Meditating on Proper 8: Being Made Acceptable to God

 

Proper 8    

The Sunday closest to June 29

Almighty God, you have built your Church upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief cornerstone: Grant us so to be joined together in unity of spirit by their teaching, that we may be made a holy temple acceptable to you; through Jesus Christ our Lord,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Preface to the Lord's Day

I have always enjoyed DIY, construction, and remodeling shows on television. I enjoy seeing how some projects can be undertaken by a homeowner and how some ought to be left to professionals. I enjoy doing little DIY projects around the house and am fine with fixing things up, repairing or replacing light switches and outlets, installing fixtures, and that sort of thing. But when it comes to plumbing, that’s where I draw the line. I may be an Episcopalian, but when I do plumbing, I become an instant Baptist, and everything gets immersed and the Lord’s Name is invoked with great intensity.

Salvation is NOT a DIY project. As Saint Paul makes clear, our works don’t save us (although Saint James adds a wonderful corrective reminding us that faith without works is likewise dead). Our prayer today reminds us we are all a work in progress, and we’re part of a construction project that will never end. The apostles and prophets didn’t just “lay” the foundation; they ARE the foundation, and Jesus is the cornerstone.

Sometimes these metaphors become trite through over-use. For two thousand years we have thought of the church as a holy temple being constantly built. It’s easy to take a glance, nod in agreement, and then flit off to the next image, the next concept, the next big thing. But I would invite us to stop a moment and consider the words of our prayer. “Grant us to be joined together in unity of spirit by their teaching …”

“By their teaching.” The other day I was asked to engage in some continuing education courses that are required to maintain one’s license to function as a priest in retirement. Yes, one may retire, but one never stops learning, never stops working to remain qualified to function. I like that word “function.” That means it works the way it’s supposed to. We pray, asking God to keep us functioning properly. How?

By doing and saying things that are pleasing to God (“acceptable to you”). Think about a temple for just a moment. Yes, a physical temple. What do you notice about it? In our tradition, you’ll likely note beautiful stained glass windows. Many traditional stained glass windows tell stories, like the stilling of the storm, the farmer casting seed, women weaving, shepherds standing watch, apostles writing, Jesus preaching and teaching, the Good Samaritan, etc. Those aren’t just stories “of old.” They are our stories, too.

We, too, have dramatic stories to tell of God working in our lives. We, too, have stories of being helped by total strangers. We, too, have stories of being protected at times we were most vulnerable. We, too, have stories of being fed when hungry, visited when lonely, given a drink when thirsty, cared for when wounded or in prison. We have been the recipients in those stories, and oftentimes we have been the heroes in the stories of others. Ironically, we seldom look or feel like heroes. That’s because we’ve just done the right things as the occasions fell to us. Why? Because we are made of god-stuff, filled with angel-fluff, and have found ourselves set in place by the One who is not just the chief cornerstone, but the chief bricklayer, glass blower, framer, dry-waller, hod-carrier, roofer, electrician and, yes, plumber (although he may have delegated that to Johnnie B,* but who knows?).

Keep looking at that temple in your mind. Does your temple have a single spire pointing heavenward, or does it have twin towers representing the divinity and humanity of Jesus? Is it wood framed or solid stone like the great cathedrals of Europe (or our own national Cathedral)? Is it small, or does it have room for everyone? Does it have steps up to the Great Entrance; does it include a ramp to enable folks with mobility needs to enter? Does light shine from within? Wait; is that your light we see reflected on those massive walls as you approach, making the temple visible to all the world?

Suddenly, I see this prayer as more than just a quaint request to spiff up God’s kingdom here and there, sweeping dirt and dust off the furniture and beneath the rug, and setting out a few store bought cookies and microwaved coffee for our guests (whoever they might be). God sees each and every one of us as a precious and necessary asset for the building up of God’s kingdom. We are not a vanity project for the Divine, but a living, breathing member of the Divine. Jesus has placed each of us right where he knows we belong, and where we will do the most good. Stand firm. Stand tall. And if you see a leak, for heaven’s sake, call Jesus!

Amen.

* John the Baptizer

Meditating on Proper 7: Make us have perpetual love!

