A Fourth Church Sermon by Jocelyn C. Cadwallader

April 19, 2009 | 6:30 p.m. Vespers

Poetry or Novels?

Jocelyn C. Cadwallader
Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 133
Acts 4:32–35
John 20:19–31

This evening’s text comes from the Gospel of John. This Gospel is the latest to be written and was written in a specific Christian community in the late first century. At that time, Christians were undergoing painful separation from the Jewish society to which its members had belonged. This community of believers felt alienated by the world in which they existed. They endured expulsion and disciplinary action from the synagogue authorities for their belief in the risen Christ. For some, this punishment only emboldened their confession of belief, while others remained in the synagogues as secret Christians. With an understanding of this climate of tension, we can see how the Gospel of John was written not to convert outsiders but to inspire members of the community to maintain their belief during a troubled time. However, the message through the symbolic presentation of Jesus as Light of the world and Bread of life was and is necessarily attractive to not only believers but also nonbelievers.

The language of this Gospel is rich in symbolism and subtle shades of meaning. Paradox and irony are common. And by the time this Gospel was written, ideas about Jesus had changed. The community’s ideas about Jesus changed after Jesus’ lifetime on earth, and John describes this development as the work of the Holy Spirit. The Gospel focuses on the belief that in Jesus, God entered into human history to save human beings. And the expression of this is embodied in the symbolism and paradoxes of this Gospel.

The aim of the Gospel is stated in the end of text we are working with this evening. Verses 30 and 31 of the twentieth chapter declare, “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” This just might be a touch of clarity at the end of a long, grace-filled and yet difficult story.

This evening, we hear of one individual’s experience in coming to belief. We are talking about Thomas, commonly labeled “Doubting Thomas.” Though he receives little attention in the other three Gospels, the Gospel of John believes his story is one that deserves attention. Throughout the Gospel, John describes Thomas as eagerly seeking proof that Jesus is the Messiah. In the eleventh chapter, he is with Jesus, eagerly encouraging Jesus to go to Lazarus to raise him from the dead so that he may see the miracle and believe. And in our story this evening, we hear how he required the evidence of the marks of the nails in Jesus’ hands and side to believe. But what is also present in the text, which is often not as emphasized by preachers, is that though Thomas boldly asks for evidence of the messiah, Jesus willingly fulfills the need that Thomas has to come to belief. We are offered a distinct picture of how Jesus will meet us where we are.

Tonight’s text is a continual crescendo, with every word, every experience building on, shedding light on the one before it. The first section of this text focuses on the ten disciples and their encounter with Jesus. The disciples are locked in a house, and Jesus appears suddenly and mysteriously. He establishes his identity with the disciples, who are obviously and easily convinced. He offers his charge, sending them into the world, to go outside of the locked doors and continue his mission to the world. Jesus equips them with the breath of the Holy Spirit, for strength and sustainability, fulfilling earlier promises. This scene marks the beginning of the church as a body inspired by the Spirit of Jesus and dedicated to the spreading of the gospel.

Then the disciples go to tell their brother Thomas. He is skeptical of their news. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to believe it. His response seems defiant, even a little sassy, but was he really? Thomas was a sure man. He didn’t have much poetry in him, was a matter-of-fact kind of guy. He was devoted and loyal to Jesus. And now he was at a loss. He didn’t have the hope that the others had. His test, his challenge to Jesus, sounds arrogant, almost cruel. But he stood with his feet firmly planted on the ground and would not be rushed into fully believing what he wanted to believe. He had believed before, just as the rest of the disciples, and was still feeling the agonizing pain of disappointment. He wasn’t about to rush into believing again, only to have his heart broken once more. He needed evidence. (You know, I wonder if this story was the one that precipitated the saying, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me”?) At this point, Thomas had felt wronged, almost duped, into believing that Jesus was the Christ. He wasn’t about to put all of his eggs into one basket as he had done before.

So a week later, Jesus appears to Thomas and offers to be touched. He offers his hands, his side, to Thomas to touch so that he may believe. Jesus meets Thomas’s challenge, just as he had met challenges throughout the Gospels, blowing the unbelief out of the water, shutting the unbelief down. Jesus offered, once again, an experience that could not be disputed, could not be argued with. Another miracle occurred in the presence of humans, and there is no room for unbelief any longer. Christ is risen, and now Thomas can see Jesus with his very own eyes and believe.

Have you ever had that experience—the kind where you may have heard an outlandish story or heard of an outlandish thing and just couldn’t believe it unless you saw it with your own eyes? I know I certainly have. Uh, snow in April, Disney World-style lines of people waiting to get into church on Easter Sunday, (clear your throat) the Cubs winning the World Series—I won’t believe it until I see it! Now these are all things that may or may not have a huge impact on one’s life, but in Thomas’ case, well, he had much more at stake in seeing. He needed to see to believe. His life as he had come to know it depended on seeing to believe. And Jesus met him there.

