April 11, 2010
John 20.19-31
+ As you know, I enjoy reading theology. I think it’s a good thing that a priest actually enjoys reading theology. What you probably don’t know is that I enjoy even reading atheist theology. And I have read it all. From Richard Dawkins to Sam Harris (who are probably the most famous of the best selling atheists of recent years), from Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre to H.L. Mencken and Madelyn Murray O’Hare, the notorious founder of American Atheists—I think I have read them all.
I enjoy reading atheist theology because it’s often, surprisingly enough, quite insightful. It challenges me. It helps me develop a critical eye about the Church, about theology in general and about my own personal faith in particular. And none of us should live in a vacuum, certainly not priests. It’s good for all of us to step outside our comfort zone and explore other areas.
What disturbs me about atheist theology isn’t it’s anger, its rebellion, its single-mindedness about how wrong religion is. What disturbs me about atheism is how simple it is—how beautifully uncomplicated it is. And I think in many ways it would be so easy to be an atheist. Let’s face it—it’s easy to not see God anywhere. It’s easy to look up into the sky and say, we see no God. It’s easy to believe that science has the only answers and that everything is provable and rational. And, it’s a nice, safe way to look at life.
There are no ghosts, no demons, no angels. There are no hidden secrets. There are no frightening unanswered questions about existence. No one is watching us, looking over us, observing us. No surprises await us when we shed this mortal coil and head into the darkness of death. There is no hell, and no heaven.
As the poet Tory Dent (1958-2005) wrote in her poem “Immigrant in my own life” as she was dying of AIDS:
“At least when I was dying, I knew where I was going:
Into atheistic air and dirt, into the Atlantic Ocean…”
I get that. I almost—ALMOST—envy that. And when the atheists start raging about the white-bearded male god who sits on a throne in heaven, I realize: if that is what they don’t believe in, then…I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in that God either. I don’t believe in a God that is so made in our image. I don’t believe in a God that is simply a projection of our own image and self. Who would want that God? We might as well go back and start worshipping the pantheon of pagan gods our ancestors worshipped. It’s so easy to say there’s no God. It is easy to say that we live in some random existence—without purpose or meaning. That is the easy way out.
For us, however, as Christians, it isn’t as easy. Being a Christian is actually quite hard. Yes, we do believe in the existence of God.
When I am finished with this sermon, we will all stand and profess what we believe in the Nicene Creed that lays out quite clearly exactly what it is we believe as Christians. That Creed is not easy. It’s actually quite complicated. In it, we say we believe in complicated things like the Incarnation, the belief that, in Jesus, God has become actual flesh and blood. Or to use the words of the Creed: We believe that Jesus is “God from God, light from Light,/true God from true God…”
Or the Resurrection. We believe that Jesus, God in the flesh, having been murdered ‘[on] the third day…rose again…”—in his flesh and blood.
And we believe these things not because we’ve seen them with out own eyes. We didn’t. We are essentially taking the word of a pre-scientific (dare we say “primitive”) group of people who lived two thousand years ago. We believing what a group of pre-Enlightenment, Pre-rational, superstitious Jews from a backwater Third World country are telling us they saw.
But believe because we know, in our hearts, that this is true. We know these things really did happen and that because they did, life is different—life is better, despite everything that happens We believe these things in true faith. We didn’t see Jesus while he was alive and walking about. We didn’t see him after he rose from the tomb. We don’t get the opportunities that Thomas had in this morning’s Gospel.
Doubting Thomas, as we’ve come to know him, refused to believe that Jesus was resurrected until he had put his fingers in the wounds of Jesus. It wasn’t enough that Jesus actually appeared to him in the flesh—how many of us would only jump at that chance. For Thomas, Jesus stood there before him, in the flesh—wounds and all. And only when he had placed his finger in the wounds, would he believe. It’s interesting to see and it’s interesting to hear this story of Doubting Thomas.
But, the fact is, for the rest of us, we don’t get it so easy. Jesus is probably not going to appear before us—in the flesh. At least, not on this side of the Veil—not while we are still alive. And we are not going to have the opportunity to touch the wounds of Jesus.
Let’s face it, to believe without seeing, is not easy. It takes work and discipline. A strong relationship with God—this invisible being we might sense, we might feel emotionally or spiritually, but we can’t pin-point—takes work—just as any other relationship in our life takes work. It takes discipline. It takes concentrated effort. Being a Christian does not just involve being nice on occasion. Atheists do that too. Being a Christian doesn’t mean just being ethical and moral. Atheists do that too—sometimes better than we do.
Being a Christian means living one’s faith life fully and completely as a Christian. It means being a reflection of God’s love, God’s Presence, God’s joy and goodness in the world. As St. Augustine said, “Being a Christian means being an Alleluia from head to toe.”
