St. Paul’s Church in
Bergen, Jersey City NJ
April 23, 2017
April 23, 2017
Year A: The Second
Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:14a, 22-32
Psalm 16
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31
The Wounded God
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Last
week we had the most amazing Easter celebrations here at St. Paul’s.
I
think they were about as perfect as anything we’ve ever done, about as perfect
as our worship can be.
This
place always looks great, but on Sunday it was a glimpse of heaven.
I
loved looking out at so many people, so many diverse and beautiful people, who
came to church for many reasons, I guess, but, in the deepest parts of their
hearts, they – we – were here for
Good News, for the best news of all time:
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
The
music at the Easter Vigil and the 10:00 Easter Day service was about as good as
it gets – and at 10:00 we started with the premiere of our Children’s Bell
Choir.
When
I heard those beautiful tones rung by our beautiful kids, I knew everything was
going to be just fine.
And,
of course, there were the baptisms.
What
an honor and a blessing to baptize Liam and Luca McCahill at the Vigil (who
were pretty good sports during a long service that went way past their
bedtimes) and then on Easter morning to baptize Luca Thompson who gave a nice
loud cry as he officially joined our Christian community.
I
could go on, but, thanks to the hard work of some dedicated and loving people,
it all really was amazing.
On
Sunday afternoon, despite being pretty tired, it felt like I practically
floated out of church.
It
really was Easter.
And,
since Easter is more than just a day, since Easter is a whole season of fifty
days, it’s still Easter today.
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed!
It’s
still Easter for us and in today’s gospel lesson it’s still Easter for the
disciples.
Actually,
for them, it’s Easter evening.
But,
unlike us, they’re not joyful, at least not yet. For the disciples, it must
have been a most confusing time.
These
closest followers of Jesus were still understandably afraid of the authorities,
afraid that what had happened to Jesus was now going to happen to them, so
afraid that they kept the doors locked.
But,
at the same time, some of them had seen the empty tomb, and by now all of them
had heard the stories of something unexpected, had heard that maybe God had
made yet another unexpected turn, made the most unexpected turn of all, raising
Jesus from the dead.
When
I try to visualize the scene, I can imagine the room as very quiet but I can
also imagine the room filled with lots of chatter as the disciples traded
stories, trying to make sense of what had happened, of what was happening.
Suddenly,
into this most confusing scene, steps the Risen Christ.
A
locked door is no obstacle for him.
“Peace
be with you,” he says.
And,
then, notice what the Risen Christ does next: he shows his wounds, shows his
wounded hands and his wounded side.
Jesus
knows that the disciples will recognize the Risen Christ most clearly by his
wounds.
This
is still the same Jesus, risen, transformed, and wounded.
The
wounded God.
Of
course, not everybody was there that night to see the Risen Christ.
The
Apostle Thomas was absent and when the other disciples tell him about seeing
the Risen Lord he famously doubts them, and knowing the disciples’ track
record, I’m pretty sure we would doubt them, too.
But,
Thomas doesn’t just doubt. Thomas insists that he will only recognize Jesus by
his wounds:
Thomas
says, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in
the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
And,
sure enough, we’re told that a week later the Risen Christ appears again to the
disciples, and this time Thomas is there.
The
Risen, but still wounded, Christ shows Thomas his hands and his side – and
that’s all the apostle needs to see.
In
joy and shock, Thomas cries out the truth, saying more than he probably
understood, “My Lord and my God!”
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
The
disciples recognize the Risen Christ by his wounds.
This
is still the same Jesus, risen, transformed, but still wounded.
The
wounded God.
You
know, if we were God, if we were writing the story, I bet that
after Easter, we’d make sure that Jesus’ wounds were completely healed, that
they vanished without even the faintest scar, right?
But,
no, the wounds of Jesus remain, reminding us of the cross, reminding us that,
in a sense, God is wounded, too – reminding us that, if we look, this wounded
God can be seen in the wounds, and among the wounded, all around us.
So,
yes, last week we recognized the Risen Christ when we gathered for our Easter
celebrations, when we heard the glorious music and smelled the fragrance of the
flowers, when we washed three children in the water of Baptism and when we
heard the Word of God and received Christ’s Body and Blood.
But,
if we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ on
Good Friday.
If
we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ when we
were joined by a man whose wife had just died a few days earlier in a very
public and tragic way, a man who couldn’t think of a better place to be than
walking with Jesus and walking with us.
If
we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ when we
walked up and down the streets and sidewalks, sidestepping broken glass and
gaping holes in the concrete, past some well-kept homes and many more in
disrepair, as we were watched by people hanging out of windows or hanging out
on corners, trying to make sense of this strange spectacle.
If
we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ in the
faces of at least two grieving mothers who walked with us, two women still
mourning the senselessly violent deaths of their sons, whom they loved so much.
If
we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ, at
each station, at each place where a brother or sister was injured or killed, dying
for not very much at all, so many wounded and wasted lives.
If
we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ, in the
police officers walking and riding with us, men and women who go to work each
day not sure if they’ll make it back home, cops who, at the end of our walk,
all came forward to gratefully to receive a blessing.
As
the Apostle Thomas understood, if we look, we can recognize Risen Christ in the
wounds. We can recognize the Risen Christ in the wounded – and not just on Good
Friday.
Last
week, on Easter Day, while you and I were still floating after our beautiful celebrations,
there was yet another shooting in Jersey City, a shooting that left a nineteen
year-old young man dead and a ten year-old girl seriously injured.
If
we look, we can also recognize the Risen, but still wounded Christ, right there
at that bloodstained spot on Ocean Avenue.
And,
the wounds are not just a result of violence and murder.
If
we look, we can recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ in the wounds of
the people around us, the people who are so disappointed by how their lives
turned out, the people who are so afraid of the future, the people mourning
lost loves, the people regretting the roads not taken, the people who couldn’t
work up the courage or the energy to be here with us last week.
And,
yes, if we look, we can recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ in our
own wounds, in our own woundedness.
Last
week the Risen Christ was especially present here in this beautiful place, but
the Risen Christ was and is also always especially present in our wounds.
The
wounded God lives among - and loves - all of us wounded people, breaking
through locked doors to say, “Peace be with you.”
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Amen.
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