It is at this point that the climax of the Gospel takes place. Thomas might have been slower getting to the starting line, but at a bound, he leapt ahead of all the rest and reached the full truth. Thomas’s eyes were opened, and he declared Jesus as “My Lord and my God!” He had seen Jesus as he really was: the Christ, the Son of God. Through him, he had learned to know God as God is, sure that if Christ’s life was one of uninterrupted selflessness and his character pure and full of grace that spent itself ungrudgingly for others, so must God live and so must God be. And seeing that life grew another thing for Thomas: New standards were thrust upon him. New possibilities leapt into view and offered themselves to him. With such a Savior representing such a God, the old way of things would no longer do. Thomas was being fashioned into a new type of being, was becoming a new creature living in a new world, endowed with Christ. Jesus, “My Lord, my God!”

Jesus’ final word to Thomas puts seeing Jesus, much less touching him, in proper perspective, as Jesus, in effect, pronounces a blessing upon the church of the future for which he has already prayed. Another beatitude is offered. “Blessed are those who have not seen, yet have come to believe.” Jesus claims that there is deeper faith out there. A faith that can dispense without tangible proof, without visible evidence, believes unafraid and confident on God’s naked word. Those who can believe undauntedly, in utter darkness, when all seems lost, are blessed by the Lord for that faith that does not require confirmation. But who does he mean by this? Who has this deeper faith, sight unseen?
Is he simply speaking about the future generations of Christians? Christians who exist in a time after Jesus had physically departed from the earth? Perhaps. But I’m not sure it ends there. I’m not sure it could be that finite.

For centuries, Christians have admonished Thomas and held him up as an example not to follow. “Do not doubt, but believe,” Jesus said to him. And we claim to have learned our lesson from Thomas. We won’t ask to see to believe. Surely we can believe without the evidence. But when it comes down to it, I think we are a people who continue to seek the evidence of Christ to believe. We, like Thomas, continue to look for firsthand evidence that Jesus is risen. And Jesus recognizes this. He meets us in those places where we need to see him, presents his wounds before us, and offers us God’s peace. He appeared to the disciples when they were afraid and had locked the world outside, and he offered his peace. He showed up to meet Thomas in the place he needed Jesus most and offered him God’s peace. And today he shows up to meet each of us in the places we need him and offers what we need in order to believe more deeply.

The other day, when I was eating lunch with some colleagues, we discussed ways in which we learn best. One colleague said that she enjoys reading novels. She enjoys reading a novel and then coming together with a group to discuss the book, the themes, the nuggets of knowledge and insight the author revealed to her. This type of reflection feeds her soul. And I shared that that’s not exactly my cup of tea. I would rather sit down with a group and read a poem. I’d rather read a poem together and reflect together on the perspectives from which we approach the poem and the emotions the poem evokes. This type of reflection feeds my soul. And, this, as you can imagine, was not her cup of tea. Both of us are seeking deeper reflection, deeper understanding, deeper faith. We are of one heart in that. But we have different approaches, different styles of learning, different ways of entering into engagement with our faith. And in our differences, more of the mystery of how diverse God is is revealed to us.

I have doubted. I have hurt and I have lost faith and I have asked God for some evidence to hang on. And I have seen Jesus. He met me there. Here in the church, in the Body of Christ. We come to see evidence of Christ. We are searching, and we have heard of places to find evidence. We know that “the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and not one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.” I gain knowledge through reflecting on poetry with a group. My colleague gains knowledge by reading novels or books and reflecting with others on insights. And we come together and share that knowledge with one another, for we do not possess that apart from one another.

And so we gather this night not just to worship God and to find fellowship with one another, but we come seeking further evidence of Jesus. We believe, yet have a desire for deeper faith. Yet we are untrusting. We will not be easily fooled, as Thomas had felt. We do not easily break down the walls protecting our hearts. And so Jesus comes to us. Understanding our nature and our needs, Jesus comes to us, as he did Thomas, so that we may believe more deeply.

Collectively, we have seen Jesus when we have come to the table together. We break bread, just as Jesus did with his disciples, and we see, with our own eyes, the unifying presence of Jesus. And in our times of personal struggle, heartache and woundedness, we see the compassionate Christ when we are weeping and someone hugs us, when we are desperate and someone cups our face and reminds us we are not alone.

So this beatitude that Jesus offers at the end of this passage is not a condemnation of those who doubt; it is not a condemnation of those who have a need for evidence to believe. The very purpose of Christ’s presence in that room allows us to find comfort in God’s willingness to meet us when and where we need that for deeper faith. This blessing is a statement of recognition of those who do not have the opportunity to see Christ—those who are marginalized or oppressed; those who don’t feel welcomed by the church, by a faith community, yet still are able to believe; those who find themselves alone, ostracized, or up against a wall too tall to see over yet still have hope in faith in Christ. Those are the ones Christ offers blessing for. “Blessed are the ones who have not seen but have come to believe.” And at the same time as this blessing is offered, Jesus’ charge to the disciples, to the church, is to bless those who believe without seeing.

So let us go out into the world. As the Father sent Jesus, so Jesus sends us. We have been blessed, sight seen or unseen. And peace be with you—always. Extend this peace. Build Christ’s church on this peace. Open the doors. Open your eyes and see Christ before you. And believe that Christ knows your needs will meet you there. Amen.