disciples’ unity and generosity, or its natural result?

God knows we could use great power and great grace in our testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus. But if I’ve read Acts correctly, great power and great grace are not brought by the stork, but flow from unity among believers.

We cannot heal the divisions among Christians at the international or national levels, although, God knows, most of us ought to be devoting more prayer to this than we presently are. We can pay attention to our own attitudes and actions, and so, by exercise of humility, at least not contribute to these on the local level. From whom have you become estranged? You do not need to wait until the next penitential season to seek reconciliation.

For who knows, who knows how we may yet together encounter the Risen Christ?

Coming together during the Longest Night / Celebrating the Feast of St Thomas (St Dunstan’s, Madison WI)

Readings (For the 2023 Longest Night, only Habakkuk and John used, the John reading expanded as follows)

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This year our Longest Night Eucharist falls on December 21, the Feast of St Thomas, Apostle. That is an interesting coincidence; let’s wonder together about what Thomas’ Feast might contribute.

Were it not for the Gospel according to John we’d know nothing of Thomas besides the later legends. And what John tells us—three bits from chapters 11, 14, and 20—we heard in the Gospel reading. Hardly enough for any sort of biography, but enough to make us wonder whether there had been some serious loss in Thomas’ past.

Loss can leave us feeling unhinged, wondering if we belong—anywhere. So the first thing we might notice about Thomas is that Jesus’ words to the disciples—words to each one of us—apply also to him: “You did not choose me but I chose you” (Jn. 15:16). Thomas isn’t there by mistake. I wonder if Jesus chose Thomas also as a counterweight to some of the other apostles. Thomas is not going to be among those arguing about who can sit on Jesus’ right or left when they return to Judea.

“Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Just because you’re heading toward a brick wall is no reason by itself to change course. So Thomas shows himself an authentic son of Abraham and Sarah, promised descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky, but who spent decades as sojourners in the “Promised Land” having produced together exactly zero children. But of course John has not passed on the opportunity for irony: at the end of the story both Lazarus and Jesus will be alive. Perhaps it’s a sort of prequel to the resurrection stories.

I love that second bit out of the 14th chapter: “Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Thomas is willing to acknowledge that he—like the rest of the disciples—has no idea what Jesus is saying. The usual strategy is to keep quiet; Thomas speaks up.

In passing, I wonder if we notice often enough that Jesus’ well-known response (“I am the way, and the truth, and the life…”) is not an answer in any obvious sense (“’Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ ‘I am the way…’”). It’s more a Zen koan (“The sound of one hand clapping.”) If we pay attention, we may catch glimpses of its meaning throughout our lives.

Then there’s that third portion of John, set a week after Easter. There are two surprises, that Jesus shows up and that the disciples are still together. The other disciples have been all “Hallelujah” and Thomas “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands…” Christians split over so much less, but here they are, together. It does look like something of Jesus’ “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (Jn. 13:34) has sunk in.

This is maybe one of the more important things our brother Thomas contributes to our Longest Night observance: loss and grief are not meant to be experienced alone. Job’s friends got it right: they came and sat with him in silence— for seven days. The trouble started when they started talking—a standing warning, I suppose, to preachers.

Thomas and the other disciples are together. Jesus shows up. And Jesus gives Thomas what he needs. Thomas, like Jacob wrestling all night with the stranger: “I will not let you go, unless you bless me” (Gen. 32:26). Or Job, for that matter, who quickly figures out that the conversation he needs is not with his friends, but with the Almighty. And the Almighty shows up.

That story ends with these words from Jesus: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” That’s not a criticism of Thomas. Rather, here, as in other resurrection accounts, the author’s wrestling with the question of how their audience relates to Jesus. So in Luke’s road to Emmaus story, how is the risen Jesus encountered? The Scriptures are opened, bread is broken: the two halves of our Eucharist.

The collect for Thomas’ Feast understandably focuses on Thomas’ faith (“Do not doubt but believe.”). I wonder if the story does not equally encourage us to focus on the love that holds Thomas and the other disciples together. Faith and love: how often these get disconnected, with “faith” that uses all the right words (hear the scare quotes) underwriting loveless conduct. This is one of the main problems the author of 1st John, a sort of dummy’s guide to reading John’s Gospel, is trying to address:

The author of 1st John has, of course, no interest in undervaluing faith, but equally no interest in letting it get disconnected from love. He pulls the two together elsewhere in the letter:

And this is his commandment, that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us. All who obey his commandments abide in him, and he abides in them. And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit that he has given us. (3:23-24)

And we might extrapolate: the community of love that the Spirit nurtures is the context we need when life’s experiences make faith, trust, and hope difficult if not near impossible. That’s one of the things tonight’s gathering is about.

That community of love—do we always get that right? Of course not, and that’s one of the elements of loss and grief with which we struggle. Fortunately the Spirit is more patient with us than we ourselves are, keeps nurturing our capacity to love.

How to summarize? We sell John short when we hear his story about that encounter a week after Easter as simply Thomas’ story. It’s a story about what happens when Jesus’ “love one another” is heeded in the midst of loss and grief, so that together—and only together—are the other disciples able to witness and share Thomas’ confession “My Lord and my God!”