TAKE A DEEP BREATH

John 20:19-22

St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

May 3, 2009

 

Well, Easter feels like it happened a long time ago, so you may have been surprised to hear David [our Lector] read yet another story about the resurrected Jesus appearing to his disciples. But it feels important to keep circling around such a momentous event – the resurrection – trying to get a handle on how to understand and respond to this central moment in the Christian story. And I can promise you that you’ll be hearing a different kind of story next week. So come with me, back a couple of thousand years to that very first Easter Sunday.

According to John’s version of the story, Mary Magdalene had seen the risen Christ in the garden, and had told the other disciples, “I have seen the Lord.” They’d checked it out for themselves, of course, but had remained skeptical, unconvinced – and who could blame them. The dead don’t usually come back to life to say hello. So evening comes, and we are told, “… and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews.” It’s a poignant image, no? …. An upper room, candles flickering, voices muted, the smell of fear heavy in the air; the doors locked. These were frightened people, scared that the political and religious authorities were trying to track them down in order to eliminate Jesus sympathizers and take care of any problem before it happened. Fear… powerful, insidious; it saps hope and the capacity to act. When you’re afraid, you seek safety, not truth; you’re more concerned with protecting your own skin, than dreaming dreams. Fear -- that’s what had hold of the disciples.

Furthermore, they were probably dealing with a lot of guilt. It was one of those classic “When the going gets tough, the tough get going” moments, because when Jesus had really needed his friends to rally round, the disciples were nowhere to be found. They had scattered like chickens running from the fox, running for shelter; and some, like Peter, had declared over and over to anyone who would listen, “I don’t know the man!” The test of their faithfulness had arrived; courage and loyalty had been called for – and they had fallen short.

Fear and guilt move pretty quickly to despair. These erstwhile friends of Jesus were living with broken hearts now, wondering how to put their lives back together. For three years they had followed this man, believing .. well, we’re not sure what… but at the very least that in the following they were finding something that was saving their lives. And now it looked like they had been wrong; they’d hit a dead end… literally. Now what? Understandable that they find themselves huddled together in the dark, with the doors carefully locked.

These disciples … we know them; they’re not strangers to us; we’re right there with them… in our own dark rooms or closets, door carefully locked, defenses in place. We know all about fear and guilt and despair; we know all about hiding from other people… authorities and bosses, colleagues and friends, family… and from ourselves; hiding, even, from God. We’ve put together masks that stay in place most of the time. But we’ve all experienced those moments when life falls apart, when what we think of as our centre collapses; and we are often haunted by the recognition that we’ve played our part in the undoing. The moment of testing arrives… and we fall short; we haven’t resisted temptation; we lacked courage. Fear, guilt and despair… a marriage ending; a pink slip delivered; a friend walking out of our lives.

And it’s not just individuals that live this reality; sometimes it’s whole communities, countries. Safety is the trump card that justifies gated communities; putting up wrought iron gates in front of the doors; hiring a security company to keep the strangers out; strengthening the borders; building walls – and passing legislation that pretends to legitimize our fearful actions.

But you know all this; I don’t have to go on and on about the bad news; that’s the stuff we’re all too familiar with. But the good news is that hiding behind locked doors is only the beginning of this gospel story, not the end. And what happens next takes your breath away… “Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’” He came right through the walls, the door… I don’t pretend to understand how it happens… maybe this is a vision, a parable, but what is clearly true is that the initiative lies with Jesus. The disciples weren’t out looking for answers; they hadn’t cried out, “Forgive us!” The appearance of Jesus did not depend on their faith. Which is maybe another way of saying you can’t keep Christ out; God will keep searching for us, offering love and grace. And the word that is given is shalom… not recriminations, criticism, blame. Now, if I had been Jesus, “Peace” is not what I would have started with… I’d have given those disciples a piece of my mind -- “Where the heck were you when I really needed you? What kind of friends are you?” Maybe I could have gotten by with just a few minutes of venting, but I wouldn’t have been so quick to offer forgiveness, new beginnings, healing in fact.

