Leap of Faith
John 20:19-31
Books sometimes have a preface. So does today’s sermon—words from the lead editorial in the Arkansas Democrat Gazette, Easter Sunday, 2007:
He Is Risen.
Morning has come.
Awake!
Some will not, for Easter is also the story of Thomas, who still dwells somewhere within us, whispering: “Except I see in his hands the print of the nails . . I will not believe.” Would he, could he, believe even then? For he is still trapped in his own physical senses, a prisoner of his own barred mind. He doesn’t seek faith but certainty, which is something different and so much less.
We still need to be told: “Thomas, because thou has seen me, thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”
[“Easter Morning,” Arkansas Democrat-Gazetter, April 8, 2007, p. 4J.]
At one time or another, many of us have been in a group or committee where a facilitator has been invited to come help the members work together more effectively. In my case, it was the administrative staff of the private school where I was Dean of Faculty. By common agreement, I was viewed as the visionary of the bunch. The “big picture” person. I could make the leap from the germ of an idea to its fruition and visualize the steps necessary to achieve the desired result.
Not so my fellow administrator, whom I shall call Bob. His objections didn’t stop with “it won’t work” or “we’ve always done it this way.” If we were to initiate any change, he needed concrete examples of how students and staff would be affected, statistical evidence to help project the outcome, and a flow chart outlining the most detailed of steps involved in implementing the plan. In short, Bob demanded a full-scale blueprint and a guarantee of success.
It will not surprise you to learn that we drove each other crazy. Why did Bob have to compartmentalize and quantify everything? And, of course, he was thinking, “Laura’s off in the wild blue yonder again, so ready to believe that anything is possible.”
From such an aforementioned facilitator, I learned a lot about myself and Bob. Overly simplified, I arrive at decisions based on my reaction to the people around me, to emotional input, and a gut feeling that something is do-able and “right.”
Bob, on the other hand, requires data–hard, fast data. He needs to touch, feel, see, hear, and taste the evidence before hopping on the bandwagon. His approach to problem solving is more intellectually based, whereas I’m all about having people “feel good.” No wonder we didn’t view challenges in the same way.
Bob sounds very much like Thomas, the Doubter, whom we heard about in today’s Gospel, and I more closely resemble the disciples who, almost from the beginning, were willing to accept the happy outcome. Which are you?
Let’s review what has happened with the disciples following that first Easter. John tells us that on that very evening, “the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews.” [John 20:19]. Then an astonishing thing happened: Jesus came to them, greeted them with “Peace be with you,” and proceeded to show them the evidence of nail holes. Despite the “other-worldly” nature of Jesus’ appearance among them, the gathered disciples accepted the miracle and rejoiced.
However, Thomas wasn’t present to witness this phenomenon. When he rejoins the disciples, he faces two challenges: inclusion and his own skepticism.
Recall how you feel when you are conspicuously late to a meeting or a social gathering. You enter the room, and everyone stops talking and stares at you. Then when they do speak, you realize that they’ve gone on without you and what they’ve discussed or decided in your absence may or may not make sense to you. You are odd man out.
When Thomas belatedly joins his friends, before he can even adjust to his surroundings, they excitedly converge on him to share the preposterous news. “We have seen the Lord!” they say.
What must Thomas have been thinking at that moment? “Have they been drinking? Has cabin fever affected their sanity?”
He has certainly not seen Jesus. Nor have there have been any miraculous eye witness reports circulating in the streets of Jerusalem. Those in the room are his friends and he has trusted them in the past. But this claim? It defies a thinking man’s reason. And so he, the odd man out, demands proof. “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” [John 20:25]
A week passes, during which Thomas surely continues to doubt the reports of his fellows. They are all daft, as any logical person would conclude.
There is no way, then, that Thomas can be mentally prepared when, despite a barred door, Jesus again materializes before his disciples. Seeing into the heart and mind of Thomas and recognizing his skepticism, Jesus invites the doubter to put his finger in a wound, examine the nail-scarred hands and place a hand in the master’s side. What a look must’ve passed between the two as Jesus says, “Do not doubt but believe.” [John 20:27]
In the face of such indisputable sensory evidence, Thomas breathes the wondrous words of recognition and acceptance: “My Lord and my God!” [John 20:28]
It is not just my friend Bob who resembles Thomas. At one time or another, we all do. Doubt is so much easier than faith; doubt requires nothing of us. And admittedly there are many arguments for remaining a doubter. I don’t want to be judged as a gullible fool. If I were to believe, something might be asked of me that I’m not ready to give. To believe, I might have to risk journeying farther into the unknown. It’s safer to dwell in doubt.
But what if it’s all true? What might I lose by my failure to respond to Jesus’ invitation to believe?
Contemporary culture capitalizes on doubt: mega millions have been grossed from The DaVinci Code craze and more are being made from James Cameron’s documentary concerning the alleged discovery of the tomb of Jesus and his “family.” As recently as early this month, Newsweek devoted ten pages to what it referred to as “The God Debate”—a discussion between a Christian and an atheist concerning the validity of religion.
Self-proclaimed prophets of our time market books, tapes, and workshops all based on the premise of self-actualization, on the belief that within you is the power to save yourself. “Look at me, look at my success,” they claim. “I am living proof of the efficacy of [fill in the blank with whatever means to fulfillment they espouse].
Jesus, however, says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” [John 20:29 ]
This kind of believing involves a leap of faith, but it is a leap worth taking. Listen to this story told by noted theologian Henri Nouwen at the 1994 General Convention of the Episcopal Church.
Speaking with boyish enthusiasm, Nouwen recalled a time when he was in his sixties and his elderly father came to visit him in Freiburg, Germany. Looking for something to do, they decided to go to the circus. There were the usual clowns, elephants, and horses, and they were okay, but much more exciting to Nouwen were the five trapeze artists who, he says, took him off his seat with their astonishing feats. Imagine — five people who jumped into the air and made incredible dances totally in open space.
That night, with childlike glee, Nouwen recognized his true life’s ambition: “That’s it! That’s what I’ve always wanted to be! A trapeze artist!” He turned to his father and said, “You go look at the animals. I want to talk with these people.”
He introduced himself to the trapeze troupe, the Flying Rodlis, and told them what a fan he was. “How do you do it?” he asked in amazement. “How do you do it?”
So taken were the five trapeze artists with Nouwen’s genuine interest that they invited him to come to their practices and performances. Then when they left Friebourg, they asked him to travel with them for the remaining week of his vacation. Which he did, thrilled to learn more from the three flyers and two catchers.
The longer he watched the Flying Rodlis, the more awed he was by their talent. One day the leader said to Nouwen, “Everyone applauds when I make my double somersaults, my triples and salchows, but the truth is, the real hero is the catcher.”
Picture the catcher on a moving catch bar, flying upside down, back and forth, back and forth. From the safety of the lofty pedestal, the flyer leaps with abandon into the air, performing his dazzling twists and turns.
“Henri, my friend,” Rodli said, “the greatest mistake a flyer can make is to try to catch the catcher. Once you have executed your somersaults, finished your tricks, you must stretch out your hands, close your eyes, and trust in the catcher to pull you to safety.”
Living is like that, Nouwen concluded. We live in faith that after risking some precarious life jumps and making a few leaps of the heart, we can stretch out our hands, close our eyes, and know that we will pulled to safety by the catcher.
Because, like Thomas the Doubter, we all know who the catcher is. “My Lord and my God.”
AMEN
Laura Shoffner
April 15, 2007
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