One of my favorite stories comes from the East. One day a group of people were arguing about God. One group said to the other, “You’re not worshipping God the right way!” The other group replied, “’You don’t understand anything about God. We are the only ones who truly understand God.’ Finally, in desperation, they went to a wise man. The Wise man listened to them argue, then said, ‘Once, I gathered a group of blind people together. I put them together in a room with an elephant. I asked them then to describe the elephant to me. The blind people felt the elephant—felt its skin, its trunk, its tusks, its ears. Finally one of the blind people said, ‘This elephant is like a giant tea pot.’ Another blind person said, ‘No, this elephant is a huge mountain.’ Still another said, ‘Neither of you are right, this elephant is like a brightly colored diamond shining the sun.’ And finally, one blind person said, ‘I see no elephant. There is no elephant.’”
In a sense, we are like blind people groping at the elephant when we try to understand who and what God is in our lives. We make our guesses. We see God as we want to see God. We often form God into our image when we can’t do anything else. And when we can’t do any of that, we do the easiest thing of all. We say, there is no God.
Now, for Thomas, he saw. He touched. It was all clear to him. But we don’t get that chance.
“Blessed are those who believe but don’t see,” Jesus says this morning.
We are those blessed ones. We are the ones Jesus is speaking of in this morning’s Gospel. Blessed are you all. You believe, but don’t see. We are the ones who, unlike the atheists, are able to look up into the sky, into the depths of space, and, unable to see God with our eyes, we still have faith. We are the ones who believe in the Resurrected Jesus not because we can rationally explain it but because we listen with the ear of our hearts and we know in our core of cores that it truly happened. We can’t objectively make sense of it. Sometimes all we can do is profess it with our lips, and experience the joy of this resurrection and somehow, like sunlight shining us and sinking deep into us, we simply bask in its glory.
Seen or unseen, we know God is there. And our faith is not based on seeing God here in front of us in the flesh or proving the existence of God, or finding scientific proof for the Resurrection. Because we have faith that one day, yes, we will see God. Because Jesus died and was resurrected, we too will die and be resurrected. We too will live a life of unending perfect sight in God’s presence. We will, on that glorious day, run to God and see God face to face. And in that moment, our faith will be fulfilled.
Blessed are we who believe but don’t see now. The Kingdom of Heaven is truly ours.
John 20.19-31
+ As you know, I enjoy reading theology. I think it’s a good thing that a priest actually enjoys reading theology. What you probably don’t know is that I enjoy even reading atheist theology. And I have read it all. From Richard Dawkins to Sam Harris (who are probably the most famous of the best selling atheists of recent years), from Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre to H.L. Mencken and Madelyn Murray O’Hare, the notorious founder of American Atheists—I think I have read them all.
I enjoy reading atheist theology because it’s often, surprisingly enough, quite insightful. It challenges me. It helps me develop a critical eye about the Church, about theology in general and about my own personal faith in particular. And none of us should live in a vacuum, certainly not priests. It’s good for all of us to step outside our comfort zone and explore other areas.
What disturbs me about atheist theology isn’t it’s anger, its rebellion, its single-mindedness about how wrong religion is. What disturbs me about atheism is how simple it is—how beautifully uncomplicated it is. And I think in many ways it would be so easy to be an atheist. Let’s face it—it’s easy to not see God anywhere. It’s easy to look up into the sky and say, we see no God. It’s easy to believe that science has the only answers and that everything is provable and rational. And, it’s a nice, safe way to look at life.
There are no ghosts, no demons, no angels. There are no hidden secrets. There are no frightening unanswered questions about existence. No one is watching us, looking over us, observing us. No surprises await us when we shed this mortal coil and head into the darkness of death. There is no hell, and no heaven.
As the poet Tory Dent (1958-2005) wrote in her poem “Immigrant in my own life” as she was dying of AIDS:
“At least when I was dying, I knew where I was going:
Into atheistic air and dirt, into the Atlantic Ocean…”
I get that. I almost—ALMOST—envy that. And when the atheists start raging about the white-bearded male god who sits on a throne in heaven, I realize: if that is what they don’t believe in, then…I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in that God either. I don’t believe in a God that is so made in our image. I don’t believe in a God that is simply a projection of our own image and self. Who would want that God? We might as well go back and start worshipping the pantheon of pagan gods our ancestors worshipped. It’s so easy to say there’s no God. It is easy to say that we live in some random existence—without purpose or meaning. That is the easy way out.
For us, however, as Christians, it isn’t as easy. Being a Christian is actually quite hard. Yes, we do believe in the existence of God.
