Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
April 23, 2006
John 20:19-31
In his poem, “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front,” Wendell Berry’s mad farmer warns against the love of, in his words, “the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay,” against a cautious, even fearful, life that makes one “afraid to know your neighbors and die.” (I just wish he wouldn’t be quite so hard on vacation with pay) Instead, the Mad Farmer exhorts us, “Every day do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord, Love the world,…Practice resurrection!”
“When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked…” It would seem that the disciples are having a little trouble practicing resurrection. There they are fearfully hiding in a locked room. Mary has already brought them the wonderful, unbelievable news, that she has seen the Lord, risen from the dead. But her testimony fails to penetrate their fear-driven reality. Maybe they don’t believe her; maybe they simply cannot imagine what her words mean. Maybe the good news of Jesus’ resurrection, the good news of Easter is simply too overwhelming for them. But for whatever reason, they remain prisoners locked in their fear and guilt.
I’ve shared this story with you before, a story told by preacher and New Testament professor, Thomas Long. “Many years ago, a friend told me that his young son was a great fan of both Captain Kangaroo and Mister Rogers. The boy faithfully watched both of their television programs. One day it was announced that Mister Rogers would be paying a visit to Captain Kangaroo. The boy was ecstatic. He could hardly believe it. Both of them, together on the same show! Every morning he would ask, ‘Is it today that Mister Rogers will be on Captain Kangaroo?’ Finally the great day arrived. The whole family gathered around the television set. And there they were – Mister Rogers and Captain Kangaroo together! The boy watched for a minute, but then, to everyone’s amazement, got up and left the room.
“Puzzled by this, his father followed him and asked, ‘What is it, son? Is anything wrong?’
“To which the boy replied, ‘It’s just too good. It’s just too good.’”
Maybe that was the issue for the disciples. They chose to stay in a locked room because the news of the empty tomb, of Jesus’ resurrection, was too good, too good to be true, too much to assimilate all at once. We’ll never know for sure, maybe they were just afraid. But this we do know: Jesus doesn’t wait for them to come to a decision. Suddenly, he is there among them, saying at once the most ordinary and absurd thing – “Peace be with you.” It was the most common greeting of the day, it is what people would say to each other in the street, Peace be with you.” But this was hardly an ordinary situation. For the disciples, it had hardly been an ordinary few days. Peace? It had to sound like some kind of joke.
In the words of United Methodist minister, Kristen Grant, “For Jesus, these words are neither a salutation nor an attempt at ironic humor. They are the fulfillment of a promise. The last time they were together, Jesus told his disciples that, regardless of what they were threatened with in this world, they would share in his peace. But simply saying it had not made it so. Now Jesus Christ, the risen Lord, had come back to make good on that promise.” “Peace be with you.” He says it not once, but three times.
“Peace be with you, for the bonds of death are broken.”
“Peace be with you, for the bonds of sin and guilt are broken.”
“Peace be with you, for there is more to this world than meets the eye.”
In Grant’s words, “The peace Jesus offers is no anesthetic for the soul, no greeting –card platitude about the sun behind the clouds. It is the beginning of a new world, the long-awaited world of God’s shalom. It comes with freedom from fear, sin and death. Jesus opens the door that the disciples had locked, and, like the mad farmer, he shows the way to resurrection reality. They will now share both his power and responsibility, offering the good news that God’s grace can wash away the old life and put a new one in place.” They will be called to move out from whatever locked door they’re hiding behind, to move out and to practice resurrection.
In 1963, eleven-year-old John witnessed the marriage of his mother to her fifth consecutive alcoholic husband. It took only a few months for John to discover that this was also the fifth consecutive husband who would hit his mother and abuse him and his younger brothers and sisters. John’s mother had instructed him to hide his siblings and himself whenever the ranting turned to rage. Sometimes that worked. Sometimes it didn’t. One night, when the crashing of furniture and his mother’s screams began, John hid his sisters in the closet and his brothers under the bed. But this time John didn’t want to hide. He ran into his mother’s room to protect her, to stop the hitting, to do something. And so his stepfather turned on him. But before many blows had landed, John heard an explosion and the beating stopped as the man fell to the floor. In his mother’s hand he saw the cold steel of a gun.
Now, what chance does an eleven-year-old have in an environment like that? Not much, not much… it would seem pretty hopeless. But someone across-town didn’t agree with that evaluation. One of Benjamin’s closest friends was a public defender who told him the story of John and his family. Benjamin knew he had to try to do something. No matter what the odds, he just couldn’t let it go. He and his wife went to John’s the house with food, clothing, a few toys, and the offer of a ride to church on Sundays. The children accepted all four offers. When they first came to church, there were some stares, some grumblings, and some rough moments. But many members received John and his siblings warmly. John found most of the talking and sitting boring, but he also found things he enjoyed. They did have donuts after church! And they invited him back.
Benjamin spent a lot of time with John and his family. It was not always easy or comfortable. John’s mother married two more alcoholic and abusive men before dying when John was just twenty. John and his siblings received help and helped each other. Today two of his sisters teach school. Only one brother followed the destructive path of his stepfathers. And John? Well, last Sunday, John preached his 31st Easter sermon. In the care and persistence of Benjamin, and of that church community, John experienced first hand what it means to practice resurrection. A door of hurt and pain and fear was unlocked and new life was unleashed. “Every day do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Practice resurrection.”
Today’s gospel says that the disciples cowered behind locked doors, fearful of what tomorrow might bring, terrified about the power of the forces of evil that threatened to overwhelm them. In their defense, again, they had lived through a terribly brutal, bloody week. And I can understand what they were feeling. The world can be a fearful place. And, in case we didn’t know that, many of those in power and certainly the media today seem only too happy to remind us. Be afraid, we are told, be very afraid. Staying behind the locked doors of our homes, and of our hearts, can seem the safest thing to do, the best way to go.
Then Jesus came and stood among them, speaking a word of peace. And what is Easter if not Jesus coming to us, reaching out to us across the great, dark abyss of death, and telling us to be at peace? What does that mean for our fear? What does it mean for our seemingly endless search for safety and security at all costs? I’ll yell you what it means, and it is a radical, dangerous notion: it means that we can let all of that stuff go. We are so worried about a future that he has already secured the future for us.
What have I to dread, what have I to fear
Leaning on the everlasting arms.
I have blessed peace, with my Lord so near,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.
That is why we gather today, that is why we sing, why we dare to have hope. For here is a hope that is greater than us or our means of dealing with the world, this is a hope based not upon us or what we do, it is a hope based upon God and what God has done.”
At the end of Toni Morrison’s classic novel, Beloved, Paul D tells Sethe, both of them, former slaves, burdened with a past of unspeakable pain, “Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.”
That is precisely what the risen Lord offers those fearful disciples and each of us… some kind of tomorrow, a tomorrow that makes a full life today possible. Dare to open the door. Love the Lord. Love the world. Practice resurrection.