 

Proper 7    

The Sunday closest to June 22

O Lord, make us have perpetual love and reverence for your holy Name, for you never fail to help and govern those whom you have set upon the sure foundation of your loving-kindness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Preface of the Lord's Day

Matthew 10:24ff

Have you ever seen one of those “perpetual motion” machines? You know what I mean. Like the rack of steel balls that constantly clack back and forth, demonstrating Newtonian physics. Or the revolving pendulum on an anniversary clock that runs one direction for a bit, then back the other way.

There is no such thing as a perpetual motion machine, of course. The clacking steel balls come to a standstill eventually as the energy dissipates little by little. Anniversary clocks and pendulum clocks keep moving as long as the battery or spring mechanism has energy to keep them going. The idea of anything being “perpetual” is attractive, but is it realistic?

“Make us” have perpetual love, we pray. Perpetual love? What’s that? How does that work? What do we mean? Is this a sort of Ronco Set-it-and-forget-it kind of love? And what do we mean by “make us”? That sounds like compulsion. Compulsion isn’t loving, is it?

Our prayer reminds us that we humans have a tendency to let things go. Deferred maintenance creeps up on us. We’re supposed to change the batteries in our smoke detectors every six months – and no longer than a year. Yet how many people die because their batteries died first? 

I had a fellow come in for an oil change (back when gas stations actually serviced cars). I opened the oil pan and what came out wasn’t oil, but more tar-like sludge. He hadn’t changed oil since the age of the dinosaurs! Deferred maintenance to a whole new level.

We ask God to “make us” because it is so easy to let things slide. We’re not evil. We’re not even lazy. We’re simply so involved with life and living we lean on our habits. We take care of what’s in front of us – and that’s a good thing! 

So we need reminders about other important stuff, too. Love is a moving target. We don’t chase after it to catch it like a cat after a mouse or dog after a car. Love is a relationship that is ever-evolving, and what we’re doing is asking God to help us keep after it. We need help keeping it fresh, keeping it alive – help “keeping on keeping on” as we used to say back in those good ol’ hippy days of yore.

So what does that perpetual love and reverence for God look like? Well, it doesn’t take too much most of the time. Just as the clacky balls need a fresh push every now and then, and alarms need fresh batteries to sniff the air and keep us safe, so we need to learn to “hear what the Spirit is saying to God’s people.” 

We keep our relationships with God and neighbor fresh by spending time with them. Daily prayer. Yes, I can whip off the Lord’s Prayer lickety split, but I think what I’m asking God to help me do is slow down, taking as much time to listen to God’s Spirit as I do giving God a divine honey-do list that sloppy prayer often sounds, looks, and feels like. So God, help me slow down and just enjoy some time with You, for when I do that, many of my anxieties fade away.

Reading scripture daily is also helpful. Not as one of those anxiety-building exercises for which we feel guilty if we don’t get so much read daily or let slide because we’ve got meals to make or things to do. Oh my, the dishes need washing! No, don’t worry about quantity. Forget about trying to read the Bible in a year or a Gospel in a month (unless you find those exercises helpful or useful). No, just find a system that works for you. Find a passage and ask, “Where is God in this story? Where am I in this story? What would I be doing? How would I be reacting? What would happen if the characters did something different? Where would the story go if someone had a different choice or made a different decision, or chose a different path? What should I believe or do differently if I took this tale to heart? 

Attend church. It ain’t magic, but the fact is we live in a world that is so fractured and lonely, we need to come together to remember that we are not alone. We may feel like Don Quixote off on some crazy quest, but Quixote had his Sancho, and the fact is, sometimes I’m the knight, sometimes I’m the Sancho, but always I’m in need of a foil against which to exercise my faith and judgment, and to challenge the practicalities and ideals I am sometimes prone to overlook. 

In sum, “making us” isn’t compulsion, as such. Another way we use the word “make” has to do with production and manufacturing, like making breakfast or dinner, or making one’s bed, or even making up one’s mind. We are asking God to make of us a meal that’s nourishing and palatable for the world – to help the world see the love God is pouring out upon the people of the world – including those who don’t look, feel, act, or believe like us.

Perhaps if we focus on letting God change us, the world may eventually come around faster than if we try to change the world, for God has set us upon the sure foundation of (God’s) loving-kindness. 

