The second Sunday of Easter has traditionally been known as “low Sunday,” presumably a Sunday on which we have low attendance because churchgoers are worn out by attending Holy Week and Easter services. Of course if it that were the real reason, then neither Deacon Beth or I would show up because we’ve participated in as many services as all of you. Actually, I think the real reason for “low Sunday” is because what can you do after the resurrection? Anything else is about as low as you can get after the high of Easter. No wonder people stay away. What drama can you offer after the gorgeous music, the beautiful flowers, the joyful people, the crowded church and the resurrection?
And what does
the scripture in the lectionary offer us on the second Sunday in Easter? We get
a bunch of scared guys clubbed up together in an upper room and then entrance of
the disciple Thomas complete with his “show me” attitude.
So for those of
us here on this second Sunday in Easter, you might think there’s not much on
offer. It’s the same old story about the same old bunch of scared guys huddled
up to escape the authorities, the same old “show me” Thomas, and the same old
appearance of Jesus. But you know, having preached about this particular
scripture from the Gospel of John, year after year I’ve come to believe there
might actually be a reason we hear this same Gospel on this second Sunday of
Easter every single year.
It might just
be the Gospel itself is so fully packed with meaning and promise that we need
to hear it every year lest we forget who we are and what the story calls us to
do.
Our friend
Thomas is all about doubt and faith being partners in belief. And most likely
if we had been the apostles we’d have hidden out somewhere too, teetering back
and forth between faith and belief. And we might even have been just as
astonished by Jesus’ appearance as they were.
But, among the
many things in this little piece of our resurrection story that we sometimes
fail to notice, is the business about who the church is and what Jesus calls us
to do. Somehow we miss the hard little gem about forgiveness that Jesus
commands in the midst of his greeting of Shalom, or peace be with you.
Right after
Jesus greets the disciples with “Peace be with you,” he shows them his hands
and his side. Sounds gruesome, but it’s a reminder of what can happen when you
willingly give God all of yourself. No sugar coating here, just the simple
truth: this is what can happen to the good guys and gals. And right after that,
Jesus reminds them again, “Peace be with you.” But that peace comes with an
order: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he
breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
So first the
disciples are reminded of the peace that passes all understanding, the peace of
God that will carry them through whatever happens to them. And then Jesus tells
them who they are and what they are called to do. Here’s the order: “If you
forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any,
they are retained.”
That’s pretty strong stuff about
forgiveness. There’s no room to negotiate. We are called to forgive because if
we don’t, those sins will be retained. Our particular translation isn’t terribly
helpful about those “retained sins” though. I’d like to offer you something
else to think about forgiveness and sin.
In The Message, a paraphrased
translation of the Bible, Eugene Peterson translates it this way, "If you
forgive someone's sins, they're gone for good. If you don't forgive sins, what
are you going to do with them?" The writer Madeline L’Engle once asked
Eugene Peterson why that was his translation rather than the more accepted
version. Gene’s answer was, “In the Greek it can go either way. I chose that
way.”[1]
It’s instructive
for us to remember it this way. If we don’t forgive sins – including our own –
what will we do with them? If you’re puzzling over this, I can tell you what we
do with them. Those sins we have not forgiven will eat into us. Those sins will
destroy us from the inside out. Bitterness, resentment, and the desire for
revenge will become partners with anger and hate. Is this what we are called to
do? Is this how Jesus wants us to live as his disciples?
You’ve heard this quote before, “Resentment
is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.”[2] So how
long and who have we been trying to poison? Ourselves? Someone else? And what
would we, what would you, need to forgive? What would have to happen for us,
for you, to let go of whatever resentment, whatever anger, whatever hate we
have embedded in ourselves by refusing to forgive?
Try this. Just for a moment, think
about whatever it is you have been unable to forgive. (Pause.) Now that you’ve
got that, I’m sure you will remember who and what it is. So here’s a suggestion
about what you can do with it.
The wife of my ordaining bishop told
this story about herself at a retreat she led. Carole said she realized often
when she came forward for communion she had anger or resentment or grief, or something
else she was holding on to. She just couldn’t let it go. So as she got up to
come to the communion rail, she would imagine clenching her hands around
whatever that thing was. And she would walk forward that way, with her fists
clenched.
And then, as she stood or knelt for
communion, she would open her hands to receive the bread. And she said that,
remarkably, whatever resentment, whatever anger, whatever hate, whatever grief,
was embedded in her was washed away by when she opened her hands to receive the
bread. And if any were still left, when the wine came along it would wash the
rest away as she received the wine.
Daily we are made new to live the
resurrected life. And Sunday after Sunday the means to live that life is offered
to us here. Forgive. Love. Live in the joy of the resurrection. "If you
forgive someone's sins, they're gone for good. If you don't forgive sins, what
are you going to do with them?" AMEN.
The Rev Nicolette
Papanek
©2016
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