A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, April 15, 2007
John 20:19-31
We’ve seen this painting so many times before. It appears on t-shirts, mouse pads, stationary, coffee mugs and anything else you might pick up from the museum gift shop. We know this painting. But, I wonder, how do we feel about it? What do you think about this screaming person? Did you ever stop and wonder, why is he screaming?
Edvard Munch created this pastel and tempera masterpiece after going on a walk with two of his friends at sunset. In his journal that day, he wrote, “I felt a breath of melancholy … I stood there, trembling with fear. And I sensed a great, infinite scream pass through nature.”
I wonder if this is how Thomas felt when he heard the news. Couldn’t it be just like this? If you heard your friends, the other eleven disciples, say, “We’ve seen the Lord,” wouldn’t you feel just like this person screaming on a bridge?
Look at him with his hands cupped around his face. Look at Thomas with his eyes intensely staring and his mouth open – to let out a scream. Or maybe even words. Perhaps his lips are parted as if to speak, but he finds himself speechless. What could Thomas say at this moment? What words would articulate the emotions that he’s feeling? Look at Thomas standing there on that bridge, “trembling with fear.” Doesn’t his face say it all?
Or maybe we are not sure who Thomas is. As we moved through the Lectionary this Lenten season, we didn’t hear Thomas’ story. He is barely mentioned in Luke’s gospel. But, all of the sudden, here he is in the Gospel of John. All of the sudden, here is Thomas. For John, Thomas’ appearance is not so sudden. He was there all along.
He was there at the raising of Lazarus. He was the one to ensure that the disciples must trust Jesus. It was his words that were spoken when the other disciples were silent. He was loyal where the other disciples weren’t so sure. And then, he appears again. John tells us that Thomas was the one disciple that was really struggling with Jesus’ message. He was the one that asked the tough question when no one else would. He was the one that asked, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”
And here, in today’s gospel reading, when it seems the way has finally been revealed; Thomas isn’t even there. The disciples, his friends, meet him after this thing has happened. After this amazing event has occurred, his friends come to find him and tell him what they saw. Jesus, their teacher, had died and then all of the sudden he appears right in front of their eyes.
This is an amazing moment that I quite frankly can’t grasp. An alleluia is definitely in order. An amen must be heard. But, where is Thomas? Where could he be? Why wasn’t he with the twelve? With all of John’s detail about Thomas, we only know that he wasn’t there. Thomas missed it. But, doesn’t his face tell it all?
Doubting Thomas. That’s how we know him, right? He’s the one that questioned the miracle of the resurrection that we celebrated jubilantly last Sunday. He’s the one that says, “Unless I see the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” But, look at his face.
I wonder if that truly is doubt on his face. We know that Munch had intentionally attempted to capture fear and melancholy in his painting. But, what do we see when we look at this as Thomas? I wonder if it’s doubt at all. After all, doubt is something that we know well, isn’t it? We doubt whether we have made the right decisions and choices in our careers, in our families, and in our communities. We doubt our leadership. We doubt the future of our world, and even the future of our church. We know what doubt feels like. We know that feeling very well.
And we can see it in the look on Thomas’ face. We know what that might feel like from our moments of doubt. It’s the “Wow, how can this actually be happening?” It’s the look that needs to see proof. We know what Thomas is going to go and do. He’s not going to believe until he sees Jesus. That’s the story we have heard, but I wonder if this is the story of our own doubt. What happens when we feel doubt? Do we run in fear? Do we scream?
I’ll tell you what I want to do. I want to run. I want to turn around and run. It’s what I do when I’m scared and uncertain. It’s how I handle things when I am hurt. If I were Thomas, I would run. I’d take my hands off my face, put them over my ears, sing “la la la” really loudly as I ran away from my doubt like a child. Perhaps that’s what Thomas does when he says he needs to touch Jesus to believe.
That’s how we have always heard the story. Thomas does not believe without seeing. But, remember. Thomas was the one that assured his friends to believe. Thomas was the one that actually got it. So, what does it mean that this Thomas – who assured his friends to believe – doesn’t believe the resurrection has happened? What does it mean that this Thomas – who wondered how he would know how to follow Jesus – doesn’t know the way when he hears about the resurrection?