God, please do this for us, we pray. Amen

Meditating on Proper 6: Keep, O Lord, your household

 

Proper 6    

The Sunday closest to June 15

Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness, and minister your justice with compassion; for the sake of our Savior Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Preface of the Lord's Day

I like the term “household.” Many times we refer to the church as a “family,” and that’s OK. We are the children of God. We are the family of God. We often call our priests “father” or “mother,” although that has changed a lot over the past half century. Before the ordination of women, clergy were solely men, and were usually referred to as Father so and so (if they were more high church “Anglo-Catholic”), or the Reverend Mister such and such (if they were more low church “evangelical”).

Broad church clergy tended to be a mix of either Reverend or Pastor. There was greater diversity in Episcopal churches back in those days which has been largely lost with homogenizing effects resulting from the liturgical renewal of the 1970s, not to mention the tectonic changes roiling the Church with the ordination of women and people the church often thought were “beyond the pale” of God’s grace. 

Through all this, we are (and remain) the household of God. Messy. Complex. Egotistical in our pride and ashamed in our failings; alternating between submissives and dominators; holier-than-thous and we’re-all-imperfects.

It is in this messiness we pray to God to “keep” us. Hold us tight. Like those disciples holding on for dear life in the stormy tempest whilst their so-called loving savior sleeps ever so peacefully at the stern “upon a cushion” no less (!). Their salvation lies not in the seaworthiness of their boat or strength and skills of the crew, but in their daring to scream at their Lord and Master: “Do you not care we’re about to die?” Roused from his slumber, Jesus rebukes the wind and waves. Not only does the world settle down, but so do the disciples.

Keep us, we pray. Keep us in your steadfast faith and love. Wait a minute. YOUR steadfast faith and love? Not “our” steadfast faith and love? 

Nope. Like the disciples, we have no power to save ourselves. We have no power over the wind and waves. We may think we know what to do. We may drop the sail, set a drogue or sea anchor, or bail like heck. But salvation? That is to be found in God’s hands, in God’s keeping. It is God’s faithfulness we look to. It is God’s love that gloms onto us. So our prayer begins and ends with this reality. We are God’s, and it is God who keeps us.

And why does God “keep” us?

So that “through God’s grace” we may have the courage (boldness) to “proclaim God’s truth …”

Which is what? 

That we are loved. Not just we in a particular house, home, family, or tribe. But WE … all of us. Having received mercy, we are called to extend the hand of God’s grace to everyone, with mercy and compassion. 

How do we do this? If we look at the lessons for this Sunday (June 14, Proper 6), we see that God considers those who listen to and obey the Divine One are God’s treasure (Exodus 19). We are made right with God by Christ’s faithfulness; God’s love has been poured into us by God’s Spirit (Romans 5). And we carry out God’s work by venturing forth to those who are unclean and sick. We extend to the world the same compassion Jesus extends to us. No more. No less. That’s what we’re praying for this week.

Go and do thou likewise.

Easter 5: The Jesus Way

 

Lessons for Easter 5 (Revised Common Lectionary)

• Acts 7:55-60 The story of Stephen, Deacon and martyr

• 1 Peter 2:2-10 … like living stone … be built into a spiritual house

• John 14:1-14 I go to prepare a place for you …

• Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16 Into your hands I commend my spirit

Collect: Almighty God, whom truly to know is everlasting life: Grant us so perfectly to know your Son Jesus Christ to be the way, the truth, and the life, that we may steadfastly follow his steps in the way that leads to eternal life; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. 

An Invocation:

Give ear O heavens, and I will speak; let the earth hear the words of my mouth. 

For I will proclaim the Name of the Lord, and ascribe greatness to our God.

Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6)

What’s he talking about?

Some years ago Barb and I were living down in Federal Way, and we would often go down to the Hylebos Wetlands where they have this wonderful nature trail and boardwalk. We’d go down to get in our “steps,” and although you could hear the the sounds of the city with cars driving by off in the distance, and see the jets flying overhead on their way to or from SeaTac, you really had a sense of being away from all that. You feel like you’re in the heart of a primeval forest, with the squirrels and chipmunks chattering in the trees above, the foxes shuffling through the underbrush beneath, and the birds calling out to one another in the dense canopy of a broadleaf jungle.

