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Through Locked Doors
A sermon by Rev. Steve
Booth
Associate Pastor, First Baptist Church, Richmond, Virginia
Easter Sunday, March 23, 2008
I don't know about you,
but I'm ready for Easter.
As a church, our family of
faith has been journeying through the Lenten season over these last 40 days, in
what we call our “Journey to the Cross” services. We've traveled a winding
path, pausing at intersections to reflect on some dark places. In fact, as part
of that journey, our ministerial staff has been sharing during those services in
a confessional way some of our own intersections with life around the themes of
words like wandering and doubt, fear, impatience, despair, and hopelessness. In
many ways we allow these feelings to become barriers to meaning and
hopefulness.
I've been taken with the
series of stories that have been shared by some of our members on our church web
site. If you haven't been there to read those and to experience those stories,
I encourage you to do so. So far about five folks have shared, and each week
our media ministry, under the leadership of David Powers, is sharing and telling
their stories.
I was particularly struck
with one of those stories. In fact, in all the stories, I see that there is
this idea that there are those things in these people's lives that have kept
them from experiencing the fullness of Christ, so to speak, ways in which
they've locked the doors of their lives and kept Christ out.
One of those stories is
told by Charles Luger. Now, Charles's story, to give you just a bit of it, was
that for many years -- in fact, 13 years -- he came and sat right where you're
sitting, as a faithful spouse to support his spouse who was a committed
Christian and member of our church. He did that out of love for Kim. It was
his way of saying, “I care about you, so I'll be here to support you in
something that's important to you.” For 13 years he was faithful in coming. He
calculates it was about 600 sermons that he sat through. That's a feat in
itself.
Thirteen years, though,
and 600 sermons later, this is what Charles said. “Christ found me sitting
there in a pew, and he knocked, and I invited him in. Even though low points
and challenges still come my way, I have never experienced greater peace,
security, and happiness since Christ moved into my life.”
Charles is ministering
this morning at one of our cameras as he now finds his way into the life and
ministry of this church.
I would ask that you would
take your Bibles now as we look and explore locked doors that the disciples
experienced in that first day of the resurrection.
Turn to John 20. This is
the same chapter that Lynn read from earlier telling the first part of the
story, the arrival of Mary and then later Simon Peter and the disciple that
Jesus loved. We believe it to be John. They've already been to the tomb, have
seen that the body of their Lord is not there, and we know that Mary's
experience a little bit more, but we'll talk about that in just a moment.
But if you'll let me
continue the story in verse 19 of John 20.
On the evening of that
first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked
for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with
you."
After he said this, he
showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the
Lord. And Jesus said again, "Peace be with you. As the father has sent me, I
am sending you."
And with that, he breathed
upon them and said, "Receive the holy spirit. If you forgive anyone his sins,
they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven."
Now Thomas, called
Didymus, one of the twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came, so the
other disciples told him, "We have seen the lord." But he said to them, "Unless
I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were and put
my hand into his side, I will not believe it."
A week later his disciples
were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were
locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you."
Then he said to Thomas,
"Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my
side. Stop doubting and believe."
Thomas said to him, "My
Lord and my God."
Then Jesus told him,
"Because you have seen me and have believed, blessed are those who have not seen
and yet have believed."
This is the word of the
Lord.
Did you hear anything in
that passage about locked doors? And did you pick up the possible keys that
Jesus used to unlock those doors? We know that in that moment, Jesus found his
disciples, his chosen ones, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews. What
kept the disciples barricaded behind locked doors on that first evening of
Easter day? What kept them out of the streets? Was it the fear that someone
might say, “There he is, he's a follower of Jesus, get him, crucify him!” Thus,
in today's gospel lesson, we find the disciples of Jesus hunkered down in fear.
For three years they have
crept along behind Jesus on the Galilean highways and byways, and they tried to
understand his teachings, although at times it had not been easy. They had
heard of him speak of himself as the Christ, the Messiah, and the Holy One of
God, who was one with the Father.
In the earlier reading
that Lynn shared, we discover they knew already that Jesus was risen. They had
heard the eye-witness accounts of at least Simon Peter and John about his body
not being there. They had heard Mary proclaim her encounter with Jesus in the
garden. And they had, over the years they had spent with Jesus, witnessed many
great miracles performed by him. Peter had himself managed to walk on water
with the help of Jesus, and every one of the twelve faithful followers had
brought healing to the sick in Jesus' name. Each one had commanded demons to
come forth from the possessed, and many more had eaten of the bread that seemed
to never end, the bread and the fish brought to Jesus by a small boy to help
feed a crowd of thousands.
The disciples had
witnessed much. They had taken part in much. They had been commanded much to
do by the master. But all that seems distant now, only a dream after this
horrible nightmare of the past week.
Can you imagine? Can you
imagine the trauma of seeing the one you thought to be the Savior of the world
terribly beaten and whipped and crucified? Now Jesus' dead, lifeless body has
been placed lovingly in the tomb. Pilate, harangued by the Jewish leaders, had
even filled the tomb with the stone and stationed armed guards outside the tomb
so there wouldn't be any chance that someone would come along, steal the body,
and then claim that this king of the Jews, had arisen from the grave.
