Paschal Peace

 

Jesu Juva

St. John 20:19-31                                                              

April 16, 2023

Easter 2A                                                                    

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

          It’s good, right, and salutary that we continue to greet one another with those words today.  After all, it’s still the Easter season—it’s the second Sunday of Easter.  Easter—part two.  Easter—the sequel.  The paschal candle remains lit.  Every Sunday—every first day of the week, including this day—is an Easter celebration.  And last but not least, today’s Holy Gospel takes us right back to last Sunday—right back to the very first Easter.

          My love for history leads me to engage in a little thought exercise now and then.  And the exercise goes something like this:  If given the ability to travel back through time to be present to witness one particular event in human history, what would you choose?  Would you want to witness something Martin Luther did, perhaps—see him nailing those 95 theses to the doors of the castle church?  See him stand before the Emperor, confessing, “Here I stand.  I can do no other?” 

          Or perhaps you would go back even further—to the time of Christ.  Would you go back to the first Christmas—to see the shepherds and hear the angels sing “Gloria in Excelsis Deo?”  Or would you opt for a front row seat as Jesus raised a widow’s only son from the dead—or would you plant yourself outside the tomb of Lazarus, to witness Jesus raising his dearest friend from death?  It would be nearly impossible—wouldn’t it?—to pick just one time-travel destination.

          This little thought exercise came to mind as I was studying today’s holy gospel reading.  What would it have been like to be with the disciples on that first Easter evening—to be cowering hopelessly behind locked doors—filled with fear?  St. John doesn’t tell us exactly who was there; although we know that Judas was dead and gone, and Thomas was famously absent.

          What we know for sure is that there were ten wounded men gathered behind locked doors—ten terrorized, traumatized men—men wounded by what they had witnessed on Friday, when they saw the Lord they loved brutalized and tortured and executed.  Or did they see it?  Some of them didn’t.  Most of them, in fact, didn’t see it.  And this is also is why they were so deeply wounded as the darkness gathered that evening.  They were wounded with shame and sorrow for what they had done—for their sin!—for how they had abandoned Jesus and denied even knowing Him.  The Shepherd was struck; and the sheep had scattered.  As disciples, they were all faithless failures.  They had treated their Lord with contempt and cowardice.  They had sought their own personal safety and they had forgotten the promises of their Savior.  Ten wounded men.

          But then Jesus came and stood among them.  Had there been a knock at the door?  Had someone accidentally left the door unlocked?  Did He come in through the window?  No.  Jesus simply came and stood among them and said to them:  Peace be with you. He could have reprimanded them—scolded them—rebuked them for their lack of faith.  But fresh from the grave and risen from the dead, Jesus said:  Peace be with you.  Those were the words; but those words weren’t all.  Along with those words, Jesus showed them the wounds—His wounds.  To these ten wounded men Jesus showed His wounds.  He showed them His hands and His side. 

          At that moment, those ten wounded men were healed.  By the words and by the wounds of Jesus, those men were healed, forgiven, restored.  They were filled with Paschal peace.  With the risen Lord standing before them in the flesh, they knew that His teaching was the truth.  They knew they could believe and trust completely in everything Jesus had taught them.  He had promised that He would rise from the dead; and now the risen Savior stood before their very eyes, living and breathing.  If Jesus got that right, then on what point could He possibly be wrong?

          Oh, that we were there!  Oh, that we were there in that room at that moment to see those ten wounded men transformed from trauma to triumph—from fearful to faithful—from cowardice to confidence.  If only we could know the paschal peace that comes from the wounds and the words of Jesus!  If only we could have the certainty that they had—to be made fearless by forgiveness—to be transformed by the paschal peace of the Prince of Peace.  Of course, we can’t do that.  We can’t go there.  Time travel is impossible for us.

          But not for Jesus.  With Jesus all things are possible, are they not?  Could not the risen Christ who comes among His people behind locked doors—also come among His people within these doors and these walls and these windows?  He can; and He does.  This sacred space is where wounded sinners gather weekly.  This is the place where the risen Christ comes with His Words and His wounds, bringing paschal peace and Easter joy.

          Beloved in the Lord, behold I tell you a mystery:  the resurrection appearances of Jesus continue today among us, at this altar.  Here the risen Christ comes among us in His body and blood.  No, there is no knock at the door.  Jesus in His glory is not bound by time or space or by the boundaries that confine us.  He comes to heal your wounds by the power of His wounds.  He comes to place His words of forgiveness in your ears.  He comes to fill your heart with peace.

          This is what our liturgy teaches us in that sacred exchange we call the Pax Domini—the peace of the Lord.  After the pastor consecrates the elements, he takes the bread that is the body of Christ—he takes the wine which is the blood of Christ.  He elevates that heavenly food and drink, and he says:  Peace be with you.  [Sing:] The peace of the Lord be with you always.  And right there you—you gathered here—you have the essence of Easter—Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, bringing you the peace and forgiveness of sins He earned for you by His suffering and death.  If you want peace—if you need peace—you can’t go to the cross and get it.  Your time machine can’t take you there.  But Jesus—He can bring it to you here and now.  Here Jesus comes with His words and His wounds to bring you peace that passes understanding.

          This is why you should never miss church.  This is why you should never pass on the opportunity to receive the risen Lord when He comes among us.  But don’t take my word for it.  Look at what happened to Thomas.  He wasn’t there.  Thomas missed it all.  For Thomas there were no words and no wounds, no peace and no joy, no Jesus and no faith.  We call him “doubting” Thomas; but his problem wasn’t doubt; it was unbelief!  Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.  Thomas was the man who missed Easter; and the results of that absence were terrible and toxic.  That first Easter Sunday ends on an ominous note.

          This is why we need Easter part two—Easter, the Sequel—the Second Sunday of Easter.  For one week later, the Risen Christ returns for the sake of Thomas, who was dear to Jesus, and loved by Jesus, and precious to Jesus—just like you are.  Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side.  Do not disbelieve, but believe.  Thomas could only conclude that this was the real deal—the genuine Jesus.  No ghost.  No apparition.  Flesh and bone, body and blood.  My Lord and my God! 

          And those wounds were the clincher—the glorious proof of His love and sacrifice for you, still visible in His resurrected body.  By those wounds we are all healed.  Those wounds forever mark Jesus as the Lamb who was slain.  Jesus didn’t take Thomas back through time to rescue him from sin and unbelief.  Jesus went to where Thomas was—with His words and His Wounds.  And He does the same for you.  His wounded hands and side for Thomas; His holy body and blood in the Lord’s Supper for us—same thing—same, blessed, sacred thing. 

          And then comes a blessing from our Lord—a blessing not for Thomas, but for all of us:  Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.  Blessed are you on this second Sunday of Easter, that you believe Christ is risen from the dead.  You trust that although your sins are as scarlet, yet Jesus makes them whiter than springtime snow in April.  No, we don’t get to see like Thomas saw.  But blessed are you who have not seen and yet believe.  Blessed are you; for you will see soon enough.  The peace of the Lord be with you always.

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