It really is a magical place to spend some time together and apart.

One day when we had finished our walk we were coming back to the car and I noticed one of my shoes didn’t feel right as I walked through the parking lot. When I got to the car I lifted my foot and saw the remains of one of the biggest, juiciest slugs we’ve got in these parts.

Yuck!

Well, I grabbed a stick and tried to get rid of those remains, but they were stuck on the shoe and in the tread, and the slime just wasn’t coming off, so I took off the shoe, tossed it into the trunk and drove home with a shoe on one foot and sock on the other. I figured I would take care of my shoe when I got home (where I had tools and a variety of cleaning solutions available).

I got home and worked on my shoe for a few minutes and nothing worked. Don’t tell anyone, but I am not a very patient man when it comes to things like that, so I decided I would just toss my shoes out. They weren’t new or valuable by any stretch of the imagination; it wouldn’t be any great loss.

Our daughter Jen came over to see what I was doing and I told her what had happened. After she got done laughing she said, “Here, let me try.” And she went to work, patiently & diligently scraping away until she got the sole of my shoe all cleaned.

It dawned on me: She was willing to do for me what I wasn’t able or willing to do for myself.

That’s the Jesus way.

You may remember on Maundy Thursday during Holy Week, we always have the story from John’s Gospel of Jesus washing the feet of the disciples. Jesus says, “Let me do this for you,” and the disciples are horrified. Most of them consent because that's the way most of us are. We do as we’re told. Peter objected strenuously, though, and I think most of us can relate to that.

Most of us watch where we step and are on the lookout for slugs, snails, and doggie-doo; we wear shoes and socks and bathe or shower regularly, we really don’t want strangers or even people we kind-of-know looking at, let alone touching our ancient, gnarly feet. 

So while some will go through the foot-washing ceremony, others will sort of take advantage of the hand-washing option, and yet others will quietly sit and pray in their pews, and all of that’s OK, because … 

That’s the Jesus way.

You see, like my daughter, Jesus is willing to do for us what we are unwilling or unable to do for ourselves.

That’s the Jesus way.

In the other Gospels, Jesus reminds his disciples that we aren’t to be like the Gentiles. The Gentiles are always jockeying for position, seeking to lord it over one another. In Jesus’ day, everyone had their place and everyone knew their place. There were those who would bow down to you, and there were those to whom you would bow down.

But Jesus says, “Take the lowest seat at the banquet so that you may be invited to come up closer. 

When someone strikes you on the one cheek, they have stolen your dignity. When that happens, offer them your other cheek; that is your gift to them. 

When someone compels you to walk a mile through a slug-infested jungle, they have stolen your body. When that happens, go an extra mile; that is your gift to them. 

When they steal your cloak, they have stolen your shelter. When that happens, give them your shirt; that is your gift to them.”

Why? Because …

That’s the Jesus way.

I tell you this because the foot-washing episode in John’s Gospel takes place at the Last Supper, which is where today’s Gospel reading takes place, and context is everything.

As Christians, as Children of the Resurrection, we are invited (“commanded,” really) to approach the world “Jesus’ Way.” 

If we want to know “What Would Jesus Do,” we really only need to look and see what Jesus did.

In the Gospel today, Jesus says, “Fear not. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.”

That word “believe” has little to do with what goes on up here between our ears. It has to do with what goes on here in our heart. To “believe” is to embrace. Just like in the Nicene Creed, when we say “We believe in one God … we believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ … we believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord and giver of life,” we’re not speaking from the intellect, but from the heart. 

We embrace God who created each of us AND all of us. We embrace God who redeemed each of us AND all of us. We embrace God who sanctifies each of us AND all of us.

Jesus says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

“Why?” we ask.

“Because,” says Jesus, “in my Father’s house there are many mansions (KJV) … many “dwelling places” (NRSV). I’m not leaving so much as I’m going to prepare a place for you.”

Jesus, the Carpenter, ever the son of a carpenter, says, “I’m going to make room for you; I’m going to make space for you.”

