Gospel: John 20:19-31
I’ve been thinking a great deal recently about the process of discernment and especially reflecting on when my journey first took me to seminary 11 years ago.
I can say with absolute certainty that being a seminarian was one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. Having the opportunity to dive deeply into liturgy and theology and learn from professors who have quite literally written the books on these areas was amazing. Being part of the community at VTS gave me the chance to build enduring friendships and see that the future of the Episcopal Church is in very good hands. There was also the invaluable time spent in my field education placement in a rural Fauquier County church, similar in size and age to St. Stephen’s.
Those three years also presented challenges for me and my family. Even with a regular schedule of classes, things often popped up on the calendar that threw the family schedule into chaos. As I moved through my field education process, traveling each week more than 100 miles round-trip from home to my training parish, I knew the constant transition was difficult on the kids, who I’m sure never really felt settled.
There were also the financial challenges that came with making such a massive life change. Going from two incomes to one for the duration of seminary wasn’t easy, and the monthly budget often produced moments of stress and frustration – and even fear – for me and Amy. But in talking with my father at that time about that aspect of the seminary experience, I heard something remarkable that has continued to stick with me.
He said, “If you look back over your life, you’ll see that God was always there. Why do you think, looking forward, that he won’t be there then?”
If you look back over your life, you’ll see that God was always there. Why do you think, looking forward, that he won’t be there then?
One of the greatest challenges to faith is fear. My faith was certainly challenged by fear many times in my journey to ordination: would I get the paper done; would I do well enough on my ordination exams; would I be able to find a job after graduation. What would happen if I failed? What would happen if there wasn’t enough – enough time, enough money, enough sleep, enough courage?
What would happen if I didn’t see that things were going to work out?
There are echoes of those thoughts in today’s Gospel reading. In the days following the crucifixion of Jesus, his followers were living in a state of fear. Their teacher – their friend – had died. The new world they’d seen slowly come into being over the previous three years – the promise of God’s kingdom on earth – had suddenly been ripped away. As followers of Jesus, they’d gone in a very short period from being acclaimed as companions of the Messiah to outcasts living in hiding.
But things had started to change. On the third day, Mary of Magdala discovered an empty tomb, news she quickly shared with Peter and the beloved disciple. Amid her grief over a missing body, Jesus appeared to her and said to share the news of his rising with the disciples. In John’s Gospel we don’t hear about their reaction to Mary’s news; it’s not recorded. But there isn’t really time to dwell on it, because in the very next scene Jesus appeared to them. Well, almost all of them.
Thomas wasn’t there at that initial appearance. In the first part of the reading, he isn’t specifically singled out as missing; Jesus appeared to the disciples, without exception, who had gathered. It’s only later that it’s significant enough to point out that Thomas was in fact absent; the gospel writer doesn’t say where he was, but he wasn’t there. When he is named, it’s in the context of his learning he’d missed an incredible event. But rather than take his companions at their word, he didn’t believe.
Now I will say it’s incorrect to call him “doubting” Thomas. As one commentary points out, Thomas didn’t in fact doubt anything; what he was doing was setting particular conditions on his faith. It wasn’t enough to say, “Jesus appeared to you? That’s incredible – tell me more!” That wouldn’t have worked for him. His response was more along the lines of, “Jesus appeared to you? Prove it – let him appear to me. When I see the wounds for myself, then I’ll go along with it.”
Jesus did appear, showing Thomas his wounds – and in that moment, the conditions of Thomas’ faith were met. At this point, I must apply my father’s statement to this story. If Thomas or any of the other followers of Jesus looked back over the events of the previous few years, they’d know without question that God had been with them. So why, after Jesus had been crucified and been placed in the tomb, did they think that God wouldn’t be with them in the future? Even after looking back through the eyes of his fellow disciples and hearing Jesus had appeared to them, why did Thomas feel that, moving forward, he wouldn’t also once again be with him?
For Thomas, as it was for me and my life experience, I don’t think it was so much an issue of faith as an issue of fear.
Many of us carry fear in our lives. People struggle with health issues and financial difficulties. There are those struggling with addiction or the pain of seeing loved ones in those circumstances. Job status may be in flux. We see our children suffering through the pressures of school and simply growing into adulthood. Amid all of these, it’s often hard to see where God is in any of it. But if we look back, even if we don’t see God everywhere, I’d be willing to bet there were often small signs of God that did appear somewhere.
A friend who felt nudged to call from out of the blue to check in. A family member who watched as things got difficult and stepped up to offer help. Someone reached out to offer a temporary position to bridge the gap between jobs. A weekend away at a place of respite to perhaps do nothing more than listen to the breeze, and rest, and perhaps discover the still small voice of God in the silence that comes after getting away from the fire of your lives.
Being a seminarian was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. The discernment process enabled me to look back over my life and see the thread of God that’s been a constant running through it, binding all the seemingly disparate experiences together. But, as my father challenged me to do, it also prompted me to look at the ways God will be in my life moving ahead.
As you leave this place today, take some time to look at the ways God moves through your lives. Take time identify the moments when Jesus came through a closed door and stood with you. Consider how you, like Thomas, may be placing conditions on your faith and blocking a vision of how – and where – God will be there for you in your future.
Amen.