I usually don't tell funny stories in sermons. There is a danger in telling a funny story—all you will remember is the funny story and nothing else I say. But I heard a true story this past Tuesday at the monthly clergy breakfast that caused me to think about how we witness to our faith, given the everyday lives we live.
Here's the story: Retired Bishop of Maine, Chilton Knudsen, had been invited to Ss. Andrew & Matthew for the end of Holy Week and Easter. She was given the task a preaching a “grab bag” sermon for the children. Children bring items from home and place them in a bag where they can't be seen. Then at the time of the children's sermon, the preacher draws an item from the bag and has to form an extemporaneous sermon about the item and preach it immediately. No one was surprised, I'm sure, on Easter Sunday when a stuffed Easter bunny came out of the bag. One can imagine what flitted through the bishop's mind. Perhaps she thought, “This is the ultimate symbol of springtime, secular Easter, so what can I say without hurting the feelings of the child who brought it?” Her answer was not only appropriate for children and adults, but also theologically sound. She said, “Oh, this is the bunny that hatched from an egg this morning and shouted, 'Alleluia.'” With the bishop, we understand that all creation rejoices in God, the creator, who overcame death and the grave in the resurrected Jesus.
Yes, the resurrected Jesus gives all creation new hope. The author of the first letter of Peter wrote the words we heard read this morning: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead . . . Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy . . .” And what can you say, but “Alleluia?”
Sometimes we can even say, “Alleluia,” without a word. Someone posted a video on YouTube yesterday of one of the vergers doing cartwheels down the red carpet of an empty Westminster Abbey. Was he rejoicing, because he and the other staff at the abbey had managed the royal wedding without any apparent mistakes? Or perhaps it was a true alleluia in the glorious magnificence of that holy space where people have worshipped since the 13th century—and have prayed for about 1,000 years? Or perhaps both!
Weren't Jesus' appearances, first, to the gathered and fearful disciples and, then, to Thomas, when he had finally arrived to be with the other disciples, “alleluia” moments? John reported that on evening after the resurrection, Jesus came to those people who had been his disciples. In experiencing the risen Christ they lost their fear of the religious authorities. John reported, “the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.” But Thomas, who was not with the others at first, refused to believe that Jesus had been raised from the dead until he had seen Jesus—and touched his wounds. Jesus came again, willing to let Thomas touch the wounds. Then, Thomas believed, and in an “alleluia” moment confessed, “My Lord and my God!”
In this brief gospel passage that focuses mainly on the interaction between Jesus and Thomas, there are glimmers of the power in this resurrection appearance in what could be called the quiet “alleluia” moments. With Jesus' appearance and greeting of “Peace be with you,” the disciples’ fear seemed to dissipate. He breathed on them and offered them the power of the Holy Spirit. And then he said they would have the power to forgive sins. Do we take for granted the power of the new life Jesus offered not only these disciples, but also offers us?
To be called into community where self-giving love can overcome sins through the power of the Spirit—“if you forgive the sins of any” were Jesus' words—to be called into a community that not only loves as Jesus taught his disciples to love, but forgives as he taught them as well: I call this an “alleluia” moment!
And yet we have difficulty understanding and accepting these “alleluia” moments. We can be caught up in how bad things seem to be in our broken world to fail to see that bunny hatching and shouting, “Alleluia!” We hold on to fear of what others might do. And we tightly clutch our judgment of others—and of ourselves—to defend against all that’s wrong in the world—and in ourselves, too.
Yet Christ's peace offers us a different way, a way of new life—the opportunity to turn cartwheels figuratively, if not literally, as we open ourselves to experience both the loud and quiet alleluia moments. And in these moments, we will be led to faith. We will find ourselves freed from the bondage of sin. We can live in the abundance of Christ's peace and know, in the words of today’s gospel, that we are given life in his name.
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