Sermon at The Church of the Holy Apostles, New York City
March 30, 2008, The Second Sunday of Easter, Year A
Andrea Dedmon
Acts 2:14a, 22-32
Psalm 16
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31

     Alleluia.  Christ is Risen!

     The Lord is Risen Indeed.  Alleluia.

     Here at Holy Apostles, we can say Alleluia with such with such fervor—such enthusiasm.

     But I wonder if the disciples’ alleluias were so loud.

     Remember the death of Jesus?

     Remember how he was so brutally and unjustly killed by the Empire?

     The reality of the execution of their beloved teacher, prophet and friend--this would never leave the minds of those first disciples.

     And yet, after their beloved Jesus had been dead for three days, he somehow re-entered their lives.  He somehow, somehow was with them again.

     Two of the disciples had encountered his empty tomb.

     Mary Magdalen had met him in the garden.

     And now, the community of disciples had gathered together.  And locked the doors.  The ones who had loved Jesus were afraid.  Their leader had been executed publicly.  And now, these stories about his body being gone from the grave  . . . about meeting him in the garden . . .

     Alleluia?

     And then, someone enters the room.  Unannounced.  He hadn’t been there before, and no one had opened the door.

     Peace be with you.

     The disciples looked around blankly.  Who was this person?

     But then, Jesus extends his hands—bruised, hollow, and still crusty with blood.

     He pulls off his robe—revealing the gaping lance wound in his side.

     That was what the disciples needed.

     Only now, seeing the wounds in his body, are the disciples able to rejoice.

     Only when Jesus shows them the physical parts of his body that were damaged in the crucifixion, do they recognize him as Lord.

     In other resurrection stories, the disciples recognize Jesus when he breaks bread, or when he calls them by name . . . but in this story, the disciples recognize Jesus only when they see his crucifixion wounds.

     Though we Christians dub Thomas as the “Doubter,” his so-called doubt was no different from that of the other disciples. They all need to see Jesus’ wounds to recognize his resurrection.

     Let’s imagine ourselves to be in Thomas’s position . . .

     We’re still so deeply shaken by the arrest, hasty trial and disgustingly brutal crucifixion of our beloved teacher—we’re afraid, and angry and overwhelmingly sad.  We need time alone to sort through our feelings.

     Then, when us Thomases rejoin the others who had loved Jesus . . . they are somehow filled with the hope.  Though these other disciples of Jesus are still the same, they are somehow different . . .

     They eagerly tell us about Jesus appearing in the midst of them, Jesus—that same Jesus they loved, that same Jesus who died on the cross—that same Jesus, still bearing his wounds--bringing them peace, filling them with his holy breath.

     Do you believe them?

     Do you believe it when others tell you he is not dead?

     Well.  If you’re Thomas: No.  Jesus’ death is the one thing that seems certain to you right now.  His suffering is the only thing that seems potent.  It is the only thing that seems real.

     “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and trust my hand into the wound in his side, I will never believe.”

     The resurrection can only be real if Jesus’ resurrected body still bears the wounds of his suffering and death.

     Jesus recognizes Thomas’ real need to see his wounds.  Yes.  And this physical witnessing of Jesus’ wounds in Jesus’ resurrected body enables Thomas to declare,

     “My Lord and My God.”

     For the resurrected Jesus to be real—I must, like Thomas, see his wounds.  I don’t believe and I don’t want to believe in some plastic super-hero, some Zeus or Hercules, or Superman or maybe Glenda the Good Witch, would you?  These heroes don’t suffer.  Their bodies don’t bear wounds.  No.  They’re not like me.  They’re fixed up by those computer animator people.

     Throughout our Christian history, the resurrected Jesus always bears the wounds that Thomas so desperately needed to see.  We tell this story again and again every year because we too, need to witness the wounds of Jesus.

     Suffering is—and continues to be--so real in our world.  It can almost define our sense of reality.  War.  Genocide.  Poverty.  Mental illness.  Hunger.  Social inequality. Political Corruption. Broken Families.  Addiction. Racism.  Homophobia. Fear.  Loneliness.

     As Christians, we recognize that this is not the ultimate reality.  Our story never ends with the crucifixion of Jesus.

     We are a resurrection people.

     But because we are filled with hope, this doesn’t mean that we are called to dismiss the reality of death.  Our faith is not a Pollyanna, happy-go lucky, beautiful-because-we’re-plastic faith.

     No—our life-giving savior brings life out of death; the same body that was tortured and crucified stands alive in our midst, breathing into us a new creation.

     And this wounded life-giver calls us to do the same.

     Listen.

     When Jesus appears to his disciples in that locked room, he tells them, “Even as the Father has sent me, so now I send you.”  In calling us to be his disciples, Jesus invites us to be like himself.  “Even as the father sent me, so I send you.” 

     Like Jesus, we have been wounded.  We may have experienced depression or addiction.  Perhaps we’ve struggled with relating to others or been in abusive relationships.  Some of us have been ignored, brushed aside or even hated.  We may be or may have been homeless or helpless.  We don’t know what the future will bring.  And we can feel lonely and afraid.  Spiritually, I’m also sure many of us may have felt dry, abandoned or even angry at God.  Yes.  There are so many things we have struggled with and do struggle with.  And these things are so real.

     But Christ breathes into our wounded bodies just as the Creator breathed life into the first human.

     There is hope, even where all things seem hopeless.

     There is life, even where there only seemed to be death.

     I’m sure that each one of us has experienced some of these little resurrections in our own lives. 

     Maybe you’ve learned to love yourself in the midst of your struggles with depression and feelings of worthlessness.

     Maybe the physical illness you have struggled with has enabled you to reconnect with God and with the ones you love.

     Perhaps you have discovered the work that is really important to you only after you had been laid off multiple times.

     Each of us has our own story of how new life has emerged in the midst of seeming death.

     In some sense, we must be like Thomas in only being willing to recognize that new life is real by witnessing the wounds out of which it emerged.

     The Gospel of John invites us to trust that new life can always emerge out of death.

     It calls us to hope that even within our wounded existences, God will still bring forth life within us.

     Christ invites us to believe that our faithful lives of action and prayer will bring forth new life within this wounded world.

     And so we can say Alleluia.

     Our wounded Christ is risen.

     He is our Lord who is Risen Indeed.  Alleluia.

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