John 20: 19–31
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Lord, may we hear your voice in the words spoken in your name. Amen.
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The way we celebrated Easter last Sunday, the way we celebrated Jesus
Christ rising from the grave, you would think, wouldn’t you, that
pain and suffering were gone forever. And it wasn’t just
last Sunday that we sang our hearts out, believing this to be
true. This morning, too, we sang, “The strife is o’er,
the victory won” and “This joyful Eastertide, away with
sin and sorrow”. But – oh — it wasn’t
going to be quite that simple. And when we pick the story up
again this morning, we begin to understand better how the story of
redemption continues, how it actually works.
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You remember last Sunday, after Mary Magdalene finally realized it
was Jesus standing in front of her, risen from the dead, that he gave
her an assignment. He told her to go back to the house where
she’d been staying and tell the other disciples her glorious
news. And evidently, she did that. But Mark and Luke tell
us that none of the disciples actually believed Mary when she burst
through the door to tell them her good news. Nor did they believe
the other women, who came back offering the same astonishing
news. And it hurts not to be believed. So pain and suffering
haven’t entirely disappeared . . .
not yet, anyway.
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Instead, the men tell each other this must be some idle tale the women
have concocted. And they busy themselves getting ready for an
attack – an attack they think will come that evening from the
same Jewish authorities who crucified their Lord. So they lock
the doors of the house, shutter the windows, and extinguish the oil lamps.
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But it isn’t some armed mob who comes to them that night. It
is Jesus himself, who comes to breathe the deep peace of the Holy Spirit
into their terrified hearts and to offer them yet another glimpse of
their own future. For remember, in that very same room just three
days earlier, Jesus had given them their first glimpse of the
in–breaking reign of God. That evening, to their
astonishment, Jesus had told them that the Kingdom of God would look a
lot like them – as they gently and humbly washed the dirt of the
world from other peoples’ feet – washing away sin, sorrow,
mistakes and weariness. And leaving — in the wake of all
that mess – fresh forgiveness, fresh hope and grace. Only
Jesus hadn’t called it foot washing. He had called it
love — loving others as he had loved them. This, he said,
was their new job description — to love others by gently washing
away the sin, the failure, the world weariness from anyone they encountered.
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But that wasn’t the full extent of their job description – and
on this evening of the resurrection Jesus begins to show them more of
it, though he does this in a fairly oblique way. Did you notice,
when he came into that shuttered room, that he didn’t just wish
them peace and breathe into them the Holy Spirit of God? He
also showed them his wounds – the marks of the nails in his hands
and the wound the sword had made in his side. We usually think of
him showing his wounds to Thomas, one week later — Thomas who
wanted proof that the figure before him was really the same Jesus who
had died. But on this particular evening, the evening of the
resurrection — Thomas was not actually in the room. He
wouldn’t encounter the risen Christ for another eight
days. So what surprised me this week, as I read this passage,
was to realize that Jesus showed his wounds to the assembled disciples
on that very first night he revisits them. Why would he
do such a thing? What was the point? And the more I
thought about that, the more I began to believe that he shows them
his wounds to give them a glimpse into their own future.
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For no less than the gentle foot washing they will do for others, being
wounded themselves by a world that doesn’t yet know Jesus will
be part of their lives . . . For we are
all vulnerable. We are all wounded. He had actually told
them that three nights before, just after he had washed their
feet. “If the world has hated me,” he had told
them, “they will hate you too.” Yet here he
is – risen from the dead, well and whole again — though
his wounds are still visible. So all of this – washing
the feet of others and being wounded themselves – will be part of
their experience as they follow in his footsteps. The servant
isn’t greater than the Master. Yet right in that experience
lies the possibility of redemption and healing.
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It’s one of those paradoxes of our experience as
Christians. We stop along the way to help someone — maybe
someone who needs a word of encouragement. Or maybe it is someone
who has been more severely wounded. No matter the gravity of the
situation – it’s right there that God the Holy Spirit meets
us – working through us, speaking through us to give that weary
one, that wounded one whatever she needs. For it is right
there — where someone is in need, someone is hurting — that
we find our Lord in this world. We find him when we stop to help
some wounded one in need. And the paradox is that as we stop to
help that one, praying our Lord will work through us to comfort or to
heal – we ourselves are touched. We ourselves are refreshed
and healed. We ourselves find joy and peace.
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That’s the good news of the Resurrection. Suffering and
wounds might still be with us. In fact, some of those wounds may
be our own. But Jesus Christ is with us too. And his
presence, his healing makes a world of difference.
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Amen.
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