Those words “mansion” and “dwelling places” don’t really convey what Jesus is saying. He’s not talking about building single family dwellings, condos, casitas, granny flats, or guest rooms. He’s really talking about making room for all of us – expanding the living space for an ever-larger family of God.

So, what does that look like?

There’s a story (I think it’s a true story) of a small village nestled in the Alps. During the War the doctor had been called away to serve the military, so an old nurse was transferred in to take care of their medical needs. She would function as the mid-wife when babies were born, bandage up wounds, set broken bones, and take care of folks as they were dying. She would administer medical care as best she could with what few supplies they had.

On Sundays there was only one small church in town, but she was the lone Protestant in a Catholic village. When the bell would ring on Sunday mornings the village would gather to worship, and Elsa the nurse would join them. They would pray to God in Latin, while she would sit in the back pew and pray to God in Luther’s High German. They would receive communion by mouth, while she would “feed on him in her heart by faith, with thanksgiving” – in Luther’s High German.

After the war ended, Elsa stayed on, continuing to serve the village, taking care of all their medical needs until the day finally came when Jesus called her home.

Although she wasn’t Catholic, she was buried from the village church. She wasn’t Catholic, so she couldn’t be buried in the church's graveyard. The villagers begged the priest and bishop to make an exception, but the Canons forbade it, so they had to bury her in an unconsecrated grave in the commoner’s graveyard that sat next to a stone wall that separated it from the Catholic graveyard.

That evening, when day was done, villagers snuck out to Elsa’s grave and, in the light of a full moon, began to dismantle the wall alongside Elsa’s grave stone by stone. Over the course of a few hours they expanded and reassembled the wall so that the wall that once had kept Elsa out now included her in.

Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except by me.” 

You can read that statement as something exclusive: If you’re not part of my group, my tribe, my faith … if you vote for the wrong color or the wrong candidate … if you pray in Latin instead of High German, or Spanish instead of Elizabethan English, or standing instead of kneeling, you’re beyond the pale. No Ticket, no Laundry!

But that’s not … … the Jesus way.

Instead, Jesus says, “I’m going to make space for you, and for you, and for you, and you … This stone the builders rejected is going to be the keystone, the cornerstone, the centerpiece of God’s creation.”

The question left for us, as the children of the resurrection is this:

How will we participate in the building of God’s kingdom? How will we move the stones further out to bring more people in?

Jesus says, “When you feed those who hunger, you’re moving stones. When you give drink to those who thirst, you’re moving stones. When you visit those who mourn, you’re moving stones. When you visit those in prison or help them in their freedom, you’re moving stones. When you clean slimy gunk off the old man’s shoes, you’re moving stones. When you do for others the things they cannot or will not do for themselves, you’re moving stones.”

We do these things as children of the resurrection. Why? Because …

That’s the Jesus way.

Sermon delivered by the Rev. Keith Axberg (Ret.) to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church (Mount Vernon, WA) 

Easter 5 (05/03/2026)

EASTER 2: Thomas, our Stunt Double

 Thomas our Stunt Double

Collect: Almighty and everlasting God, who in the Paschal mystery established the new covenant of reconciliation: Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ's Body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

• Acts 2:14a,22-32 He was not abandoned to Hades

• 1 Peter 1:3-9 Your faith is tested by fire

• John 20:19-31 The doors of the house were locked

• Psalm 16 My heart is glad … my spirit rejoices

Give ear O heavens and I will speak. Let the earth hear the words of my mouth. 

For I will proclaim the Name of the Lord and ascribe greatness to our God.

Knock knock

Who’s there?

Willy

Willy Who?

Willy come to see us today?

I apologize if this silly exercise caught you off guard. Probably in the 2,000 year history of preaching and teaching, the Church as a whole has probably never been tested with jokes from our childhood, so it’s OK if this caught you a bit flat-footed.

If I say, “The Lord be with you,” I have no doubt you would say: (point to congregation)

“... and also with you.”

If I say, “Lift up your hearts …” you would reply:

“... we lift them to the Lord.”

So what happened with our opening Knock-knock Joke?

In a word, it was unexpected, wasn’t it?

You and I know how those jokes work, but that’s not how sermons work. But let’s try another one anyway:

“Knock knock.” (point)

Who’s there?

I am.

