Our Sunday morning worship is continuing to evolve: adding in some music and images; bringing in a range of voices; and breaking down the reflection into two. The texts were Acts 2: 14a, 22-32 and John 20:19-end. Perhaps it's our local version of R4's Sunday Service! So here are two reflections - one on fear and the presence of Christ behind locked doors, speaking peace; and the other on our hands being the hands of Christ.
Reflection One
The disciples, like us, are living their lives behind locked doors: we hear of fears, doubts and words of peace.
Perhaps we can imagine the conversations and questions: behind locked doors, they are caught between news of an empty tomb and fear of those in authority. Behind locked doors they ponder Mary’s passionate declaration “I have seen the Lord”. Behind locked doors they are held captive by their feelings of grief, shock and exhaustion; by their expectations, disappointments and guilt.
And yet, the enormity of the resurrection is being made known every minute, literally breath by breath as they share their experience.
Jesus is present amongst them in this fearful place. His body still bore the makes of nails and wounds. This body overcame suffering and death; this body signals that love wins as he breathes out a word of peace.
Peace be with you: peace following from the heart of God; peace that took the sting out of death; peace that rested on places of hopelessness.
Our risen Lord continues to breath peace into our troubled, joyful, curious, courageous and questioning hearts.
In our locked homes and amongst isolated friends: peace!
When anxiety, fear and uncertainty paralyse us: peace!
In the midst of all we’re doing, in lives lived at a distance: peace!
Image: William Hatherell
The one who breathes peace, sends disciples to share peace.
God so loved the world that he sent his one Son: to forgive and love, to heal and not condemn. Now, he sends others, in the power of the Spirit to share that love, to restore relationships.
But Thomas wasn’t there. He missed it. His questions and exclamations are met with “believe us”. It’s overwhelming. No wonder he replies with ‘unless I see’; no wonder he longs to touch the one he loves.
He’s locked into this room with the others - talking, eating and praying. He’s locked in with those whose experience he cannot fully understand or share. He was locked into his own disappointment, perhaps; that he’s missed it; locked into his own isolation or jealously, as the days pass.
Although the doors remained shut, Jesus was there to speak words of peace. He does not rebuke Thomas. Instead he invites him to reach out and place his trust in him; to touch and to believe. At that moment fear and doubt and separation becomes worship: my Lord and my God!
Perhaps it feels as we are standing with Thomas today: not just because our lives are constrained and relationships stretched, or we fear we’re missing something; but because that’s were God meets us to: that we might receive a gift of peace.
Image: John Granville Gregory - based on Caravaggio
We are healed by those same wounds; restored to new life; knowing that we are loved, made whole, blessed and forgiven.
We are people whose lives have been sustained and shaped by sharing in broken bread and outpoured wine; it might be that that is the thing we miss most in this season.
And yet, not only does God reach out to us in the places where we feel fearful or locked in; in the power of the Spirit, God uses us to unlock the fears of others, to meet them with kindness and patience and peace.
Our lives are Christ’s broken bread; our love Christ’s out poured wine.
Many across South India came to believe through the honest and faithful witness of Thomas; Peter also points people to ‘this Jesus’. Jesus who wasn’t just a wise teacher or compassionate healer; not just a inspiring or controversial celebrity.
No, this Jesus endured the very worst harm human beings can inflict on another; he went to the depths of shame and suffering; bringing life out of death, hope out of fear.
Our world longs for the justice that such love demands; for the dignity and compassion such love enables. We are witnesses to the power of love in this risen body, standing among us breathing peace.
Even behind our own front doors, the witness of Mary, Peter and Thomas continues in our prayer, in relationship and in our worship.
Even in lockdown, something of that love is made known: when we use our words to inspire and encourage others; when our work continues in new ways; when we listen to those who mourn; when we share what we have with generosity; home schooling with patience; when we receive from others the care we need.
Peace be with you.
Though the layers of fear and bewilderment, may that peace seep in: we belive, we rejoice, we hope, we love.
Reflection Two
Jesus himself stood among the disciples and said, ‘peace be with you’.
As you breath in, imaging that you are breathing in that gift of peace.
Jesus knew that the disciples were frightened; locked in behind closed doors.
As we breath out, we name the things we’re worried about.
Again Jesus said, ‘peace be with you’.
He invite them to look at his hands and feet.
Wounded in suffering with us; in loving us to the end.
This risen and glorious body is marked with love.
Look at your hands: open them, flex them, turn them over. Look at the lines; the finger tips; the joints.
Look them: remembering the words they’ve written, the things they’ve carried; the meals they’ve prepared.
Remember the acts of love they’ve shown; the hands they’ve held; the times you’ve washed them to cleanse, protect and care.
Jesus said: look at my hands: hands that brought healing; that welcomed children; that broke bread; that wiped tears from eyes.
How much did Thomas want to see and hold and touch these hands; to know that healing and life was possible.
Look at your hands.
Teresa of Avila wrote this prayer: Christ has no body on earth but yours; no hands, nor feat on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks with compassion o the world; yours are the feet with which he walks to do good; yours are the hand with which he blessed all the world. Christ has no body now on the earth but yours.
No hands, no feet on earth but yours, but ours: to care for the vulnerable.
No feet but ours: to run errands for others.
No eyes but ours: to see the anxiety and fear, and respond with love.
No ears but ours: to listen to the lonely and isolated.
No tongue but ours: to speak words of comfort and encouragement to the bereaved.
No heart but ours: to love the young, the old, the sick, the key worker, the carer, the teacher, the almost coping, the neighbour.
Yours the feet with which he walks to do good; the hands with which he blesses all the world. Your bodies are his body; Christ has no body now one earth but yours.
He said, peace be with you.
You that are fearful, see my hands.
Look at your hands. Mark your palms with the sign of the cross.
Say: may Christ these hands; may they be healing hands for a hurting world.
© Julie Gittoes 2020