Remember he was the one that wanted to know and understand the way. He was the one that believed in Jesus’ power at the raising of Lazarus. Doesn’t it seem odd that at this crucial moment where he learns that Jesus has been resurrected as he said he would, that Thomas doesn’t believe? It doesn’t seem like this could be the same Thomas. But, then again, we’ve been there. We know what it is like to face our fears and our doubts. And like us, Thomas still has his hands cupped around his face screaming.
And yet, something changes. Something huge changes. Instead of getting lost in that moment of confusion where that face that we see on mugs and t-shirts becomes permanent, we know that somehow that feeling goes away… slowly. Perhaps very slowly. But, it does go away, at least a little. We continue to walk. We continue on our journey. We find our way over the bridge.
Oh, did you notice the bridge? See the railing along which Thomas stands? See it now? Yeah, a bridge right in the middle of our moment of doubt. Amen. There’s the bridge that we simply have to turn around and see. So, we walk over the bridge and we find our way out of the doubt.
Granted, this might be a really hard decision. It’s not so easy to just turn around. When we hear difficult news, turning around can be near impossible. We can get so lost in that moment that we don’t know how to move past it. We don’t know how to simply turn around. So, we say things like, “prove it” or “show me.” But, if it is within us, as it seems to be with Thomas, then we can turn around. Call it a miracle. Call it whatever you want. Somehow, we turn around and we see two figures standing on the other end of the bridge.
Who are they? Two of the disciples? Jesus? Who do you think they ware? Who would you want to see in your moments of doubt? A friend? A teacher? Someone who knows you well. Someone that loves you deeply. Someone who can support you in your struggle. Someone to lead you over the bridge. It might not be just two people. There might be eleven or twelve, like Thomas who found himself a week later in a room with his eleven friends and his teacher. These are the people that he walked toward, even if it took a whole week to get to them.
And then, the moment we have been waiting for. Finally, Thomas sees Jesus. All of his fears have subsided. You can almost feel the crescendo in the color and intensity of the painting – even if the image is black and white. Jesus has risen! Alleluia!
But, even in this moment, we can’t help but linger on the words of Thomas’ friends. “We’ve seen the Lord,” they said. We remember the scream. And now, Thomas does too.
Did he remember what Jesus had said? Did he believe those words to be true? Surely, he had heard Jesus say, “I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.” He was there all along. But, did he remember?
Thomas knew. You can see it in the color that dances around his face. Thomas’ face seemed to portray shock and pain. It seemed like a scream. It felt like a scream. But, there are times when we can look back on the moments of our lives and forget the fear. We know when we see truth. We might not have the words to explain it. And most of us probably don’t have the foggiest idea how we might paint it, but we remember the scream.
We remember those moments that we don’t know what happened from one point to the next. We remember the confusion. Perhaps we are even still in the midst of the confusion. But, like Thomas, we know that there is a way to get over the bridge, even though our faces feel locked “trembling with fear.” We can feel the omnipresent “breath of melancholy” that we can’t seem to shake. But, like Thomas, we know that there is a way. And there is always someone – maybe eleven or twelve someones – waiting for us on the other side. Even when we are screaming, we know the peace of knowing.
Thomas has the peace of knowing – really knowing. We can see his scream but we can also see Thomas saying, “My Lord and my God.” He’s not speechless after all. These are his words: “My Lord and my God.”
Maybe we can look again at this painting and see Jesus words, “Peace be with you.” Maybe it is revealed in the crescendo of color intensity of the painting. Maybe it is in the expression on his face. Or perhaps it is depicted in those two figures in the background. “Peace be with you,” we are reminded as we gaze into this painting. “Peace be with you,” Jesus said. In both our moments of doubt and knowing – no matter how separate or isolated – there is peace. Somehow, we turn around and walk across the bridge. Then, we are able to show a face of belief as we embody Jesus’ words: “Peace be with you.”