This is the good news that we dream of. I suspect that the hope of hearing words like this from a God who in some strange, incredible way loves us – that’s what draws us to church; to hear that God has a passion for us… for you, and you, and you…for each one of us, that’s why we’re here. Love comes searching for us, and you can’t keep love out. Remember those words from Psalm 139:

[O God]… where can I go from your spirit?

Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there.

If I make my bed in Sheol [the kingdom of the dead], you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning

        and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

and the light around me become night,”

even the darkness is not dark to you [O God];

the night is as bright as the day,

for the darkness is as light to you.

God has a passion for us, and brings shalom; peace in your heart, so that you can look at yourself in the mirror without flinching; and peace in relationships, in community.

Maybe the biggest question is how does this happen? We weren’t there two thousand years ago, to experience such a mysterious appearance of the risen Christ; so what happens now, for people like us? Now it may be that some of us have had a vision of the resurrected Jesus; and that is wonderful; blessings. But I suspect it’s not the way it happens for most of us – if it comes at all, I believe it arrives in and through ordinary flesh; Christ embodied in our neighbours, in the here and now.

For instance, a few weeks ago some of us gathered together for a Maundy Thursday service, here in the chancel of the church. We were remembering Jesus’ last supper with his disciples, and we acted out his final lesson to his followers through the washing of each other’s feet. Theree is something quite humbling and moving to have your feet washed… peeling off shoes and socks to reveal these well-worn, sometimes smelly, calloused, peeling, bunioned, faithful feet – not usually our most attractive feature; we keep them well hidden from the public eye. But when someone, a stranger perhaps, pours warm water over your feet, and gently soaps , rubs, massages, soothes and dries those feet --- all this done in a holy space, with candle-light flickering off warm wood, and stained glass, with soft, gentle music in the air… well, it feels like a Christ-moment, when you are being touched by love. And the feeling continues when you trade places, your feet tingling from the essence of lavender mixed in the water, as you kneel and offer the same loving care to the feet of your neighbour.

Christ searches us out in the strangest ways. Many years ago now, a friend of mine, Eleanor, was working at First United Church; she had an accounting background, and was responsible for taking care of the finances of First. Eleanor did great work, but the dark dogs of depression kept nipping at her heels, until eventually she felt herself going under; it affected her work, of course, and she carried guilt about how she wasn’t living up to her own expectations. Each day it seemed to get worse until one afternoon, she’d had it. She grabbed her keys, purse and coat, and went storming out of the office, no explanations; down to the parking lot, into her car… home. Locked the apartment door, pulled the blinds, unplugged the phone, turned out the lights. And she sat there, completely undone. Half an hour later, a knock at the door; she ignored it. Repeated; she ignored it… and eventually heard feet move away, down the hallway. But fifteen minutes later, more knocking; repeated; and ignored. She parted the blinds, and saw Jack Shaver, the minister of First United, sitting in his car, parked outside. She knew he’d be back, knocking at the door again; she knew that the only way to get rid of him was to let him in. “If he’s come to talk to me about the love of God, I think I’ll strangle him,” she thought to herself. Another knock at the door; Jack entered; said nothing; sat in a chair. Eleanor did likewise. After a while, in his inimitable way, Jack stretched out on the floor; grabbed a couple of phone books for a pillow; and just relaxed. Eventually they talked; nothing particularly religious, certainly nothing about the love of God. Just conversation between two friends; someone who had arrived at Eleanor’s home because he cared. As she said:

There [Jack] stayed for the next two hours. There seemed to be a lot of irrelevant conversation but I gradually began to realize that it wasn’t all irrelevant. Most importantly, I realized that he had come not to reach the love of God (or anything else, for that matter): he hadn’t come to pry with a lot of questions. He had come simply to be with me. (from “The Jack Word Book”, edited by Elizabeth Stebbings Hannon)

