Easter 7C, 29 May 2022. The Rev. John Golenski
John 20: 19-31. Jesus appeared and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they recognized the Lord.
Like so many of us, I had plans this week. My plans included the better part of a day preparing this sermon. Then May 24th in Uvalde, Texas happened. Sometimes, in spite of everything we intend, Life intrudes with undeniable demands. No matter how much effort I put into focusing on the Scripture, Uvalde intruded. So, this is the unintended, unplanned reflection on God’s Word speaking to what is happening now in our country.
By chance, or plan, or Providence, my own life trajectory has led me to spend years working in health care, beginning with stints in a Children’s Hospital and then founding and directing a pediatric homecare-and-hospice program. Toward the end of my work life, after a long period in the health-policy world, I returned to a direct-care setting and ran a residential, respite-and-hospice facility for children, one of the first in the U.S. Part of my work entailed facilitating support groups for parents whose children had died. I spent five years in weekly evening sessions accompanying parents and families along life’s most painful road.
I cannot even begin to describe for you what a journey the families of Uvalde will have to follow. I will not describe the milestones of their via dolorosa. Nothing in life would have prepared them and their community for what will be demanded, especially after the intense support and attention of the outside world inevitably depart. We can only pray for them and send our support in messages and contributions. We will quietly give thanks that our families were not the victims this time and continue to do everything in our power to protect our children and families.
As these horrors have unfolded in the last decade especially, I have seen a clearer and clearer image of growing wounds in the body of our community. The first wound begins so often in a darkened room, where a boy sits in front of a screen. He is alone, probably cared for by a distant single parent, who is trying to earn enough to survive. Sometimes, grandparents are helping, providing shelter. This boy is filled with rage, with feelings of abandonment, certain that others have stolen what he needs and deserves.
Another wound in America shows itself in the production and sale of weapons designed for war to the general population. The constantly-repeated statistic is impossible to comprehend. In a country of 340 million, there are more than 400 million guns. The United States has not been invaded since the War of 1812. What are we, the average citizen, protecting ourselves against? Obviously, each other.
And, I see another wound where the political calculus is clear to the “electeds” in Washington and in state legislatures: the path to power and wealth is paved with moral compromises. These wounds, what the author of John’s Gospel calls sin, coalesce in our culture, leading time and again to the violent deaths of children.
I am not a policy expert. I don’t have a clear and immediately workable path to reform, to healing these wounds. But I know we are bleeding, and I am certain that a change of heart—what John’s Gospel calls believing–is the first step.
What, then, is this portion from John’s Good News telling us today? Many Johannine scholars—Helmut Koester, Harry Attridge, Ray Brown, and my own teacher Sandra Schneiders—are convinced that this chapter is the actual end of the Gospel and that Chapter 21 is a later addition. Of course, commentators and preachers have focused here on the supposed conferring of authority on the disciples. I will leave it to scripture scholars to parse the language of the passage and determine whether the story is even about authority. Others, over centuries, have focused on the story of Thomas, the sceptic.
My own interpretation is very different. I am astonished that almost no commentary notes the astounding fact of the story related by the Evangelist: Jesus’s body still bears the wounds of his crucifixion! In this end of the last chapter, the Risen Jesus comes through all barriers into the midst of the assembled disciples; the language implies that he emerges from within their assembly. The act of gathering together in community evokes the presence of the Risen Lord.
In this ultimate scene in John’s story, Jesus blesses his disciples with the traditional greeting of Peace. In the cultures of the time, speaking the word Peace upon approach is a promise not to inflict harm (“I am not going to hurt you or seek revenge”). He does this because at that moment he is a stranger to them. At that moment, he shows them the wounds on his body. Then, they recognize him. Again, he says, “Peace”.
They finally understand and believe. He is the Risen Lord. He is triumphant because he foregoes revenge, gives over his rights to retribution, and retains and carries his wounds. He breaks the cycle of violence and robs death of its power. He has chosen the only path which leads to life.
He breathes his Spirit—the act of forgiveness—into them and invites them to forgive, as he has forgiven them. Which means that he retains their sins; he continues to carry their betrayals, their violence, their greed, their arrogance, their injustice.
I believe this is why the dialogue about forgiveness is placed at the very end of the Gospel of John. It is the great theme of John’s Good News, that the Creator loves us and forgives us no matter what. As Pam so often puts it, “The other name for God is Love.” If we are to begin healing the wounds of our community, we first must find a path to forgiveness. To receive and accept the Spirit of Jesus, literally breathe in the Spirit of Love, so that we shall “have life in his name.”