"Shut Up and Show Up" – John 20:19-31

John 20:19-31

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained."

But Thomas (who was called the Twin ), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "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."

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

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Whenever this bit about Doubting Thomas shows up – especially just the week after Easter – I side with Thomas. Frankly, I feel like Thomas gets a bad rap by forever being dubbed the “doubting” one. At least it seems like a bad rap to me, if the presumption is that Thomas’ doubting is a bad, or negative, or less-than-faithful way of being in the world and responding to the good news of Easter.

And I’m not one to throw stones, I have to tell you, because who could blame Thomas, really? I think I might have been right there with him – skeptical, cynical, afraid, doubtful, whatever – in the face of this Easter news, so soon after it had all gone down. And I would have been skeptical not just because the news was out of this world… crazy… unbelievable stuff about a man being raised from the dead. Never mind the unbelievable facts of the matter. The sources of the story – the reporters of the news – weren’t the most reliable bunch, remember.

These disciples, I mean, had been down a long road of ministry together, and time and again they had missed the point. They misunderstood Jesus’ teachings. They misinterpreted Jesus’ miracles. They misjudged Jesus’ intentions all along the way – as he spent time with sinners, while he healed the sick, or when he preached about the Kingdom of God. And just the week before, leading up to his crucifixion and death, one disciple betrayed him, another disciple denied him three times, others fell asleep on him in the garden before his arrest and every one of them left Jesus in the dust to be taken away and crucified. So it’s no wonder Thomas doubted what these knuckleheads were telling him they had just seen.

And I would say we’re no different, too much of the time. And that the world around us is filled with “Doubting Thomases” who have a lot of really good reasons – just like Thomas – to be cynical, skeptical, and afraid, even, about the motives, the mission, and the ministry of so many Christians in the world.

I read an article recently about what non-believers believe about Christian people, these days, and it’s not pretty, or easy to swallow. When asked what they would say to Christians if they thought we would listen, non-believers said things like:

Christians are hypocritical.

Christians hold modern beliefs that aren’t Christ-like.

Christians think that philosophy, science, postmodernism, movies, [and more] are out to get them.

Christians are judgmental, narrow-minded, and tell others how to live their lives.

Christians reject reality, think non-believers are horrible and unworthy, and condemn others.

Christians are arrogant, and think asking questions and searching for answers is a bad thing.

Christians are on the wrong side of big issues like discrimination against people of color, women, and homosexuals.

Of course, I don’t think these opinions are right for all Christians, but I’ve seen and read and know enough Christian people to understand why these stereotypes and opinions exist – and are true in too many cases. And because of them, it makes the prospect of sharing Easter’s good news in ways that will matter for people like Thomas – the doubters, the skeptics, the cynics; and the scared and the sad and the struggling, too – a daunting proposition. And sharing Easter’s good news is what we’re called to be about as people who believe it. It’s what Jesus was up to when he showed up in that room, breathing, sharing the Holy Spirit, showing off the battle scars of his crucifixion, and charging his followers with the power to forgive sins.

And my temptation – and I think that of too many Christians – is to see Jesus’ encore performance – the following week, when he showed up again, for the benefit of Thomas? – as a second attempt at proving his case; as evidence that couldn’t be refuted; as a closing argument for the defense, if you will, for the hard-hearted, closed-minded, doubt-filled disciple who missed it the first time.

But then I remembered something Philip Yancey has said: that “No one ever converted to Christianity because they lost the argument.” “No one ever converted to Christianity because they lost the argument.”

And it made me imagine that Jesus was up to much more than just proving his case or proving Thomas wrong. What Jesus did for Thomas was … whatever Thomas needed in order to believe, to have faith, to experience Easter’s joy and good news and new life, in a way that mattered for Thomas.

