The Other Side of Easter: The After People

John 21:15-17

After they had eaten breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time, Jesus said to him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” A third time, Jesus said to him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter, hurt that he had asked him a third time, “Do you love me?,” said to him, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”

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I hope you’ll notice a theme of sorts over the course of the next few weeks both in my Sunday morning sermons and in the newsletter article I hope you’ll read after you either pick it up on your way out today, get it in the mail soon or find it online – at our website or in e-mails. And I hope all of this carries over into all we’re up to in a million ways around here.

I’m thinking about life “on the other side of Easter” these days and trying to take advantage of our time together in worship – and this bully pulpit I have – to invite you to join me in that. In the next few weeks, I hope to share information and invitations and inspiration together about how – now that we’re living life blessed with the good news of God’s grace and mercy, love and new life – hopefully we’ll be encouraged in some new ways about what that can look like around here, in our personal lives, as part of our life together, and for the sake of the world we’re called to serve.

The short of the long is, I want to share some scoop with you all that is as practical as it is holy about what we’re trying to accomplish as a congregation. And I’m making no bones about the fact that we’re in a place – not just on the other side of Easter, but as we try to get to the other side of this pandemic – where we could use as many hands on deck as we can get to make it all happen.

(If you’re one of the many people who join us online and who may wonder if any of this is going to apply to you, please bear with me. I believe that if what we do as a church is faithful in any way, it should be meaningful for anybody to know about and join us in – however you’re able – or at least pray about on our behalf.)

Quite frankly, I’m starting to feel called back to my Mission Developing ways again because I think there’s so much potential – post-Easter and post-pandemic when that time actually arrives – to do Church differently and with an eye to the growing, changing community and world around us these days. I know we’re all excited about “getting back to some of whatever ‘normal’ was” for us before COVID-19 upset the applecart of the Church. And I’m grateful for that, too.

But COVID has also revealed and accelerated a lot of need for change in the way we live as the body of Christ in the world, and in the next few weeks, I hope to share some of what that could look like for us at Cross of Grace.

Today, I want to start by talking about and celebrating the Stephen Ministry program as a part of all this. We’re going to commission this cohort of 14 Stephen Ministers shortly and give thanks for the last six months of time they’ve invested in learning and praying and preparing to serve as Christian caregivers. And I love this handout that Amanda Terrell found – which is in your bulletins – and how it describes Stephen Ministers as “The After People.”

I won’t read it all for you, but it describes beautifully what Stephen Ministers have been called to do: this idea that they offer care and love and conversation and companionship for people “after” the funeral; “after” the diagnosis; “after” the baby arrives or “after” the last child leaves home; “after” your friends and family have heard about whatever it is too many times, but you still have more to say… you get the idea.

It is a beautiful thing to be one of these “after” people. And it’s a beautiful thing to receive care from one of these “after” people, too.

This is what our Stephen Ministers have been learning to do over the last six months – to walk alongside others who are hurting or struggling or lost or longing, in any number of ways – to get through something they shouldn’t have to do, or don’t want to do, or can’t do as meaningfully, all by themselves.

One of the first things I learned – day one of my own Stephen Ministry Leader training – was how I wished we would have/could have/should have made this ministry a part of our life together way back in the day. It would have changed the DNA of who we are and how we can be different – and even more faithful, I believe – as a congregation. To follow Jesus by teaching and encouraging and preparing and commissioning one another to care for and tend to and love one another – and not leaving all of that only up to the Pastors of our congregation, I mean.

Even though that’s the way it is in too many congregations – and no small part of the reason there has been this phenomenon that’s become known as “the Great Resignation” in clergy circles in the last two years – it was never meant to be that way. Just ask Simon Peter…

Just before what we heard in this morning’s Gospel story, Jesus had surprised the disciples by showing up on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, after they’d spent a long night and very early morning NOT catching any fish. From the shore, Jesus tells them to cast their net on the other side of the boat, which they do, and they catch so many fish they can barely get them into the boat.

And then, after they grill some fish for breakfast, Jesus grills Peter with this little Q and A of his own.

“Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me?,” Jesus asks him.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Peter promises.

“Then feed my lambs… Tend my sheep… Feed my sheep.” Jesus commands him.

“Care for my people. Tend to my children. Love one another.”

“Do for others what I’ve done for you.” “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

And I didn’t pick this Gospel reading because it was going to be Stephen Ministry Commissioning Sunday. This is always the assigned reading on this Sunday after Easter, because this is just who and how we’re supposed to be on the other side of the resurrection.

See, none of this was or should have been news for Peter or for the others who were having breakfast that morning. Jesus had been asking and showing them how to do all of this all along the way. The difference was that everything had changed. Everything had changed because they were “after” people now, each and every one of them, just like you and me.

People after the crucifixion and death of Good Friday, I mean.

People after the resurrection and empty tomb of Easter.

People after that moment in the upper room we heard about last week, when Jesus showed them his hands and his side; after he breathed on them and delivered the Holy Spirit; after he gave them authority to forgive or retain the sins of others; after he gave them every reason to believe that he was who he said he had always been.

And the good news is, we’re all “after people,” people. We all live on the other side of Easter’s good news in a way that is meant to move us to love differently and to hope more boldly and to give more generously and to humble ourselves more vulnerably and to serve more willingly and to follow Jesus more faithfully.

So today … yes … we’re giving thanks for and blessing in a special way our Stephen Ministers and all they stand to add to our life together. But I’m praying every one of you will be praying about and planning for how to love and follow and live more like Jesus on the other side of Easter … as a Partner in Mission with Cross of Grace … loved, freed, and forgiven as one of God’s “after people,” just the same.