I am who?

I am who I am. There. A little more biblical.

So we know the joke. We know how it works. We know what we’re supposed to do. But here we are in church, and what happens is we scroll through our little rolodex of versicles and responses, all the things we’re supposed to say and do, but you won’t find “Knock knock, who’s there” anywhere.

Saint Paul admonishes the faithful to do everything decently and in order (1 Cor. 14:40), so we find ourselves processing: Does this rule apply here? I know the joke. I know how it works. I know what I’m SUPPOSED to say. But can I say it? Can I say it here? in Church?

So we hesitate. It’s natural. No one wants to say the wrong thing. No one wants to do the wrong thing. No one wants to look foolish in the eyes of God and neighbor. No one wants to put their reputation at risk – No one. 

So …

I want us to think about that fear, that anxiety for a moment. Hold on to that little lump churning away in the tummy. In a small way, that fear, that anxiety, that discomfort helps unite us to those earliest disciples we heard about as they huddled together in the Upper Room in the evening of that First Day of the Week.

What happened there was just as unexpected as what happened here. Only more so, wasn’t it?

Our fear pales in comparison, but human beings still respond to the stimuli they’re given. 

The doors were locked for fear of the Jewish and Roman authorities. We sometimes forget it wasn’t just the religious authorities who killed Jesus. It was the work of both the secular and religious powers that be. It’s not enough to take out the Teacher. You’ve got to take out all the leaders, don’t you? Regime Change!

One of the most vicious things I’ve ever seen in the movies (and I’ve seen a lot) is a series of scenes in the movie The Godfather. It’s the part where Michael Corleone’s nephew is being baptized, and the movie shifts back and forth from the baptism of the child, the beauty of the church, the holiness of new birth – while, simultaneously, the heads of rival gangs are systematically assassinated in brutal, bloody fashion. Holy scene … Bloody scene  ... Holy scene ... Bloody scene.

The disciples had every reason to be afraid; to be very afraid. They were huddled in fear – more like terror. The word “fear” doesn’t really convey that sense of deep terrible dread they were facing and experiencing. 

The doors were locked. The windows were no doubt shuttered, curtains drawn closed. They weren’t singing: Hail thee festival day (Hymnal 1982: #175). They weren’t singing: That Easter Day with Joy was bright  (Hymnal 1982: #193). Because … 

… No it wasn’t. It was yet another no good horrible day after Good Friday. It was yet another agonizing day endured by the Twelve (minus Judas, who either hanged himself (Matthew 27:5) or tossed himself to his death off a cliff (Acts 1:18), depending on who you ask). 

Fifty-two hours of fitful, restless, sleepless pain. Twelve hours since those hysterical women came back to tell them about the empty tomb, meeting with a gardener, or an angel, or a young man in white linen, or who the heck knows who they had been talking to (they never could get their story straight).

But there you go. All Gehenna breaking loose. Empty tomb. Missing body. The FBI and ICE and maybe even Dog the Bounty Hunter are scouring the city, looking for the rest of them.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, there they were: Jesus’ closest friends and followers who swore they would rather die than let anything happen to their beloved Jesus and, well, there you go. Last time we saw them, they were scampering away to be swallowed up by the darkness of the night. Tough talking cowards. All of them. Each of them. 

They weren’t just hiding from the authorities. They were also hiding from themselves. Gutless wonders, filled with shame and self-loathing. And we need to ask ourselves, would we have done any better? Have we done any better, when you get right down to it? No one stands tall in a lightning storm, do they?

And yet … Here they were. Together. 

Together?

Yes, together. Maybe they did scatter to the four winds on Thursday night when Jesus was arrested. Maybe they found cubbies and closets and caves and rat-holes to hide in for a few hours or a day. But slowly, they came out of hiding. They came out of their hidey-holes and made their way back to the room where Jesus had washed their feet, broke bread with them, drank wine with them.

They made their way back to where Jesus had  said, “This is me. Serving you. Serve one another. This is me, feeding you. Feed one another. This is me, pouring out my life for you. Pour your lives out for one another. Do this, and I will be with you always, for this is me. Always.”

Period. Full stop.

Really? Really.

