A lectionary reflection for the people of Thankful Memorial, Chattanooga
for worship from home, April 19, 2020, Year A, Easter 2

Acts 2:14a, 22-32
Psalm 16
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

“By [God’s] great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead[…]  In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith […] may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed […] and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.”

On one hand, this passage from the first chapter of 1 Peter could be read as wonderfully uplifting.  But, on the other, in this time of viruses and tornadoes, it also seems jarringly judgmental.  Maybe it’s just me, but even on the second Sunday of Easter, it is a real struggle to find that “indescribable and glorious joy” that the writer of 1 Peter swears should be the “outcome of [our] faith.”

And perhaps we’re struggling because we lack the “genuineness of faith” that 1 Peter describes.  But, more likely, I think we struggle because our current “various trials” are really pretty hard.  For everyone.

So, no, joy is probably not the primary emotion any of us has got on hand right now.  Me?  I’ve got exhaustion, frustration, fear, anxiety, grief (of course), and even anger.  But joy?  That one is harder to find… 

So what do we do with the words of 1 Peter?  How do we reconcile them with our current experiences?  Is our seemingly joyless reality really our fault, because we lack genuine faith?

I think to answer that question we must turn to the Gospel of John, to the well-known story of “Doubting Thomas.”  Mary Magdalene came to the other disciples early Sunday morning, telling them that Jesus’s body was nowhere to be found.  Her report is confirmed by Peter and another.  And then, it’s evening that same day and the disciples – except Thomas – are together in a house with the doors “locked for fear” when the risen Jesus appears before them, bringing peace, and sending them out into the world.  And the disciples “rejoiced” (there’s that word again). 

But Thomas wasn’t there.  Maybe he had bravely volunteered to run to the grocery store while the others were in lockdown.  And when his friends tell him what happened, Thomas, understandably, is skeptical: “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 the next thing the gospel tells us is that Thomas gets his chance; a week later, Jesus appears again and shows his wounds to Thomas and Thomas responds with that wonderful statement of truth and belief: “My Lord and my God!”

But let’s go back just a moment.  Let’s look again at three words that you might miss at first: “A week later…”  One week.  It was seven whole days between Jesus’s first appearance to his disciples in that locked room and his second one.  As his friends “rejoiced” because they had seen the risen Lord, how did Thomas feel during that week? 

I imagine he felt much the same way we do in our reality right now.  Easter Day has come and gone.  We know the Lord is not in the tomb.  We know he has risen and defeated death.  But it’s hard, it’s so hard, right now, to feel it, to believe it, to really rejoice. 

And I imagine in that week, Thomas felt a lot like we do.  We know he’s skeptical.  John’s gospel tells us that.  He’s probably still grieving Jesus’s death and even though he’s heard about the resurrection, he must still feel the loss of Jesus more than anything else.  And now, maybe he’s also grieving the fact that he wasn’t in that room when Jesus appeared, that he hasn’t had that visceral encounter with the risen Lord.  Maybe he’s envious of his friends, maybe even angry, not so much at them or at Jesus, but angry and frustrated by the whole situation, all the uncertainty, all the unknowing, all the anxiety. 

The Thomas of this intervening week, this “doubting Thomas,” seems a familiar figure to the many of us in this viral season.  He is someone we can certainly relate to. 

And here’s something else to notice about Thomas: he didn’t know that it would only be a week.  We know that seven days later, Thomas got his chance to see Jesus’s wounds.  But he didn’t know that.  He didn’t know when or if his opportunity to encounter the risen Lord would ever come.  Just like us now, in those days, Thomas had to live in that place of uncertainty and doubt for who knew how long, even as his friends rejoiced around him. 

Kind of… Because, there’s one more thing to note about this portion of John’s gospel.  When Jesus appears before them a week later, his disciples are still in fearful isolation in that house with the doors shut tightly.  The disciples have had seven days to process their experience of the risen Lord, but that clearly hasn’t been long enough to change their fears or behavior.  They rejoiced when they first saw him; perhaps they are still rejoicing.  But their sure knowledge of Jesus’s resurrection hasn’t quite left them exuberantly dancing down every street of Jerusalem.  They’re rejoicing, yes, but they’re also still scared, still confused, still anxious – one might even say still doubtful – in some ways. 

And those disciples saw the risen Lord Jesus in the flesh.  And, except for Thomas, they saw him twice.  And still, a week after Easter, their joy is mixed with all these other complicated human emotions. 

“Have you believed because you have seen me?” Jesus asks Thomas.  “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”  Yes.  Blessed are they.  Blessed are we.  Blessed are we who have not seen and yet still expect to see, still look for Jesus in the world around us.  Blessed are we who wait patiently, through viruses and tornadoes, still trusting that the risen Lord will show up.  Blessed are we who are surrounded by death and destruction and yet hold fast to the knowledge of Christ resurrected.  Blessed are we whose faith, whose genuine faith, sees the brokenness and suffering of our present reality and yet finds reasons to rejoice. 

Because, Alleluia, Christ is risen.  The Lord is risen indeed.  Alleluia.