Solidarity of the Resurrection
Gathered here in the mys’try of this hour. Gathered here in one strong body. Gathered here in the struggle and the power, Spirit, draw near.
This morning we get to read the powerful story of Thomas. In order to engage it better, it’s important to remember the context in which Thomas and the resurrected Jesus interact. Our text for today directly follows the story of Mary Magdalene encountering Jesus in the garden. That text begins: Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb…
Our text begins: [w]hen it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors were locked where the disciples were, for fear of the religious authorities…
Our story about Thomas happens only hours after Mary’s discovery of the resurrection. And, perhaps more importantly, it is just a few short days after the trauma of the crucifixion. Most of the disciples are locked behind closed doors, hiding in terror for fear that the Roman authorities or religious ones will come to arrest them like they did Jesus. It is important to note that they are the ones who have run away and hidden, some even denying Jesus, instead of bearing witness to Jesus’ crucifixion like Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Salome, and John did.
Jesus does reveal the resurrection to Mary first, the one who was able to bear to stay with Jesus at the foot of the cross, to accompany him through his deepest pain, even when she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Her bearing witness to crucifixion means she is first to bear witness to resurrection, that is true.
But the Resurrected One isn’t deterred by the disciples’ fear, nor their betrayal. Instead, Jesus enters into their deepest fear, appearing to them behind the doors they’ve locked and offers them neither anger nor rebuke… Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you.”
We don’t know where Thomas is at this point. Is his terror even deeper than his kindred? Is he too scared to be associated, even behind locked doors, with them? Is he so ashamed of having fled that he can’t bear to be seen? Is he in despair that the movement to which he has given his life for these last intense and transcendent years has been shattered in the matter of a few hours and he is immobilized? We don’t know.
I imagine that someone, Mary perhaps, goes and finds Thomas and brings him back into community. I imagine that she says to him, you can’t do this grieving alone, come be with us. Or maybe Thomas realizes this on his own. But for whatever reason, he returns to his kindred and they share with him their experience: yes, the crucifixion is real and we are still devasted, but life is stronger than death… the resurrection is also real.
But [Thomas] said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in Jesus’ hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in Jesus’ side, I will not believe.”
And like his kindred’s fear and betrayal, the Resurrected One does not scorn Thomas’ grief or despair. Instead, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then Jesus said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered Jesus, “My Lord and my God!”
I have always loved this story… there is something about Thomas’ need for embodied, palpable assurance that his beloved is alive… there is something about Thomas’ need to be seen in his grief and despair… there is something about Jesus’ offering of their wounds… here, here are my hands where Empire sought to kill me… here, here is my side where the forces of pain and suffering sought to prove they had succeeded. It really did happen, I was gravely wounded. But that death-dealing cruelty, that pain was not the final word. Resurrection is. Resurrection for me and for you…
I walked into the grocery store in the summer of 2024, thinking about my shopping list. I didn’t even see him. So I was a little startled when he asked, “did you have a knee replacement?” Pulling my mind out of my list, I looked up and saw an older African American man leaning on a cane. “No, I actually survived a serious car accident.” “Oh, my, praise God you are alive,” he said. “I had a knee replacement and I am so grateful to be walking. The pain was so bad for so long, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to get around again,” he said. “I hear you,” I said, “I almost lost my leg, but they were able to save it and rebuild it. I feel so grateful to be alive and walking.” He put his hand on my arm and said, “bless you, sister, I will pray for you and your continued healing.” I touched his hand on my arm and said, “I will pray for your healing, too.”
We have lived through a winter of deep sorrow, suffering, and violence… so much has been destroyed. Lives shattered, lives snuffed out, hundreds of millions of dollars of damage… Our collective wounds are still very much visible. And our collective grief and exhaustion are palpable. Our collective experience of suffering and grief has changed us.
We have also individually been through some things. Some of us have had surgeries. Some of us have had projects we’ve spent years on destroyed, some of us have lost loved ones.
I love the way Janet Morley describes this reality:
The bodies of grownups
come with stretchmarks and scars,
faces that have been lived in,
relaxed breasts and bellies,
backs that give you trouble,
and well-worn feet:
flesh that is particular,
and obviously mortal.
They also come
with bruises on their heart,
wounds they can’t forget,
…And yet I think there is a flood of beauty
beyond the smoothness of youth;
and my heart aches for the grace of longing
that flows through bodies
no longer straining to be innocent,
but yearning for redemption.
Resurrection does not take away the pain of the crucifixion. The grief changes us forever.
But I find great comfort in the fact that God knows in God’s body what it means to suffer and die at the hands of Empire’s cruelty. That carnal knowledge, that knowing in God’s own body what it is to be mortal, and targeted, gives birth to a solidarity with our suffering, particularly with the suffering caused by oppression.
God embodied in the Resurrected Jesus came and found Mary and revealed themselves by calling her name. God embodied in the Resurrected Jesus came and found the disciples, hidden away, terrified and revealed themself by showing their wounded hands and side and offered a blessing of peace.
And God embodied in the Resurrected Jesus came and found Thomas, meeting him where he was, knowing that to offer him peace, Thomas needed to touch and feel the evidence of woundedness and healing.
All of these are stories of the pouring out of healing and grace… God with us in our deepest pain. And God with us, still bearing the body of a grownup who’s been through something, but having been resurrected.
My experience with the man in the grocery store isn’t universal. Sometimes people see me and look away from my scars. I don’t know why, but they can’t go there with me. Maybe they think they’re saving my dignity. But I always long for those connections when my grownup body is seen and met. I long for those times of encounter and blessing when we’ve known that being mortal entails pain and is so hard sometimes. And we also know that there is a beauty in the power of healing, of love’s power being stronger than death, in the solidarity of resurrection.
Amen.
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