John 20: 19-31
Third
Sunday of Easter
19th April 2015
Two Sundays ago, on Easter, we read from John 20 and heard the
story of Jesus near the tomb, disguised as the gardener. Jesus reached out to
Mary Magdalene in her grief saying, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you
looking for?" (John 20:15). Jesus told her not to hold on to him because he was
about to ascend to the Father.
Then, later that same day, “the evening on that day,” John
tells us, “the first day of the week” (Jn. 20:19), which we call Sunday, we
find the disciples behind locked doors. They are back in the house where they
gathered before Jesus’ death; perhaps the site of their last supper together.
John tells us, “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’” (Jn. 20:19).
This, too, is a remarkable scene that we have in John’s
gospel: Jesus’ astonishing exchange with the disciples locked away in fear. “The doors of the house…were locked
for fear.” That’s such an
evocative phrase and image.
In
phrasing it this way, I’m intentionally omitting the object of their fear—“the
Jews.” I’m doing this for two reasons. First, the reference to “the Jews” in
John’s gospel has inflicted considerable damage and violence toward the Jewish
people. Scholars have identified John’s gospel as one of the major sources of
anti-Semitism. In fact, we Christians need to remember our role in the propagation
of anti-Semitism across the centuries. We need to remember that the Nazis, for
example, did not invent the concept of the Jewish ghetto. (Think of the Warsaw
ghetto.) The Nazis got the idea from Christians. I was surprised to discover
years ago that Venice, Italy, was the site of the first Jewish ghetto, in 1516. It was the only place Jews were allowed to
live in the city. And I was surprised to
discover there was also a Jewish ghetto in Rome (the Ghetto di Roma), built in
1555, surrounded by walls, with three gates and a Vatican guard that made sure
no Jew left the area after dark.[1]
John’s
attitude toward “the Jews” of Jesus’ time has been used to justify Christian
pogroms against all Jews across the centuries.
However, biblical scholars now suspect that John’s use of “the Jews” throughout
the gospel is really a code word for the Jewish religious establishment. He’s
not referring to everyone who is
Jewish (which would include both John and Jesus, who were, of course, both
Jewish).
The second reason for omitting “the Jews” here allows us,
we who are not necessarily fearful of “the Jews,” to access the depth of
meaning of a text like this. While we might not be afraid of “the Jews,” we are
certainly people who know what it’s like to live with fear. “The doors of the house…were locked
for fear.”
The disciples are hiding; scared for their lives. Why?
The text doesn’t say, but it’s not difficult to imagine multiple scenarios.
They’re afraid of being persecuted for following the “criminal” Jesus. They are
marked men. Perhaps they’re fearful of retaliation. If Jesus wasn’t alive, then
they would be attacked for being associated with the blasphemer who claimed to
be God’s Son and stirred up the city and annoyed the Roman authorities. We can imagine
them trying to find a way to get out of Jerusalem, to flee to safety in
Galilee.
No doubt news was spreading about what happened at the
garden tomb. But, why would this invoke fear?
Think about it. If it’s true, if
resurrection is true then it’s kind of difficult to return to life as “normal”
after that. Resurrection changes everything. If Jesus is alive, then their commitment
to him would be even stronger than it was when he was alive (which wasn’t
all the strong). And so, they can’t just
set aside the whole experience with Jesus as a kind of bad dream and then go
back to life as normal; they can’t go home again. There’s no going back to
“normal.” If Jesus is alive, then this really does change everything. And in the face of such radical change, it is easy to
imagine the disciples huddled together in fear behind locked doors—that’s
probably where I would have been.
We can’t blame them for being fearful. On the one hand, fear
was probably the appropriate and natural reaction to all that they experienced.
If they weren’t fearful, then they probably weren’t paying attention to what
was going on around them that weekend in Jerusalem. Fear is the normal,
rational response when one feels threatened, attacked, unsure, confused.
Fear is such a powerful emotion, with both positive and
negative dimensions to it. There’s a lot about fear that is good. There are
rational fears that serve an evolutionary function, which have allowed humans
to survive for millennia. Fear can be a good defense mechanism against all
kinds of predators. There’s something primal about the way fear can be used as
a way to keep us safe. When we’re fearful we respond with whatever it takes to
keep us safe; it motivates us toward security. Feeling safe and secure are good
things, obviously. It’s impossible to live and thrive without security, without
a feeling of being safe.
Sometimes
fear is a perfectly rational response—but if we get stuck there, stuck in the
fear, then that becomes a source of considerable concern. That’s when fear can
become the prison of the heart.
Fear—throughout scripture—never has the final word in any
scenario. It’s never lifted up as being the permanent state of being for God’s
children. We are not called to live in fear, but in freedom, including freedom
from fear. Whenever the disciples are afraid, the voice of the angels or the
voice of Jesus himself—the voice of God—is always consistent: “Fear not.” “Do
not be afraid.” Over and over again, the good news of the kingdom is “Fear
not.” Don’t live your lives in fear. Instead live your lives with love. And the
New Testament is the only text I’ve ever read that states explicitly that the
opposite of love is not hate, the opposite of love is fear. As we read in 1 John 4:18, “There is no fear in love, but
perfect love casts out fear.” And it’s when we fear that we then—hate and
attack and persecute and destroy and murder and kill.
Years ago, a wise ruling elder said to me, “Ken, we act
either in love or fear.” We have two choices. We can choose to act either in
love or fear. At first, I was a little
suspicious, thinking that it’s not that simple.
But she was right. It might sound overly simplistic, but I think it’s
true. Just look over your life. Consider the countless decisions you make on
any given day or week or over a lifetime—are they, were they done in fear or in
love? Think of the major decisions you have made in your life or decisions that
need to be made. Love or fear? Which will dictate your life? Which governs your
life?