Amen

The Way of the Wounded

John 20:19-31

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors on 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 fingers 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 his 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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This day when the story of Thomas comes up for us – a week after The Big Day of Easter’s celebration – is always so timely. I don’t want to rain on what is still supposed to be our Easter parade, but just look at what has happened since we last gathered – or what has not happened, as the case may be – death and its grief are still around. Loved ones are still sick. That war still rages. It snowed on Easter Monday and Netflix is probably going to start adding commercials, for crying out loud!

It’s no wonder so many still struggle to believe what we celebrated so beautifully and with so much joy, just a week ago.

If our faith is only – or mostly – or too precariously – wrapped up in the happy, happy, joy, joy stuff of Easter lilies, chocolate bunnies, and easy Alleluias, faith and belief can be a hard sell to anyone who’s paying attention to the world around them.

It’s why I love that Thomas wanted to see scars, wounds, clotted blood and bruises to know the story of Jesus was true.

I’m sure it drove the other disciples crazy that he wouldn’t take their word for it; that he demanded his own proof; that he wanted to see for himself; that he doubted. We know people like this, don’t we? Maybe we are – or have been – like those disciples … the ones who just want someone in our life to have the kind of faith we have, on our good days, anyway. Or maybe we are – or have been – like Thomas, who just doesn’t buy it, who asks hard questions no one can answer, who needs more proof or more evidence or more whatever.

And why would Thomas, why should he have believed the disciples, anyway? We all know they were a bunch of knuckleheads, really. Deserters … Deniers … Doubters just as seriously as Thomas was, himself. They’d fallen asleep on Jesus in the garden, remember. Peter had pretended not to know him. Time and time again, right along with Thomas, the other disciples mistook his teaching or misunderstood the prophets or missed the point altogether.

At the very moment we read about in this Gospel story, it seems like they were still hiding in that room for some reason. Why are you still locked up and hidden away a week after the Son of God has been raised from the dead and then showed up to tell you about it? What in the world were they still afraid of? I wouldn’t have believed them, either.

So I wondered this time around if Thomas’ doubts were about more than just the facts of the resurrection. Like I said, I like that Thomas wanted to see scars, wounds, clotted blood and bruises to know that the story of Jesus was true.

I wonder if his need for that particular kind of proof was more than just about forensic evidence. I mean, I kind of doubt that Thomas was counting the stripes or measuring the holes to see if they matched the size of the spikes they used on Friday, or that he was looking for specific type of splinter in the brow of Jesus.

What if he really wanted to know that the suffering was as real as the resurrection? What if he really wanted to confirm that this was the kind of God they were dealing with? What if he needed to see and touch and feel for himself – not just that Jesus had come back to life – but that the God of the universe had really gone to such lengths … had really suffered so mightily … had actually sacrificed and bled and died, as he said he would, for the sake of these people; and for the sake of the world; for Thomas, himself?

“Unless I put my fingers in the marks of the nails… and my hands in his sides, I won’t believe.” What I mean is, Thomas didn’t want to hear Jesus’ voice or ask him some questions. He wanted evidence of the suffering he’d endured. And that seems meaningful to me.

That, to me, is as hard to believe as any of this, honestly. That the God of the universe would suffer like that… that power is made perfect in weakness… that mercy is mighty, somehow… that sacrifice is the way, in this selfish world… that humility matters in a world of egos… that the last will be first and the first will be last in a world that convinces us to win at all costs.

“This is not how gods behave,” Thomas might have thought. This is not how the world works, we all know. This goes against the grain and against the way we’ve been trained to be in every other realm of our lives. So, I need to see it, to touch it, to feel the Truth of it before I’ll stake my life – let alone my intellectual assent – on it for one more moment.

“Unless I touch the wounds …” “Unless I see the marks …” “Unless I feel the fullness of what I’ve been told to believe… How can I buy it? How would I follow it? Why would I dare to live that way?” It makes no sense.

It makes me think of anyone we admire who has chosen to live selflessly and sacrificially for the sake of the world and others in it – and who has the wounds to prove it. Mahatma Gandhi who was assassinated for living a life of non-violent protest and resistance to colonialism and civil rights abuses in India. Dietrich Bonhoeffer who was martyred opposing the Nazis during World War II. Martin Luther King, Jr., who gave his life for the sake of civil rights in our own country. Mother Teresa who gave it all up to love orphans, care for lepers, feed the hungry, comfort the dying.

These are the extremes of course … the martyrs and the saints … but there are others, we know, closer to home.

Someone who is generous “to a fault” as they say, but who is also content in ways that are enviable;

Someone who has more than enough, not because they’re rich, but because they’ve decided for themselves what “enough” means for them;

Someone who is happy with themselves and their life in the world, even if they have some wounds to show for their faithfulness.

Don’t you know people like that? Don’t you know someone who has given up something for somebody else in a way that has changed their own life – or that someone else’s life – for the better, because they wanted to, not because they had to? Even when it was hard? Even if it hurt? Even if it left a wound or two behind?

I think of the foster parents… the missionaries… the kidney donors; I think of the single moms and dads… the grandparents who do more than their share… every volunteer who puts in more time than it seems they could possibly have… the tithers.

This is the good news and the holy challenge of an Easter faith. And it can be so hard to believe sometimes that, like Thomas, we have to see it, touch it, feel it to believe that God’s ways are different; that God’s love is counter-cultural; that God’s grace is unlimited; that sacrifice and generosity are, actually, the way; that death leads to life; that giving and loving, that living and dying – like Jesus did – and like we’re called to do – really can change the world.

Amen