Which is more important—the head or the heart? We begin by thinking about
this question on the basis of pure physiology—which body part is more important—most
essential. Science and doctors have come close to creating an artificial human
heart. Certainly we have varying degrees of success at keeping damaged hearts
working and thus the patient alive. The brain is more elusive—even when
we keep the brain functioning as an organ we do not always succeed in keeping
the mind operating. The ravages of Alzheimer and various forms of dementia in
our aging population regularly remind us that a functioning brain may not mean
the mind is in tact. (Some would say this is a condition that most parents first
encounter in their teenagers.) We know too well the struggle of dealing with
questions concerning when life ends for those medically identified as showing
no measurable brain activity. We are a complex creation—characterized often
by the contrast, tension, or maybe paradox of being creatures of both the head
and heart—a description that is not so much a matter of being physiologically
true as much as it defines the two poles or spheres of our daily existence.
Today is a day that finds our thoughts and feelings drawn to an intriguing juncture. Any one who has been around the church for more than a couple years knows that the Sunday after Easter is often referred to as “Doubting Thomas Sunday” because the Gospel lesson for this day is always the same. Unlike all the other Sundays of the church year whose lessons follow a three year revolving cycle from the various four gospels. This Sunday after Easter always contains the reading about the disciple who was missing when Jesus first appeared after his resurrection. The natural starting point for most preachers is to note that Thomas clearly established a time honored tradition repeated by successive generations of those who attended Easter and then are found to be missing. It is so tempting to read this story making excuses for Thomas or trying to guess what was going on in his mind and heart. What does it take to convince you that something is true—real—a fact by which you can live? Will you accept the descriptive truths or will you have to do your own observing? Does it depend on the source—which news station would you believe? The most recent presidential election provided a classic example of the challenge our world makes to the truth—by what criteria and using whose judgments does a vote actually count. Which news agency first reported the truth about the election results. What is the truth? We may feel many things about the way it all turned out. Believe whatever you want about the election—the ultimate truth is determined by who takes the oath and sits in the Oval Office.
The details were repeated by numerous disciples to Thomas—Jesus was alive. But consider the source—a bunch of emotionally distressed and paranoid disciples—a bunch of fishermen stranded on the land—some revolutionaries with a collapsing cause —disciples so lost without their leader that they locked themselves in their room. This was not the beginning of a new faith community but the final despairing acts of those witnessing another failed dream. Thomas welcomed the hopes and dreams of the other disciples—certainly he wanted Christ to be alive as much as the next disciple—but he wanted no illusion or fantasy—he wanted a real risen Lord—wounds and all to prove the triumph over death real. To the credit of Thomas he was open to the possibility of the seemingly impossible—certainly even the other disciples were not fully persuaded of the power of the risen Christ. A week later when Christ again appears—the doors are still shut to the world—this is an intensely private struggle for the disciples —to believe the impossible—to take the greatest desire of the heart and embrace it as truth—to act on it as fact made no rational sense and yet ... The Christ was risen—Jesus alive. That was certainly what they all wanted to believe—that the promises and words could not die. But wanting to believe something is quite different from knowing it to be true—or is it?
I regularly remind the confirmation students that we live each day more by faith then most of us are willing to admit. Every time I enter a darkened room and reach for the light switch it is an act of faith—I believe in the power company—the flow of electrons called electricity—the durability of a light bulb to burn forth once more. The confidence of my faith in the light switch of course is so high that some would say it is a fact—a truth. I live my life believing—and living the truth into my faith—I believe that gravity will always be there to keep me safely in place and the Pepsi in my pop can—I believe that green means go and red means stop—I believe that promises of contracts and agreements and faithfulness and honesty and love will be kept providing value, direction and meaning to my live. To live by faith—I stood looking at the concept drawing proposed by our building committee—a voice beside me asked—“Pastor, do you really believe we can build that?” The answer to that question is an answer of faith—the church unlocking its doors —entering the world —led by the Spirit in ways the often defies logic but feels so right—so believable. The church lives and acts in faith.
Yesterday I received an internet update from the director of our Lutheran Disaster Relief programs—Gil Fuerst reported on events over the last six months since 9-11—in the midst of New York and Washington DC communities scarred by death and disaster—he reported that $3.1 million had been passed through Lutheran agencies to families and individuals in need. But more then meeting immediate and short term needs—he reported that the church is also providing assistance in the form of a long term commitment to some 35 children in 16 schools who survived their firefighter, police or working parent being killed in the September disaster. We as a church have committed ourselves to seeing these children all through to graduation—an up to 8 year commitment that these children can believe in. Thomas struggled with his faith—what to believe—who to believe. It is part of our human condition—to go looking for God—especially in times of trouble. The mistake we make is believing that God needs to be found—Thomas does not find the risen Christ—Jesus comes to him. Grace finds us—it is a gift of the Spirit. We may try to control it—reason with it—try to shape it to fit our world. Thomas wanted to see and touch the wounds—he quested after a reality that he could know—his pain needed to know another’s pain.