The truth is there are so many places in our lives, in
the church, in the world that are not governed by love, but fear. The truth is
there are so many places in our lives, in the church, in the world today being
destroyed by fear. The more you become aware of it, the more you see it
everywhere. In addition to fear, there’s the related emotion of anxiety. We all
know the price we pay when children are raised to be fearful and anxious, they
tend to be apprehensive. If children are raised in environments that are
fearful, they become defensive. Back in 1959, Dorothy Law Nolte (1924-2005)
wrote a poem that became well-known, “Children Learn What They Live.” It begins
with these lines, “If a child lives with criticism, he learns to condemn…/ If a
child lives with hostility, he learns to fight…/ If a child lives with fear, he
learns to be apprehensive…” The poem continues with a description of what is
learned when a child lives with acceptance, tolerance, justice, approval. My
mother had a copy of this poem, the 1969 version, on the wall of the bedroom that
I shared with my brother Craig. I remember reading those lines over and over
again as boy.
Children
are growing up and maturing in a world overwhelmed by the presence of fear. The
world can be a fearful place for a child. It’s probably always been the case.
But earlier generations were raised in communities that shared a common
religious perspective, one that provided considerable resources for children. There
was a time when family and community, religious communities in particular, helped
provide a secure, safe place for growth.
This is completely missing for many today.
The source of so much hatred in our society is rooted in
fear. The specter of racism raising its ugly head again in the United States
is rooted in fear of the other. The rising intolerance for anyone or anything
that doesn’t fit the “norm” is rooted in fear. Society is changing, the church
is changing (and not all of this is bad, a lot of it is very, very good), but too
much change too fast produces anxiety. Sometimes our resistance to change is
simply rooted in fear. The rise of Christian, Jewish, and Islamic fundamentalisms
over the last century, especially over the last decade, each have one thing in
common: fear. Christian
fundamentalism emerged as a movement in the early 1900s, here in the United
States, as a fearful reaction to advances made in science and learning. We then
gave this fear to the world.[2]
God doesn’t want our lives governed by fear. Again, fear
might have an evolutionary function that allows us to survive; however,
theologically and psychologically-speaking, we know that fear can suck the life
out of us and actually hinder our ability to thrive. When fear generates an
obsession with safety and security—when we’re always living behind locked doors—then
we cut ourselves off from life itself. The Swiss psychiatrist, Carl G. Jung
(1875-1961), observed “negation of the life force by fear” is “the spirit of
evil.” Only boldness can deliver us from fear, and if the risk is not taken,
the meaning of life is violated.[3] James Hollis, a
contemporary Jungian analyst, builds on this point, “The meaning of our life
will be found precisely in our capacity to achieve as much of it as possible
beyond those bounds fear would set for us. There is no blame in being fearful;
it is our common lot, our common susceptibility. But it may be a crime, an
impiety…, when our individual summons, our destiny, is diverted or destroyed by
fear.”[4] This is a remarkable insight:
life governed by fear as an impiety, an expression of being faithless.
It’s precisely in such a context that we hear Jesus’
words to his disciples. God will not allow fear to have the last word. In fear the disciples try to hide themselves
from a world that resists all the implications of the life changing, liberating
power of resurrection. But fear can’t hinder the new life Jesus extends to us!
Resurrection life acknowledges the fear, but does not allow the fear to divert
or destroy what God is doing through Jesus and through us. We’re given a truly
remarkable image here. I love the way the resurrected Jesus appears within the
locked room and stands among them there; he stands within the confines of their fear; he appears and stands in their place
of greatest fear and says, “Peace be with you.” Even locked doors can’t keep
him out. Christ’s boldness overcomes every barrier we try to erect in fear.
We’re not meant to live behind locked doors. Within the confines of all our
fears, Jesus continues to stand among us, unlocking our prisons of fear, and
saying, “Peace be with you.”
The place of fear
can become the place of presence, the place of peace, the place of resurrection.
The text tells us that their fear was replaced with rejoicing at the sight of
his presence. That’s what resurrection can do. That’s what the resurrected Lord
continues to do.
And, did you notice how these verses contain John’s
version of Pentecost? There are no “tongues of fire,” as we find in Acts. What
we have here is Jesus saying, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so
I send you.” Sent to be agents of peace,
agents of his presence, offering assurance in every other fearful place we find
in the world. Then Jesus breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit”
(Jn. 20:22).
In that place where you hide, locked away in fear, Jesus
still says,
“Peace be with you.”
In all that instills fear in you, Jesus still says,
“Peace be with you.”
In the prison of the heart bound by fear, Jesus still
says,
“Peace be with you.”
In the lives of people we know who are overwhelmed by
fear,
the Lord sends us to say in
his name,
“Peace be with you.”
In a
world ensnared by fear the Lord sends
the Church out to offer a different
voice to the world, saying,
“Peace be with you.”
Every
place where we are tempted to act in fear over love,
may we remember the words of
the Risen Lord
who said and continues to say
to us:
“Peace be with you.”
“Peace be with you.”
“Peace be with you.”
“Peace.”
[1] Papal
bull Cum nimis absurdum,
promulgated by Pope Paul IV in 1555, segregated the Jews, who had lived freely
in Rome since Antiquity, and subjected them to various restrictions on their
personal freedoms such as limits to allowed professions and compulsory hearing
of Catholic sermons on the Jewish Shabbat.
[2] See George M. Marsden, Fundamentalism and American Culture: The
Shaping of Twentieth-Century Evangelicalism: 1870-1925 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980).
[3] C. G. Jung, Symbols of Transformation, Collected
Works of C. G. Jung (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967), par.
551.
[4] James Hollis, What Matters Most: Living a More Considered Life (New York: Gotham Books, 2009), 15.
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