When
I was in junior high, my parents let me stay home alone when they went out for
what couples now refer to as “date night.” After the darkness had settled in,
if I heard an unusual sound, I would check the front and back doors to make
sure they were locked. Often I
would fret over whether or not I had latched the porch door. Should I risk stepping out onto the
screened-in porch to check the latch?
If I heard an unusual noise, with the doors locked, I felt somewhat safe. Staying inside, behind locked doors—is
that something you’ve done to feel safe when you were afraid?
In
today’s scripture, we find the disciples behind locked doors. It is Sunday evening—only 3 evenings
since they were praying with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane—only 3 evenings
since the temple guards surprised them, arresting Jesus and leading him away to
be convicted and then crucified by Roman soldiers. It’s Sunday evening—only 2 evenings since Jesus’ body was
taken from the cross and laid in a borrowed tomb. Tensions are still riding high in Jerusalem—tensions between
Jewish Passover pilgrims and Roman soldiers, tensions between religious
authorities and followers of that rabble rouser, Jesus.
It
is Sunday evening, and the disciples are hiding behind locked doors because
they are afraid. They are afraid
of being hunted down, charged, convicted, and beaten like Jesus. Now, with the
news from the women earlier that morning that the tomb is empty, perhaps they
are afraid of being blamed for stealing Jesus’ body to start a rumor that he is
risen from the dead. It is Sunday
evening, and the disciples are hiding behind locked doors because they are
afraid of the religious and the political authorities.
Not
only do they hide behind locked doors of wood, but they also hide behind the
locked doors of their hearts—remembering what they have done . . . and what
they failed to do. They are afraid
of themselves. For just 3 evenings
ago, after sharing a particularly moving Passover celebration with Jesus, after
having their feet washed by him, after praying with him in the garden, they
abandoned him. Running from the
guards, denying even knowing Jesus, hiding as he was beaten and crucified, they
have been capable of betrayal. The
disciples are afraid of themselves.
It
is Sunday evening, and the disciples find themselves huddling together—behind
locked doors to keep out the authorities; behind locked hearts to keep out the
overwhelming emotions of sadness and regret. And then, Jesus appears—most unexpectedly—there in that
room. Now they have yet another fear.
They are afraid of Jesus. How
will he respond to each of them and to the manner in which each has betrayed
him? Huddling together behind
locked wooden doors, they now huddle behind minds locked to keep out the
surprising, unnerving possibility that Jesus is indeed risen from the dead.
Jesus
appears to them and speaks, “Peace be with you.” Jesus appears to these fearful disciples. But he doesn’t say “don’t be afraid” or
“have courage.” He says, “Peace be
with you.” His very presence
begins to calm their fears of physical retaliation by the authorities. His words, “Peace be with you,” the
tone and timber of his voice, and his body language all speak of
forgiveness. Reaching out to them
in a gesture of embrace, smiling lovingly at them, he offers forgiveness. “Peace be with you.” He
invites them to forgive themselves.
A second time he says, “Peace be with you,” repetition of that which is
important, a reminder of that which is healing.
Time
stands still as Jesus and his disciples are reunited in the presence of
forgiveness. “The peace of Christ
be with you . . . and also with you.”
These are familiar words we say each Sunday. They are not just words of welcome—although we do indeed
welcome one another into fellowship, worship, study, and service. When I first came here, I connected our
welcoming one another with the language of Christ’s peace. “The peace of Christ
be with you . . . and also with you” are words of forgiveness. They are words to “tear down the
dividing walls of hostility”[1]
between us and God and between one another. “The peace of Christ be with you .
. . and also with you” are words of confession and forgiveness. And so, liturgically they connect most
closely to the part in our worship when we confess our sins to God and seek forgiveness. And that is why we moved the passing of
the peace to after our confessional sequence. And today, we offered the peace of Christ to one another
right after the confession and words of assurance. We didn’t let even the “Gloria Patri” come between the two. Time stands still as we are reunited in
the presence of forgiveness—God’s forgiveness of us, our forgiveness of ourselves,
and our forgiveness of one another.
In
today’s scripture, after offering peace—twice—Jesus breathes on his
disciples. So far this evening the
disciples have experienced the resurrected Jesus with 2 of their senses. They’ve heard his voice and seen
the nail tears in the flesh of his hands and feet. Now, he breathes on them—engaging 2 more of their
senses. I invite you to close your
eyes and imagine . . .
What
does that breath feel like? Is it
warm and soft like the sweetness of spring? Is it cool and heavenly? What does that breath smell like?—the wine and bread Jesus
shared with them at that final supper; oil & fish & bread & wine
from any of the meals they shared in Galilee; vinegar from the sour wine
offered to him on the cross? This
breath that we have re-imagined re-connects the disciples with their lord,
their friend, their beloved teacher.
What
does his breath do? The Greek word
used here clearly evokes God’s breathing new life into the first human. It also evokes God’s breathing new life
into the dry bones scattered across the valley of Ezekial’s prophetic
vision. What does Jesus’ breath do
here? It revives this dying group. It brings the disciples back to life. It
renews them for the work Jesus sends them to do.
What
is that work? Forgiveness. Jesus’
words, “Peace be with you” are addressed to the entire faith community—to the
disciples standing before him, to the early Christian community for which this
gospel was first written, and to us—here today. “Forgiveness of sins is the
work of the entire community.”[2] It begins with self forgiveness—breaking
free from the chains of guilt that keep us locked away—separated from the love
of God and separated from the love of others. It moves to
individual forgiveness. Forgiving
someone—whether or not he offered an apology, forgiving someone whether or not
we’re convinced she will change, forgiving others because we have been forgiven
by God. Forgiving others releases
us from the prison of grudges that darkens our hearts.
It
continues to community forgiveness. Forgiveness of sins is the Spirit-empowered
mission that continues Jesus’ work in the world. As he washed his disciples
feet that Maundy Thursday evening, Jesus gave them a new commandment—“love each other. Just as I have loved you, so you also should love each
other.”[3]
“By loving one another as
Jesus loves, we—the faith community—reveal God to the world; by revealing God
to the world, the church makes it possible for the world to choose to enter
into relationship with this God of limitless love. The faith community’s mission, therefore, is not to be the
arbiter of right and wrong, but to bear unceasing witness to the love of God in
Jesus.”[4]
At
the beginning of today’s text, the disciples are cowering in fear behind locked
doors when they encounter the risen Christ. They realize he lives, not because he can walk through those
locked doors and show his wounds to them, but because, through the gift of the
Holy Spirit, he breathes new life into them and commissions them to continue
his work.[5]
Just
as forgiveness revives a dead relationship, Christ’s peace revives us. And his peace
breathes new life into our faith community. The peace of Christ energizes us to
move forward, to take the reins of his ministry—welcoming all, sharing with all
Christ’s love—a love that offers forgiveness, unconditionally. Peace be with you.
[1]
Ephesians 2:14
[2]
Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of Johh,” in The
New Interpreter’s Bible: a
Commentary in Twelve Volumes.
vol. IX. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995, p. 847.
[3]
John 13: 34 Common English Bible
[4]
Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of Johh,” in The
New Interpreter’s Bible: a
Commentary in Twelve Volumes.
vol. IX. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995, p. 848.
[5]
Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of Johh,” in The
New Interpreter’s Bible: a
Commentary in Twelve Volumes.
vol. IX. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995, p. 848.
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