The story from that first Easter evening continues on: “Peace be with you,” says the risen Jesus. And then, says the gospel, “…[Jesus] breathed on [the disciples] and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” Now, I am the kind of guy who can’t help but imagine how the scene took place. Did Jesus take a deep breath and blow as hard as he could? Or rather, did he come close to each of his friends, holding each person’s face, his hands gently on their cheeks, as he leaned in and breathed upon them... sweet Jesus breath; as intimate as a best friend, a lover, a mother… as close as the spirit of God. What would that feel like?

Clearly the gospel writer John wants us to hear the echo of first creation, those verses from Genesis, where “the LORD God formed a human being from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, so that he became a living creature.” And here, now, is Jesus repeating the action, a moment of recreation, as he breathes into these dis-spirited disciples a new power and energy, a new love that re-constitutes them. I don’t know whether this was a holy power that came from afar, from the very heart of God, that infused every cell of their being; or whether it was more like a breath that fanned an almost-extinguished ember that smouldered within each person into a renewed fire for life. What is clear is that for John this was the moment of Pentecost, when the life-giving, creative power of the Holy One was once again embodied in human flesh.

You know where I am going with this… because that Jesus breath, the Holy Spirit, the wind of God… it’s blowing on us, bringing peace and power… the power to live, and to reach out to others and enable new life to spark in them. I want to push you a little… I invite you to lift up your hand, close to your lips… and gently blow. Feel the warm breath on the back of your hand, the tingle of the hairs… oh, don’t be embarrassed; just don’t look at anyone else … feel that soft, sweet wind. And imagine just for a moment what it might feel like to have that breath moving over your whole body, enveloping you, filling you with love.

And then comes the final word from Jesus, “Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’” The disciples are being empowered in order to go into the world, undoing the locks that offered an illusion of safety; opening the doors and walking out of the dark, fear-filled places in their lives. Filled with sweet Jesus breath, filled with the Spirit, the never-ending love of God, they begin to be a church, the body of Christ in the world. It happened then; it happens now. You are sent – if you ever wondered what you should be doing with your life, then this is the verse for you. As God sent Jesus to be good news, so, now, does God send you to do similar work, offering peace, forgiveness, compassion and power, breathing love on every one you meet, friend, stranger and even enemy.

Let me take you back to another moment of worship in Holy Week… Good Friday this time, to the performance of the Passion story in the afternoon, where Sara Douglas and Darryl Nixon sang us through the last supper, the garden of Gethsemane, the arrest, the trial, the crucifixion, the burial, on to the resurrection, and then finally, Sara walked off the small stage, came right into our midst, singing,

Peace so full I give to you,

As the Father sends me, so I send you;

Take my life throughout the world,

And peace be with you.

Over and over she sang, reaching out and shaking hands with everyone she could touch, “Peace so full I give to you, as the Father sends me, so I send you; take my life throughout the world, and peace be with you.” She sang with sweetness; she sang into our tears; she sang until we could feel the breath of Spirit slipping into our hearts; she sang until we truly believed that we were sent, that we were the hands and feet and heart of Christ in a world that was hungry for holy love.

So let me push you one more time, and invite you to sing with me… a South African hymn, #572 in the hymn book… but don’t look it up right now… just listen…

Thuma mina, thuma mina

Thuma mina, somandla…

Which when translated goes something like,

Send me Jesus, send me Jesus,

Send me Jesus , send me Lord….

Sing with me, and if singing the word “Jesus” hits buttons for you, or isn’t completely comfortable, try “Spirit,” try “love”… but sing with an open heart, with a readiness to be sent into the world… and then, if you are willing, let the words shift once more,

I will go Lord, I will go, Lord

In your name, Lord, I will go.

Let’s sing together, with the spirit breathing into us, and then, through us… into the world.