It is into this room, into this room full of gloom and doom we find Jesus popping in. The door is locked, but Jesus doesn’t knock (or do silly jokes). He simply appears in the midst of their fear and trembling and says to them, “Peace be with you. Shalom, my friends.” 

And he shows them his wounds. Why? First of all, to show them that it really is him. We know Jesus by his wounds. He is wounded, just like us. Isn’t that amazing? Even in resurrection, Jesus carries his wounds, just like us.

Like the disciples, we are filled with fear, scars, scabs, wounds, and imperfections. Like the disciples, and like Jesus. 

Jesus wasn’t embarrassed by his wounds. They are what they are. 

Like Jesus, we discover we can approach one another just as we are. We can approach God in all of our imperfections and the only thing God will say is, “Oh, I thought that was you.” Too much spit and polish, God may not recognize us.

The second reason Jesus shows them (and us) his wounds is to assure us of something else. Jesus is not on a retribution tour. He’s not out to get those who failed him and abandoned him, or those who hurt him, or those who killed him. He’s not out to shame us, or accuse us, or do unto us what we have done unto him or unto one another. 

Jesus shows us his hands and his side and invites us to help him break this cycle of violence that has brought us to this place. Peace, as has often been noted, is not the absence of war, but the presence of justice, wholeness, and health. “Peace” is being made whole once again. 

Into this whole mix, of course, we have poor old Thomas Didymus - Doubting Thomas. There’s probably nothing I can say about Tommy that hasn’t been said before, but let me give it a shot. Thomas is called the Twin. Thomas is a stunt double. You know in the movies or on television when there’s a stunt to perform and you don’t want your star to get hurt, the director calls for a stunt double to come in, to take the punch or the fall.

Thomas is our Stunt Double. He’s our stand-in, our twin! Just like Thomas, none of us was in the Upper Room that first night of the week. None of us experienced the presence of the Risen Christ. None of us heard Jesus offer us peace. None of us saw Jesus show his hands and his side. None of us experienced that jolt of forgiveness that must have really rocked the folks in that room.

Thomas comes into the room like Johnnie-Come-Lately, and he’s still got his baggage of fear and loathing. He’s still got his guilt and his sense of failure. And is there anyone here who doesn’t know what it is to be an hour late or a dollar short?

The Detroit Redwings won the Stanley Cup in 1997 when Barb and I lived in Allen Park, just outside of Detroit. There is a tradition where every member of the Stanley Cup team gets the Cup for a week to take around and share with friends and family. No other trophy does that. Not the Super Bowl. Not the World Series. Not the NBA. No one but the Stanley Cup. It is the Holy Grail of sports.

The Stanley Cup came to our block. Five houses away. Everyone in the neighborhood knew about it ... except us. So close. Like Maxwell Smart, we missed it by “this much.” Our closest friends were so excited when THEY got the news, they never thought to call us, to tell us. Talk about disappointment.

Nothing like Thomas and the Upper Room, but so close, and yet so far.

Thomas is our stand-in. Thomas is our stunt double. Jesus comes to visit, and Thomas is out buying Tacos,  corn chips, or a cappuccino. Talk about missing out.

It’s not that he missed out, exactly. It’s just that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or was he? 

Thomas was doing whatever he needed to be doing at the time. He may have missed out on that first opportunity, but haven’t we all? You and I weren’t in that upper room that first night. But a week later, Jesus made a return trip, a return engagement, and this time Thomas was there (and we are there, through him).

Instead of focusing on what he missed last week, he was there to focus on Jesus, “My Lord and my God.” 

Thomas did one of the bravest things a person can do. He set aside the failures of the past; he embraced the possibilities of the present; he glommed on to the hope of the future. He embraced the one who called him to be at peace, who invited him to embrace his wounds, who invited him to go into the world, just as God had sent Jesus into the world. 

We are called to be God’s hands, God’s feet, and God’s heart. We bring our Lord and our God to a wounded world. We show them OUR wounds that they may know: We ARE the Community of the Resurrection, wounded though we are, imperfect though we are.

So, in Conclusion

Knock knock.         Who’s there?

I am. I am who?

I am finished. Alleluia and Amen!

Delivered to Christ Episcopal Church, Anacortes, WA April 12, 2026