There is a curious comfort in the words “I know how you feel” when spoken by one who really does know—who really has been there—and yet lives. “Put your finger here,” says the risen Christ, “Do not doubt, but believe.” Somehow in this text there is a connection made between belief in the risen Christ and the scars of Christ. It is most interesting to me that being raised from the dead did not erase his scars. The Christ of Easter bears the scars of Good Friday. There seems to be implied if not directly stated an understanding that at least part of what revealed Jesus to the disciples were his scars. Think on that—Easter, the stunning triumph of God, the great victory over death and defeat, does not erase the scars. Thomas challenged the other disciples with a demand that this Jesus—this Christ—be real—not some dream or ideal illusion—not some divine hovering above the earth—removed from the real struggles of life that each of us must live—not some other worldly angelic presence Early in the history of Christianity there was a heresy or false teaching known as docetism Docetism was the belief that Christ, the Son of God, did not really suffer on the cross, —did not really live as we must live—He only appeared to suffer—only appeared to die—only appeared to be human. The early creeds were written to reject such false teachings and affirm that Jesus was fully human and the gospel text is proof—scars and all.
To be human is to have scars—many have them inside and out The chronicle of our lives is a record of the moment when we were scarred In this congregation no one other than my wife has ever seen me without a beard (not even my children)—and that means that no one is this congregation knows what I look like without it. No one in this congregation has ever seen the scar I wear just below my lower lip from an injury I suffered as a child when I fell and my top front teeth cut through my lower lip—Later I was told I should have had stitches—And I have my scar. One of our sons has a scar on the top of his head from a carelessly thrown rock—One of our sons has a scar from a fall he had when he was younger he also has the surgical scar from having his appendix removed and his life saved—Two of our sons have scars that only an x-ray can show—of the broken but now healed collar bone stronger at the point where it broke because of the scarring of the bone. Of course not every scar—in fact, probably most scars are not physical—there are the scars of emotional, psychological and even historical moments. Currently the papers are filled with reports of those who bear the scars of abuse at the hands of clergy in a church that refused to admit to the marks of pain. But there comes a time when the marks of pain are too real to ignore—and it is time to admit that such pain may come from a misguided belief about the role of women and God’s gift of sexuality and the use and abuse of authority. Again this morning the papers report of the violence in the Middle East—of scars ripped open in anger and violence—scars that long for a healing touch that goes beyond logic or words. There are some who think that Easter is only about the glory and the power and perfection—that because Jesus was raised from the dead on Easter the cross makes everything perfect—as if after Easter the world began over again with no connection to the past—but the risen Christ had nail holes in his hands—Thomas touched the scar. The Christian faith does not deny the pain—the reality of the wounds—our faith goes on in the name of the wounded Christ—the risen Christ was known by his wounds.
When a new pastor comes to a congregation—when we came
to Holy Spirit 10 years ago—one of the first things that some members shared
with us were the stories of the wounds—those moments in the past that somehow
marked a person’s life—and more often then not that is one of the
ways by which we came to know many of you. As a community of faith we do not
pretend that Easter has taken away the scars—we are still people even after
Easter who must struggle to deal with issues of daily life—we strive to
have meaningful and productive lives—have loving and caring relationships
with family and friends—and sometimes we are scarred—marriages fail—disease
enters our lives—children or friends disappoint us—the stress of daily
life seems to overwhelm us with too many things to do in too little time with
not enough money for the things we really should do—and we are wounded—and
there are scars. And Jesus said, “Put your finger here and see my hands.”
We would like our lives and our faith to be as pretty as any Easter outfit can
be but this day is not just about Easter—it is also about Good Friday.
And the meal we share is an Easter meal only because of what happened on Good
Friday The lilies are already quickly fading and for some, so is their faith
that is why Jesus came—scars and all that we might know that even a fading
faith can find new life in Him. Our scars may be the greatest proof of all that
God cares. Our scars may be the greatest source of our witness to the grace
of God that even with our scars we can live and live more abundantly then ever
before. Jesus said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put
your finger here...do not doubt but believe.”
Amen.