So, I wonder what that means for me… for you… for us… as we do our best to live with faith – and to live faithfully – in these Easter days so many generations after the fact when our faith and belief are so wrapped up in how we’ll vote and who we’ll vote for; when so many confess their faith in defensive ways; when so much proclamation and pretend evangelism happens by way of tweets and memes and bumper stickers; when faith is debated and debatable and argued and fought over in ways that drive away the skeptics and the cynics and the scared and the struggling, instead of drawing them closer to the light and life and peace and joy God means to offer.

And I think it means we do more of what Jesus did for Thomas: we don’t debate; or argue; or shame; or scare. We don’t state our case or prove our point with words or arguments or whatever.

We show up, like Jesus did. We share the waters of baptism and new life … not just in worship on Sunday morning, but by building water cisterns for families in Haiti, and by protecting the waters of God’s creation.

We show up, like Jesus did. We break bread, not just in worship, but in the world, by sharing food with our food pantry, or handing out those “bags of blessing,” when we see someone in need.

We show up, like Jesus did. We confess and forgive sins, not just as part of our liturgy, but daily, in prayer and in person, and for and with the people in our lives.

We show up, like Jesus did. We breathe and we live and move and have our being among believers and non-believers and other kinds of believers in this world, bestowing peace by way of our actions and presence and patience and grace.

We show up, like Jesus did. We show our scars, acknowledging our brokenness and our struggles and our fears and our doubts. And when we’re able – with honesty, integrity, hope, and joy – we share how God has filled the holes of that brokenness with light and life and healing and promise.

Because when we do these things – if we just show up and maybe shut up more often – we become the hands and feet of the resurrected Jesus, and others will see God’s grace at work among us and come to believe and share in this new life that belongs to us all.

Amen

"Shoe-Shiners and Foot-Washers" - John 13

John 13:1-17, 31-35

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas, son of Simon Iscariot, to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. 

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’ Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’ Peter said to him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.’ Simon Peter said to him, ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ Jesus said to him, ‘One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.’ For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, ‘Not all of you are clean.’

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants* are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

When [Judas] had gone out, Jesus said, ‘Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, “Where I am going, you cannot come.” I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.’ 

As much as I’ve bemoaned the timing of Spring Break this year, because of the way it leaves us guessing about who/how to plan for all of our events and activities this Holy Week and Easter, the fact that it inspired us to change our focus for tonight is kind of cool. In case you haven’t heard, instead of celebrating First Communion with some of our youngest Cross of Gracers, like we’ve done for years as part of this worship service, tonight we’ll be focusing on the other part of what Jesus was up that night long ago, when he celebrated his last Passover before his crucifixion.

I’m talking, of course, about how he washed the feet of his disciples. And tonight, rather than simply taking off our shoes and walking around barefoot, which is usually the extent to which we pay homage to Jesus’ grand act of humility and service, we’re going to do the deed. Pastor Aaron and I are going to get our hands dirty, as it were. And you’re going to get your feet cleaned, if you choose. 

And a lot has been said over the years – for generations – about what Jesus was up to in this; why he did what he did; what he meant to convey; what his disciples were – what you and I are – supposed to learn from it all. 

The obvious point was his message of service and humility. That Jesus, the Son of God, came to serve, not to be served. That we, as children of God, like the Son of God, are called to serve, not to be served. That God’s kind of service looks like humility. That God’s kind of power looks like weakness. That God’s kind of service and humility and power look like death on the cross, even – for which this foot-washing stunt was just a prelude.

And I don’t mean to minimize all of that. It is foundational to who/how we are called to be as disciples of Jesus, as Christians in the world, as Partners in Mission, even, at Cross of Grace. Generous. Gracious. Humble. Servants. But I feel like we’ve heard that story before. 

And I even read a blog this week about how we shouldn’t bother with the washing of feet in worship, like so many churches do, like the Pope, even, does as part of his Holy Week journey, because it cheapens the power of what Jesus was really up to that night around the table with his disciples. The assumption is that, in this day and age, we can’t accurately replicate the depth or fullness of the foot-washing Jesus offered up way back when. And there’s truth to that. 

