"The Terrible Touch"

John 20:19-31

In November of 1980 an old woman died. She was eighty-three and, at the time, lived in a room in a place called, "Maryhouse," a home for the destitute in the Bowery district of New York. Her room was next to that of a bag lady. Her name was Dorothy Day.

Many of you know something about her, at least, or have read about her. During her lifetime, she was both adored as a saint, and vilified by those who didn't like her leftist leanings. She didn't like being called a saint because, she said, that meant people weren't taking her seriously enough. She thought of herself as an ordinary Christian who lived out what she believed. What she did - with her writings, founding The Catholic Worker, working on behalf of the poor, preaching non-violence, establishing soup kitchens and hospitality houses for the homeless - seem extraordinary, perhaps, because most of us are so far from living up to the kind of standards for Christians that are espoused in today's lessons.

Thoughts of Dorothy Day come easily to mind when we read today's readings about how early Christians lived together, owning things in common, selling their goods, sharing the proceeds to meet the needs of each one. Thoughts of her also come to mind when we read the Gospel story of Thomas, about being tested, and about finding forgiveness and peace.

In her earlier years, Dorothy Day had been a journalist, a communist, and a social activist; but when her daughter was born, she had her baptized, and herself became a Christian, because she didn't want her daughter to be floundering, doubting and without moral roots. During that process, Dorothy became a Christian. But she didn't lose her commitment to the poor, or lose her desire to transform society - in fact, as she read the scriptures, she became even more dedicated to helping those who live on the fringes of society. She saw that there are over two thousand verses in scripture that tell us that we must care for the poor and those who live on the outskirts of society. She had a major part in forming a generation of lay activists, helping even those who do not share her philosophy to understand the importance of lay ministries - that the ministry of the church is not done by professional clergy, but rather lies in the hands of the whole people of God; that it is the people in the pews of the church that God empowers for ministry.

Just one or two more things about Dorothy Day: she not only lived out her commitment to the poor, but also lived with them. She lived in one of the houses of hospitality she founded, facing the not infrequent fear and danger of having destitute men around who acted in bizarre ways. She endured the constant smell of whisky breath and bodies that hadn't been washed in years. She dealt with people who were rejected by society, who didn't fit in. She had no illusions about those to whom, and with whom, she ministered. One of her favorite quotations was from Dostoyevsky: "Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams." One of those who came to her funeral was a drifter who called himself Lazarus, who said, with tears streaming down his face, ""That fine lady gave me love." Lazarus, of course, was the one whom Jesus raised from the dead, whose name can mean, alternatively, “God is my help,” or “God, help me!”

I mention Dorothy Day, because hers is an Easter story. It is a story about another Thomas - one who was doubtful, but whom Jesus loved and accepted, and made into one of his great saints. And this story – Thomas’s story – is also our story – because it is about people who are more often doubtful than believing, people who love Jesus, but who have trouble living out the life of faith.

Thomas gets a bad rap. Thomas was a faithful disciple. It was he, you remember, that, when Jesus said that he was going to go down to Jerusalem, and the other disciples balked, who said, "Let us also go down, that we may die with him." He was a loyal and loving disciple. But he had questions. Deep questions. After Jesus' death, the other disciples hid in fear that the same thing might happen to them. It was a real possibility. But not Thomas. He was out and about. It may be that he was hoping to make a statement. It may be that he thought he would even join Jesus on the cross. But Saturday passed, and then Sunday. And it seemed like the whole affair was just a speed bump on the road of life for the rest of the world. But for Thomas, Jesus was gone, and who cared about the rest.

Now, Thomas had to face something he hadn't had to face in three years – he had to face life without Jesus. He had to face something we all face - the hiddenness of God. For him, the Saturday before Easter lasted a long, long time. It extended past Easter Sunday, and through the whole next week. We know what that is like too, don't we? Saturday - the day when nothing makes sense, when we are bereft of hope, when we feel helpless and alone, when there is no one to turn to, when we are orphans in the world, when there is no one who can put the pieces of our life back together again? Saturday can last a long time.

I've had my Saturdays. I know what they are all about, from the inside out. I’ve had my losses. I’ve had my own crisis of faith. Sometimes, I’ve felt that my faith was hanging by a thread. Most of you know that. And many of you have known these things in your own life, too.