When I am finished with this sermon, we will all stand and profess what we believe in the Nicene Creed that lays out quite clearly exactly what it is we believe as Christians. That Creed is not easy. It’s actually quite complicated. In it, we say we believe in complicated things like the Incarnation, the belief that, in Jesus, God has become actual flesh and blood. Or to use the words of the Creed: We believe that Jesus is “God from God, light from Light,/true God from true God…”
Or the Resurrection. We believe that Jesus, God in the flesh, having been murdered ‘[on] the third day…rose again…”—in his flesh and blood.
And we believe these things not because we’ve seen them with out own eyes. We didn’t. We are essentially taking the word of a pre-scientific (dare we say “primitive”) group of people who lived two thousand years ago. We believing what a group of pre-Enlightenment, Pre-rational, superstitious Jews from a backwater Third World country are telling us they saw.
But believe because we know, in our hearts, that this is true. We know these things really did happen and that because they did, life is different—life is better, despite everything that happens We believe these things in true faith. We didn’t see Jesus while he was alive and walking about. We didn’t see him after he rose from the tomb. We don’t get the opportunities that Thomas had in this morning’s Gospel.
Doubting Thomas, as we’ve come to know him, refused to believe that Jesus was resurrected until he had put his fingers in the wounds of Jesus. It wasn’t enough that Jesus actually appeared to him in the flesh—how many of us would only jump at that chance. For Thomas, Jesus stood there before him, in the flesh—wounds and all. And only when he had placed his finger in the wounds, would he believe. It’s interesting to see and it’s interesting to hear this story of Doubting Thomas.
But, the fact is, for the rest of us, we don’t get it so easy. Jesus is probably not going to appear before us—in the flesh. At least, not on this side of the Veil—not while we are still alive. And we are not going to have the opportunity to touch the wounds of Jesus.
Let’s face it, to believe without seeing, is not easy. It takes work and discipline. A strong relationship with God—this invisible being we might sense, we might feel emotionally or spiritually, but we can’t pin-point—takes work—just as any other relationship in our life takes work. It takes discipline. It takes concentrated effort. Being a Christian does not just involve being nice on occasion. Atheists do that too. Being a Christian doesn’t mean just being ethical and moral. Atheists do that too—sometimes better than we do.
Being a Christian means living one’s faith life fully and completely as a Christian. It means being a reflection of God’s love, God’s Presence, God’s joy and goodness in the world. As St. Augustine said, “Being a Christian means being an Alleluia from head to toe.”
One of my favorite stories comes from the East. One day a group of people were arguing about God. One group said to the other, “You’re not worshipping God the right way!” The other group replied, “’You don’t understand anything about God. We are the only ones who truly understand God.’ Finally, in desperation, they went to a wise man. The Wise man listened to them argue, then said, ‘Once, I gathered a group of blind people together. I put them together in a room with an elephant. I asked them then to describe the elephant to me. The blind people felt the elephant—felt its skin, its trunk, its tusks, its ears. Finally one of the blind people said, ‘This elephant is like a giant tea pot.’ Another blind person said, ‘No, this elephant is a huge mountain.’ Still another said, ‘Neither of you are right, this elephant is like a brightly colored diamond shining the sun.’ And finally, one blind person said, ‘I see no elephant. There is no elephant.’”
In a sense, we are like blind people groping at the elephant when we try to understand who and what God is in our lives. We make our guesses. We see God as we want to see God. We often form God into our image when we can’t do anything else. And when we can’t do any of that, we do the easiest thing of all. We say, there is no God.
Now, for Thomas, he saw. He touched. It was all clear to him. But we don’t get that chance.
“Blessed are those who believe but don’t see,” Jesus says this morning.
We are those blessed ones. We are the ones Jesus is speaking of in this morning’s Gospel. Blessed are you all. You believe, but don’t see. We are the ones who, unlike the atheists, are able to look up into the sky, into the depths of space, and, unable to see God with our eyes, we still have faith. We are the ones who believe in the Resurrected Jesus not because we can rationally explain it but because we listen with the ear of our hearts and we know in our core of cores that it truly happened. We can’t objectively make sense of it. Sometimes all we can do is profess it with our lips, and experience the joy of this resurrection and somehow, like sunlight shining us and sinking deep into us, we simply bask in its glory.
Seen or unseen, we know God is there. And our faith is not based on seeing God here in front of us in the flesh or proving the existence of God, or finding scientific proof for the Resurrection. Because we have faith that one day, yes, we will see God. Because Jesus died and was resurrected, we too will die and be resurrected. We too will live a life of unending perfect sight in God’s presence. We will, on that glorious day, run to God and see God face to face. And in that moment, our faith will be fulfilled.
Blessed are we who believe but don’t see now. The Kingdom of Heaven is truly ours.
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