The Wounds are Still Impotant - John 20:19-31

Full disclosure, the story of Thomas in the upper room appears the week after Easter in the lectionary every year, and every year, it bores me. I’ve read all kinds of interesting takes about this passage in hopes of offering congregations new insights and fresh perspective. But I fear many of you have heard disinterest creep into my delivery over the years. This year, my strategy was to avoid the Gospel passage altogether and head straight to Revelation. Who doesn’t love a good apocalypse sermon on the heels of the biggest feast day of the year?

I admit I was curious about why the lectionary chooses Revelation to accompany the book of Acts during the Easter season in Year C. We begin at the beginning with chapter one, which has all the telltale signs of both a first century letter and a first century apocalypse. The sender is named as are the recipients, and then the author dives in with his glorious vision of the heavenly arrival of the savior. Everyone will see him, says John, even those who pierced him.

And there it is. Much to my chagrin, I only made it six verses into the book of Revelation before we started talking about Jesus’ wounds, just like our friend, doubting Thomas. So, I peeked over at the Acts reading, and sure enough, it mentions the crucifixion and the blood of Christ. I can take a hint. Even though Jesus has been raised from the dead, his wounds are still important. They’re clearly the theme of the day. The wounded Jesus has something to tell us that the pre-Holy Week Jesus was not yet able to say, so we should listen up.

Despite my lack of enthusiasm for today’s Gospel passage, I have always been a defender of Thomas as a disciple. I think he gets an undeserved bad rap for struggling to trust what he couldn’t see. This struggle is normal. In fact, it’s the defining challenge of the life of faith, and it takes time to overcome - a lifetime, for most of us. I’m not sure why we always want to rush Thomas or compare him to others, when we certainly wouldn’t want such scrutiny of our own spiritual journeys.

But here’s my hot take. I think Jesus has Thomas’ back, too. Stay with me. John’s Gospel does not indicate that a report of Thomas’ doubts made it back to Jesus through the regular channels. We can assume that Jesus, in his divine majesty, simply knew. He does not wait for any of the other disciples to bring up the subject, to shame Thomas or taunt him. Jesus approaches Thomas gently and lovingly even invites Thomas to touch his wounds, the sorest places on his body.

Then Jesus says to Thomas, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Most of the time, we take this to be a chastisement. “Oh now you believe? Well. I’ll be more impressed with people who believe without all your neediness.” But this doesn’t sound at all like the words of a kind and gentle person with whom we just shared an intimate moment.

What if we paused, ever so slightly, between those two sentences, giving them both their due? First, Jesus speaks just to Thomas, to ensure, now that he’s seen the wounds, that Thomas has everything he needs. Then, he turns to the rest of the disciples, and to us, to reveal that there will be more believers who don’t have the privilege of being face to face with Christ in the upper room, and they will be blessed too.

Jesus doesn’t go to all the trouble of making sure Thomas is cared for only to reprimand him for needing care. Instead, he tends to Thomas in the same way you or I would tend to a small child who has fallen, but is not seriously injured. “All good?” we might ask, encouragingly. “Got everything you need?”

We’ve seen Jesus exhibit this kind of gentleness before, particularly with women and children, or the ill or impoverished. But he has typically been a bit harsher with his disciples, holding them to quite a high standard and not hesitating to criticize, until now. Now that Jesus has experienced human death and overcome it, his wounds have expanded his capacity for relationship even further. This is an amazing quality of the resurrection, and certainly worthy of our attention on this second Sunday of Eastertide.

Perhaps you’ve heard the phrase “hurt people hurt people.” Or maybe you, like me, have witnessed offensive or harmful behavior and wondered about the perpetrator, “who hurt them?” It’s true that our tendency to trespass against others is rooted in our own brokenness. But the stories of the resurrected Christ teach us that when we are wounded, there is another way. Wounds can also expand our capacity for relationship.

Wounds - physical, emotional, spiritual, or any other kind - can broaden our understanding of the human condition, allowing us to empathize with the wounds of others. They can teach us compassion and patience. They precipitate a vulnerability that is required for knowing ourselves and others deeply. Helping others, especially when we are hurting, and letting others help us, can bring us back to wholeness and strengthen the bonds of community. Most importantly, being wounded, as each and every one of us is, gives us the opportunity to forgive and be forgiven, which is perhaps the truest expression of the Kingdom of God on earth.

I want to be clear, here. While we are all wounded, and we must all take care of one another, experiencing pain and trauma does not necessarily make us responsible for those who hurt us. When Jesus’ appears in the upper room, he does not offer an imperative, but an invitation, as is his habit. Not everyone who is wounded must become a healer, but, as Thomas learns firsthand, the best healers are the wounded.

I guess I’m coming around on doubting Thomas, after all. This spring, I am looking for ways that my grief can be meaningful, and I’m so grateful for the relationships I have formed and deepened through that process. The image of Jesus showing Thomas his scars feels more relatable to me than ever; not because Thomas and I need proof to have faith, but because those vulnerable and intimate moments between two wounded people can be foundational to shared faith. This Eastertide, it will be my care and delight to expand my capacity for relationship with all of you. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate resurrection. Amen.