By Mary Davis, Seminarian InternI grew up in the Episcopal Church, and as far back as I can remember, I've known this Sunday, the Sunday after Easter, by its informal name, "low Sunday." And this year, my peers at General Theological Seminary have taught me another name for this Sunday - "Seminarian Sunday," for the large number of seminarians who are preaching this week while Rectors catch their breath and energy following Holy Week and Easter. It all sounds pretty dreary, doesn't it? But frankly, this year, I have welcomed the opportunity to learn more about this "low Sunday" and found out that this is not the official name for the drop in attendance following Easter Sunday. But in fact, the word "Low" is a derived from the Latin word "Laude", which means "praise," and the Sequence hymn of this day once read, "Let us sing praises to the Savior with humble voice."
Now, while this word-play exercise excuses some of the let-down of this day, I still find myself wondering why, in this season of the Resurrection, do we not joyously celebrate Christ's victory over death with more vigor and passion, with crowded pews of energetic believers? Surely, Christ's resurrection is worth more than one week's celebration, since it's ultimately the foundational message on which our church is based. As such, our Church, complete with its liturgical seasons and calendar, devotes 50 days to Easter, the time of Revelation in the form of Christ's appearances to his disciples following his resurrection, leading up to his ascension and then the day of Pentecost. We call it the "Great 50 days!" Yet it seems like the churches I've always been a part of pay an awful lot of attention to Lent: the self-examination, the self-reflection, Lenten studies, Lenten suppers, Lenten retreats. Among other things, Lent is the season we connect with the humanity of Jesus. But it's in this Easter season, all 50 days of it, that we connect to and celebrate the divinity of the risen Christ.
This second Sunday of Easter is also important because, in spite of our 3 year lectionary cycle, every year, today's Gospel reading re-introduces us to the disciple, Thomas. Thomas is forever known as "doubting Thomas," as if that's a bad thing. Frankly, Thomas should be the patron saint of those of us here in the pews today, the patron saint of modern people, people of both reason and faith. Thomas, who is remembered for saying that "unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe" (John 20:25) should not be a figure that we pity for his weaknesses, but instead, he is a disciple who teaches us a way to live into these 50 days of Easter, living into Christ's Resurrection.
I remember feeling quite prideful after hearing this Gospel lesson, when Jesus answers Thomas' doubt by saying, "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." (John 20:29) Yep, that is me, I'd think, better than the disciples. I wasn't there at the empty tomb. I wasn't there in the upper room, nor was I there on the road to Emmaus. And yet, I believe.
You know, it's funny, because the disciples are portrayed, at times in the Gospels, as being somewhat dense. It's almost easy to poke fun of them. But, recently, I have to admit, that the more I look at my own life and my own faith, being honest with myself, I have come to see myself in their folly more often than I'd like to admit. I came to identify with Peter in the Garden of Gethsemane on Good Friday, and now I realize that I identify with Thomas as well.
My experience on 9/11 is a prime example of this, one that allowed me a much better understanding of the disciple Thomas, and his doubting side. On September 11, 2001, my husband left for work in the usual way, taking the train into the city, and was headed for his office on the 62nd floor of the World Trade Center. He worked in the South Tower. But because he was scheduled to leave on a business trip later that day, he left home a little later than usual, carrying his luggage with him. On the way to work, a picturesque early fall day, he decided to take the ferry across the river, and when he did, he saw the plane fly into his building. At some point in the hours that followed, my husband was able to reach out to me by cell phone and assure me that he was safe, and headed for home. Sure, I heard his voice, but I also heard and saw everything else that was unfolding that day, and I needed more than that. I needed proof. I needed to be sure. "Until I see him," I thought to myself, I will not believe. And it was so – hours later, he finally made it off the train in the New Providence station, and it wasn't until then, when we were in full embrace, that I had my proof, knew he was alive, and my doubt for his safety dissipated. So much for faith without proof.
I now hold a whole new respect for Thomas and his powerful doubts, and I've realized that my doubts extend infinitely further than just that day of 9/11. Thru this and other life experiences, I have realized that my faith is far from some neat and tidy package. I have loose ends hanging out all over the place. These are my places of my doubt, my bundles of fear, and my collections of conflicting information. It's a messy container which makes for an uncomfortable faith at times. But, just the same, I have also experienced times of great Revelation, fleeting but still very real, and Jesus reveals himself to Thomas in this very way; not in a blaze of glory or with flashes of light or sounds of trumpets, but as the wounded and loving savior. This love accepts Thomas' doubts, and accepts my baggage of loose ends as well, and Jesus reveals himself to us and brings us peace in that act of Revelation, enabling us to see.
While I'm sure that it would have been easy for the disciples, Thomas included, to hang out in that upper room and wait for Jesus, their beloved teacher and Lord, to appear time and time again, they did not. In fact, the disciples with Jesus at the Transfiguration wanted to hang out there too. Jesus' appearances were brief but powerful, and the strength of these encounters empowered and compelled the disciples to tell about their encounters with the Risen Christ. Thomas, after he reaches out and experiences the Risen Christ, boldly proclaims, "My Lord and my God!" This was his Christ-experience, his name for the Easter Revelation, his statement of faith.
Thomas' bold proclamation, which sprung up out of his places of both doubt and faith, invites us to ask ourselves, what is it about our own Christ-experience, including both places of doubt and places of faith, about traveling this annual road to the cross and then finding the empty tomb at Easter, which enables us to discover new life? What is it?
In my family, we have a saying, which comes out of military service, "RHIP" – Rank Has its Privileges. Usually this applies to the one who has to clear dishes from the table, or who gets to sit in the front seat of the car. But right after "RHIP" comes "RHIR" – Rank has its Responsibilities. So along with the front seat on the car ride, comes the obligation to help me out with various chores and errands along our way. We learn from the disciple Thomas that his experience of the Risen Christ comes with a responsibility to proclaim. He tells his story of the resurrection, his story of faith when he says, "My Lord and My God!" What can we proclaim about the risen Christ? We aren't meant to remain here, huddled closely within the walls of this church, reveling in the power of Christ's resurrection. No, we are to tell the story to those outside this place, tell what it is about the Easter celebration that keeps us coming back year after year. But before we can tell a story, or before we can tell THE story, we have to think about what it is that is important to us. Why is Christ's resurrection so meaningful for us? To what situations does Christ's life bring new life? In what ways are we strengthened by our experience of the risen Christ?
So, let these Great 50 days of Easter be a time of examination, transformation and then proclamation. The power of Christ's resurrection will transform us, just as it did Thomas, and allow us to move in rhythm with our questioning selves, pushing our faith in new directions. Our transformation is the living part of us which makes us alive in Christ and our call to live into that resurrection is to tell that story. Live this story of resurrection during these 50 days, and when we greet the new season of Pentecost, we will be just like the disciples who were empowered to proclaim in every language their powerful Christ story. We too, will be able to share, each of us, in our own language, words of hope, grace and love with the world. We thank God for Thomas today, our patron saint of this Sunday after Easter, who reminds us that we are real people, people of faith and doubt, who can touch the marks of pain, grow in love and service in the name of Christ, and then boldly proclaim that we are people of the Resurrection. Amen.
© 2008 Mary Davis
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