There's a story about a young girl named
Determined that no one know about the matches,
By the time Peter appeared before the Sanhedrin in this morning's first reading, the chicken coop, so to speak, had just about burned to the ground. The people opposed to Jesus' teachings had tried to silence him through intimidation, but the flames of his teaching continued to spread. They tried to trap Jesus with theological debate and trick questions, but that didn't put out the fire. So the powers opposed to Jesus tried to smother him once and for all by crucifying him. But the flames that died with Jesus were brought roaring back to life with his resurrection.
Most years we think of this 2nd Sunday of Easter as "Doubting" Thomas Sunday. The text from John comes one week after Jesus' resurrection, so our three year lectionary uses this text every year for the first Sunday after the Resurrection. But every year I feel as though I need to defend Thomas – the nickname "Doubting" really belongs to all of Jesus' followers. Doubting Peter, who was so concerned with his own safety that he denied knowing Jesus three times. Doubting Mary, who was so distraught at finding the tomb in the garden empty that she thought Jesus was the gardener when she met him on the day of the Resurrection. Doubting James and John, who were more concerned with their place in heaven than what Jesus had been teaching them about servanthood. Doubting Judas, who might have been forgiven his betrayal if he hadn't doubted the love of Jesus and killed himself. All of Jesus' followers doubted him at one point or another. In fact, Thomas provided a remarkable example of courage in the face of doubt. In John 6, Jesus' friend Lazarus died in Bethany, a town near
When my brother Brian and I were young, we liked playing with fire. Like many people in rural
I mention all of this because there are different types of fire and different types of faith. Gasoline burns, of course, but you can't use it to build a log fire very easily. It burns too quickly, tends to be hard to control and is dangerous in large quantities. If you want to build a strong, long-lasting campfire, you can't just douse a bunch of logs in gasoline and throw a lit match on top: the gasoline will burn up before the logs can catch fire. If you want a campfire that will give warmth and light and burn long into the night, you have to start small. You build a small base of twigs and paper and light them on fire with a match, protecting them from too much wind. You add larger sticks and kindling slowly, making sure that as the fire grows it gets enough oxygen to keep growing. Finally you can begin to add the big logs, and if you've done your work right you can build a log cabin around your kindling that will burn for quite a long time. But if your fire begins to go out, you only need to fan it a bit and it will roar back into life, as warm and bright as ever. Why? Because the fire has worked deep into the wood at this point, and it only needs a little breath of air to burn bright and strong.
Perhaps Jesus brought about faith in his resurrection in the same way. If he had appeared in a glorious blaze, would the faith of his followers have exhausted itself as quickly as gasoline on a campfire? Possibly. What we know for certain is that Jesus started small: he appeared to Mary, then a week later to the followers in the upper room, then to those same followers and Thomas the next night. He started people thinking and talking about his resurrection in small ways, and in the gospels it almost seems like Jesus is tending the spread of that story very carefully, feeding it slowly and making sure it takes root in each person. By the time Peter appeared before the Sanhedrin in the months after Jesus' resurrection, the blaze of the resurrection was burning so brightly that nothing could put it out – not even the threat of imprisonment or being beaten for witnessing to what had happened.
Today, however, those flames are fanned and our faith is built in different ways. In many ways our world has changed since the time when the flames of faith were beginning to blaze in the church. I sat down last night to write this sermon on my laptop in my living room. My house is large when compared to those of Peter and Thomas' time, and it was snug, warm and dry. I was watching the Twins on my television as I typed. My wife and child slept peacefully nearby, with no concern for where today's food will be found. None of us questioned whether we should come to be with you this morning – no one will threaten us with public beatings or jail time for our attendance here. Standing here before you this morning, I preach and teach in the name of Jesus. It costs me nothing. As a matter of fact, I will be compensated for the witness I bring today.
The danger we face today is losing the fire of faith in our lives. In the culture in which we live, religious faith is no longer a basis for persecution. Comfort and apathy can give false warmth and shelter. The idols of wealth, national security, and nationalism seduce us into thinking that we have no need for faith beyond making us feel as though we're good and moral people. We run the risk of forgetting why the fires of faith in Jesus Christ must be tended and kept alive: because there is safety in Christ and in Christ alone. Every other fire will burn out in time: only the fire of faith will always be available to us.
It is not the danger of the first weeks after the resurrection we long to experience. What we long to experience is the faith that drove these men and women to spread the word about Jesus in spite of that danger. Every once in a while we get an experience of that deep, profound, energizing faith. A phrase from scripture speaks to us in a new way or with direct bearing on a situation in our lives. A hymn or a song blazes beautiful images of Jesus into us, and so we sing with all our heart. Friends call to let us know they are praying for us in a difficult time. We pray for those same friends in the midst of their own struggles. A neighbor turns to us as we share the peace and says, "the peace of Christ be with you," and it's really there. Every time this happens it feeds our souls and fills us with faith that matters, faith that transforms, faith that works in us and on us and through us until the embers that had seemed dead are fanned into life again, blazing with the light and warmth of the Spirit. This faith is what Jesus began building when he appeared on the day of his resurrection. This faith is what Jesus continued to build in the upper room, first with the ten and then with Thomas. This faith is what blew through the disciples on the day of Pentecost. This faith is what lit the fire in Peter and all of Jesus' followers, and this faith is what filled
The danger and the doubt are part of the story, but they are not the part that matters. What matters is faith – faith that has been brought to life and is blazing within. Thomas was filled with faith when he confessed, "My Lord and my God!" Peter was filled with faith when we told the authorities, "We must obey God rather than any human authority…we are witnesses to these things." The faith that was buried with Jesus on the day of his crucifixion is still being fanned into flames in us today, flames that will be the light of the world until the end of time. No doubt can ever smother what God will set alight in you, and no danger can ever extinguish those flames, that burning faith in Jesus Christ, who is still risen today. Alleluia! Amen.
[1] Heidi A. Peterson is pastor of Central Presbyterian Church in
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