First of all, none of us is Jesus. None of us is the Son of God. None of us is rabbi, or teacher or Christ or Messiah in any of the ways that make his humble, stooping, service as surprising or compelling or instructive as it was for those who first experienced it. Secondly, none of us has feet like the ones Jesus likely washed that night. Remember, those disciples weren’t wearing wing-tips or Nike high tops or tube socks with their sandals, even. And they weren’t walking on sidewalks or paved streets, or Berber carpet, either. They were walking on and through and stepping over dust and dirt, and mud and muck, and whatever the local livestock and beasts of burden left behind, if you know what I mean. These were some feet that needed washing. 

As Pastor Aaron said, last year, I think, it might be more instructive, more accurate, more relevant, comparatively, were we to wash your underwear, than to pretend it’s all that humbling to bend down and poor some water over your feet this evening.

So in thinking about all of that – and in talking about tonight’s plan with many of you the last week or so – it seems like a shift has happened in the hearts and minds of Christian people when it comes to the emotions this foot-washing stuff inspires. What I mean is, we’ve stopped focusing on Jesus and what it meant for him to humble himself as he did, and we worry more about what it means to take our shoes off in front of our pastors in the church sanctuary. To a person it seems, the anxiety or distaste about what we’ll do here has been about our feet; our modesty; our uncomfortability; our “whatever” that makes this so strange and difficult. 

And maybe that’s as much Jesus’ point as anything else.

I think a lot of this is about letting ourselves…letting our soles…letting our SOULS…be seen; laid bare; touched by grace; washed with water; wiped clean; and so on. 

And I think Jesus knew that before we can get about the business of getting our hands dirty for the sake of others who need it, we’re called to recognize that we need the same sort of cleansing, ourselves. Maybe this foot-washing – for the first disciples, then, and for us, still today – is as much about who’s feet are being washed as it is about who’s doing the washing.

It’s about acknowledging what stinks about us; it’s about revealing what we’d rather not; showing what we try to hide; receiving care for what we’d rather ignore or deny, maybe. It’s about accepting grace…ministry…generosity…self-lessness…forgiveness…sacrifice…and everything else that God pours out through Jesus on the cross in the days to come, for the sake of our Sin. 

To put it plainly, if the disciples couldn’t let Jesus wash their feet, how in the world were they going to let him die for their sake?

It reminds me of a shoe-shiner I sat near once in the airport. His name was Moses, which is why he got my attention in the first place. That, and it was 6 o’clock in the morning and here was this elderly African-American guy at the airport drumming up business with a wide smile and a hearty laugh and an evident joy in work that would be beneath a whole lot of people – his clients, in particular, I imagine. 

Anyway, one of those clients climbed up into Moses’ chair, presented the shoe-shiner with some filthy looking wing-tips, and asked, “Do you think you can do anything with these?”

“Do you think you can do anything with these?” A question with some humility, some confession, a little bit of doubt, and some measure of hope mixed in: “Do you think you can do anything with these?”

I think that’s the same kind of question with which we are called to present our feet – our soles – our SOULS – to the Messiah who would wash them clean for our sake. And we are to present ourselves tonight and in the hours ahead as we follow him to the cross, with no small amount of humility, confession, misgiving, and hope, too, that yes, much to our surprise, God, in Jesus, will do something – something holy, mighty, gracious, loving and full of forgiveness – with whatever … whatever …  we put before him at the foot of God’s cross

Because God’s hope – and Jesus’ point that night so long ago – wasn’t just about cleaning feet. It was about moving his disciples to acts of love in return for the love they would receive; to return blessing for blessing; forgiveness for forgiveness; mercy for mercy; grace upon grace until all the world would come to know that Jesus Christ, this washer of feet, this suffering servant, this lamb of God, is still the King of kings; still the Lord of lords, and always hope for the sake of the world.

Amen