Three days later, it's the
first day of the Jewish workweek, the first day when Israel, including the
disciples of Jesus, are attempting to get back to normal, albeit after a
particularly bloody weekend. But this is not to be. A deadly hurry, a deadly
hurry to get back to business as usual will be disrupted by the resurrection.
Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb while it is still dark, John tells us.
Darkness has been a time in which Jesus has performed some of his most notorious
wonders. Mary, though, is literally in the dark.
Note, though, that the
story begins with a woman, a woman who boldly ventures forth, even in the
darkness. Mary Magdalene notices that the stone has been taken from the tomb,
and apparently assumes that the body has been stolen. Unfortunately, this is
the first in a long series of misunderstandings that the disciples had about
what had happened in those moments after Jesus' crucifixion, those days after
that horrible, horrible Friday. She goes and tells the disciples, his body is
gone and I don't know where they have put him.
And so we see Simon Peter
and the disciple that Jesus loved -- we believe that to be John -- dashing out
of the room and down to the tomb, and they arrive after a breathless run. Simon
Peter, as we might expect, is the first one to dare to enter the tomb, the
darkness of the tomb, and there he sees the linen cloth that had encased Jesus'
body and face carefully folded and placed by themselves. The careful placement
of the cloth is an interesting narrative detail, one in which it is especially
important to note in John's gospel but throughout scripture, because when
details are noted, they are very important. Contrasted with Lazarus coming
forth from his grave, still wrapped in the grave clothes in which he had been
prepared after his death, we still see Jesus experience the resurrection with
these neatly folded places of clothing at the tomb, maybe an indication and a
way of communicating that Jesus' body had not been stolen.
When the second disciple,
the one who Jesus loved, followed Peter into the tomb and sees the
circumstantial evidence, it says in the scripture, he saw and believed. But
what he believed is not clear, for it seems that he still holds on to the idea
that the body may have been stolen. For the scripture says he did not yet
understand because he did not know the scripture. When the disciples at that
point, after noting that Jesus' body was gone, returned to their homes, back to
their home, they believe but they go back to business as usual, back to the
sweet, numbing reassurance of the mundane and the everyday, the predictable and
the stable.
If there is a
resurrection, it is obviously not some projection or wish fulfillment on the
part of the grieving disciples. They are quite comfortable to chalk all this up
to the power of death. Stealing the body is simply one final indignity worked
upon crucified Jesus and his followers. But note, Mary stayed, weeping. She
stoops down to look again into the tomb.
Mary remained in grief,
but as she was there, God provided for her a visitation by two angels. The
angels don't have a message for her but just a question about her grieving.
Mary turns around and sees someone else standing there, someone whom she does
not know. Seeing is not yet believing until the figure speaks to her. Even
when the risen Christ speaks to her, she does not know. Understanding, even
that which comes through hearing, is hardly self-evident or immediate, for she
thinks that the one speaking to her is the gardener. Then Jesus calls her by
her name, "Mary."
That's all he says. He
does not tell her about his resurrection. He simply calls her. Yet at that
moment of vocation, of calling, she hears, she sees, she understands, she even
yet calls him the endearing word teacher. We see that although Mary's beginning
to understand, she still yet has not proclaimed him as Lord. And she moves
toward him, and Jesus says, “Do not hold on to me.”
See, the risen Christ is
on the move, and now Mary must be on the move. She goes back to the
unbelieving, these yet-unseeing disciples at the command of the Lord, and she
preaches to them, “I have seen the Lord.” Then she told them that he had said
these things to her. In John's gospel, this woman is the first evangelist, the
first preacher of the resurrection.
Mary's two-point sermon is
a summary of all good Christian preaching. I have seen the Lord, and here is
what the Lord has told me to tell you. If we would hear that, too. Have you
seen the Lord, and what has he told you to tell others? For Mary, seeing is
believing, but only when seeing is accompanied by speaking. For Mary, a vision
of the risen Christ is also a commission, a vocation, an assignment from the
risen Christ to go and tell.
Please note that John does
not report the response of the disciples to Mary's sermon. We are told what
Mary, the first preacher, did and said but nothing of how the congregation
reacted to her words. It can probably be assumed that that was an indication of
their disbelief. John says the disciples gathered that night, the night of the
first day of the week, in a house. Maybe it was the same place they had
gathered with Jesus on that night that he shared with them what would become his
last supper with them. This is the evening of the same morning that Mary and
Peter and John discovered the master's body missing from the sealed tomb.
Wandering in the dark
night of their grief, they are cowering now for fear behind locked doors. The
same authorities who had killed Jesus may now be after Jesus' followers. And
the doors are locked tight. They were powerless people. Their frail faith
could not be made formidable simply by declaring, “We have seen the Lord.” They
could not be made stronger by another requirement from the redeemer, they could
not be made dedicated through demand.