How do you make sense of that? How do you explain it? There is no explanation, no "good spin" we can put these things!

Now, a person who isn't a Christian really has it easy at that point. They can simply say, "Well, that's how life is. Life isn't fair." And they can let it go at that. That's fatalism. A lot of Christians go that way as well. Some say, "Well, it was God's will," as if God were some sadistic freak sitting up in heaven waiting to see what kind of pain he can rain down upon his children. Others see it as a test of strength: "God is testing you. Hang in there and fight the devil. Win the victory." But for a person of faith, a person like Thomas, none of that means anything. Faith isn't a struggle of good against evil to be won. Nor is it a test we’re here to pass, so we can move on to something else. Faith is about our relationship with Jesus. So what do you do when he abandons you, when he has hidden himself from you, when your very strength - you faith - turns against you, when you are delivered defenseless into Satan's hands? That's the question of Saturday. That's the question Thomas faced, and which we face.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, that great Lutheran saint who preached from the depths of the hell the Nazis created, said the point of the temptation account in Genesis was not that Adam chose evil over good, or that he wasn't strong enough to resist Satan's wiles. He says, "It is not the question of engaging in a struggle, or the freedom of decision for good or evil - it is not concerned with the ethical concept of seduction. Rather it is that Adam is delivered up defenseless to the tempter. He lacks every insight, power, perception, which would have equipped him for the struggle with this adversary. He is left quite alone. Only one thing remains: in the midst of this abyss, he is upheld by the hand of God, by God's Word. Thus, in the hour of temptation, Adam can only shut his eyes and stand and let himself be upborne by the grace of God."

Of course, Adam fails, and so do we. He gives in to the sins of unbelief and despair, and that is also the sin that threatens us. His sin, Bonhoeffer points out, is not simple disobedience, not a failure of strength, but a failure to trust.

That is where Thomas is, and it is where you and I are this morning. Thomas comes back from his walk, disillusioned and despairing, to see how the others are faring. Misery loves company. But instead, he finds the other disciples excitedly discussing something - Jesus has appeared to them! Thomas thinks they are delusional. They need to face the hard facts of life. Jesus is gone - he isn't coming back: "Unless I see the marks of the nails in his hands, and feel the mark of the sword in his side, I will not believe!" He won't be taken in again. He won't be hurt again. He will not give in to false delusions and false hopes.

Then, suddenly, Jesus is there. Even as Thomas falls, Jesus is there to lift him up again. "Put your hand in mine,” he says, “and feel the marks of the nails. Touch my pierced side. Do not be faithless, but believing."

Thomas' cry is met with an experience of the wounded and resurrected Christ. If Thomas cried out in despair, now he also remembers how Jesus also cried out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!" As his hand finds the mark of the nails, he remembers how Jesus' wounds match the wounds of his own heart. Jesus has become his brother in suffering; and now he invites Thomas to be his brother in hope. As his resurrected presence stands before him, Jesus challenges Thomas to believe once again - to trust in the love that still holds him; to believe in the arms that still carry him; to trust in the God who has called him - to become an apostle, a witness of the resurrection.

But the story is not quite over. Right at that point, Jesus does something that seems strange to us. While we have been watching, as it were from a screen - a screen of two thousand years’ removal from the event - even as we have been watching this act played out before us on the stage, unknown to us, Jesus has been watching us. And now he turns to us - those who are questioning, like Thomas; those who are struggling with our faith, perhaps even on the brink of despair. He turns now, and addresses us. He says, "Blessed are those who do not see, and yet believe!"

It is you that he is addressing this morning. It is your doubts, your lack of faith, the absence of hope in your life, your floundering on the brink of despair, that he is addressing. "Blessed are those who do not see, and yet believe!"

Can you believe again, this morning? Can you believe that he is risen? More that that, can you believe that he is risen for you? Will you touch his wounded places, and let him touch yours - your brokenness, your despair, your lack of hope, your loneliness, your discouragement, your failure to believe and trust in him? Will you place yourself again in his hands, believing that he can give you new life - that he is a God of possibilities?

Jesus came to Thomas, and invited Thomas to touch his wounded places, and so be healed, and believe in the power of his love. He invites you to do the same today: "Do not be faithless, but believing."