Certainly Jesus knew
that. And so he did something else. When he appeared to them, he not only
blessed them, saying, “Peace be with you.” He not only told them, “As the father
has sent me, so I send you.” He breathed on them. And he said, “Receive the
Holy Spirit.” And by his presence, by his command, by the breath of life in
him, he gave the breath of life to them. As one commentator puts it, he gave
power to the powerless.
Now to you and me. We
often share these feelings of hopelessness, the same kind of feelings that the
disciples huddled in the upper room experienced, cowered with, at least until
the Spirit came to them. You know a lot of people that live in fear. They fear
dying, they fear losing their jobs, they fear flying or sailing, they fear
thunder and lightning, they fear snakes or spiders, they fear big animals or
they fear little animals, they fear getting lost or running out of gas, they
fear closed spaces or big crowds or tall ladders, they fear people or
conversations or loneliness or silence.
It isn't hard for us to
imagine ourselves in that room. We, like the first disciples, often lock
ourselves in and the world out when we are threatened or wounded or grieving.
Susan Brill tells the
story of the death of her friend's son. When he died after a long and
courageous battle against cancer, his mother literally locked the doors of her
home, drew her drapes, and unplugged the telephone. She would not open the
cards of condolence from her friends or accept the gifts of food or conversation
they offered.
“I crawled into my grief,”
she later said, “like a child crawls under the blankets during a thunderstorm.
I pulled my sorrow up over my head and curled into a ball, hoping I too would
wither away from the pain.”
The rising of the sun each
dawn seemed to mock her as if it were declaring that life was going on in spite
of her son's death. “Eventually I fell in love with my grief,” she said. “I
worked as hard to keep my grief alive as I had once worked to save my son. I
was afraid to let it go. It seemed to be the only thing I had left. I was much
more afraid of discovering I could live without him than I was of my own
death.”
I imagine that you too
could tell a story about a grief you could not let go, about a pain that you
kept alive, an anger you fueled, or a grudge you nursed because it seemed to be
the only thing you had left. Perhaps like the grieving mother, you also locked
out the world, blocked out the tender compassion of friends, and drew your
drapes against the dawn, making the room of your life a tomb. Perhaps, as it
was with her, so it is and was with you. It is not dying that you fear so much
as living.
Like the first disciples,
before the Spirit came, we are often fearful, and in our fear we cling together,
spiritually hiding ourselves away behind closed doors, behind locked doors, as
it were, so that what little energy, what little resources, what slender hope we
have left might be kept safe. We are fearful because the whole matter of God
and of heaven and of resurrection and rebirth just seems a little too much to
believe in.
I mentioned earlier the
stories of those who have shared about the different things in their lives that
had locked them in to their own little safe place. In some cases it was
alcohol. In other cases it was an experience, a negative experience in church
in which just the presence of being in a church felt like it was an unsafe
place. You and I know the places that we've locked out God, locked out his
presence.
But see, that's the story
that John is bringing us this morning. In the final analysis, it is a story of
how the risen Christ pushed open the bolted door of a room, where a group of
fearful disciples huddled in fear, with absolutely nothing to give them hope, of
how the risen Christ enters the fearful chambers of our lives and fills the void
with his own life. In the case of each of these that share their story, they
talk about how even though they tried to find a safe place, they saw Christ
continuing to come to them, always interceding, always wooing, never forcing
himself, but always inviting them to open the door.
Jesus comes to us. Jesus
always comes. He comes when we are full of doubt and disbelief, as Thomas was.
He does not push us away but bids us draw closer still to know his suffering and
to receive his peace. Jesus comes, as Jesus always comes, with a word of
forgiveness, the grace that unbinds the knotted heart, the love that loosens the
bonds of death, the gentle power that unlocks the doors we shut and swings them
wide open, revealing God's startling inbreaking feature.
The disciples could not
stay in that room, safe and familiar though it was. They would suffocate there
if they stayed, and Jesus knew that, and he opened the doors. Jesus sent them
into the very world they feared, and the fresh air of the feature that they
could not see, saying, as the father has sent me, so I send you.
Just so, Jesus sends you
and me today. He breathes into us the deep peace of his Holy Spirit. Jesus
unbinds us from the fear that haunts us, the pain and grief we have fallen in
love with, the shame and guilt that holds us captive, even the doubt and
disbelief that keeps us from entering God's future and hope. Jesus frees us in
order that we might forgive and free others in his name.
As Jesus bent to wash the
feet of his disciples, astonishing them with the sign of the inbreaking reign of
God, so Jesus stoops is to serve us. He speaks your name and he speaks my name
as he spoke Mary's name, calling us to turn from grief and turn again toward the
dawn, that we might proclaim with her, “Christ is alive.”
We have seen the Lord, and
he sends us out of our safe and familiar rooms with towel and basin in hand to
live as servant friends, pouring out our lives for the world God so loved.
The risen Christ is still
with us, my friends. Give thanks to him, knowing that he has risen to new life
so that He is here now to bring new life to all of us. He is here and he will
bring that life, even though there be locked doors in his way. Christ is
risen. He is risen indeed. Hallelujah!
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