During the 1950s, many cities had a practice called “civil defense drills.” Some of you probably remember these. They were a creature of the Cold War. The threat of a missile attack loomed at that time during the nuclear arms race. This was where, when the sirens sounded, you were supposed to practice taking cover as you would in the event of a nuclear attack: school kids would hide under desks; people would barricade themselves down in fall-out shelters (there’s one in the church basement at Spiritus, a relic of that time); everyone would hunker down indoors, and shelter-in-place until the signal sounded for the all-clear. Of course all of this took for granted that nuclear war was an acceptable option to have on the table… that it was ok to have that level of fear, and the threat of that kind of *immense* violence, hanging over people’s daily lives.
The drills were mandatory for all citizens.
One day in 1955, the siren sounded for a civil defense drill in New York City. But rather than huddling inside as required, Dorothy Day and a few of her friends from the Catholic Worker house walked OUTDOORS, marched down the street, and sat down on the sidewalk right in front of city hall. They refused to go back indoors, and they refused to leave. They carried a leaflet with them explaining what they were doing. It said, “In the name of Jesus, who is God, who is love, we will not obey this order […] to hide. We will not be drilled into fear. We do not have faith in God if we depend on the atom bomb.”
They were arrested.
The next time the sirens went off, they again went outdoors, walked down the streets (which were otherwise deserted- nobody was out but them) and sat down in front of city hall. They were arrested again. This went on for the rest of the 1950s. Dorothy Day accumulated quite an arrest record— for refusing to stay inside, yes; but more deeply, for the spiritual reason behind her protest: She refused to be afraid. She would not be locked up in fear. [1]
That’s the condition Jesus’ disciples are in, when we meet them in the Gospel today, in the aftermath of the crucifixion. They are locked up, literally— they’ve taken shelter in a house somewhere and barricaded themselves in. They’re also locked up spiritually. After seeing Jesus taken to the cross, fear gets the upper hand for them, and they don’t know where to go from here, or if they even can go on.
We can identify with this, after a year of lockdown. When we’re still living in this world where everywhere we go there are barriers— plastic shields between us and the person at the bank, the cashier at the store, between our musicians at church. Every time we see these, they’re a reminder that there’s still something to be afraid of. And we’re just like the disciples, we’re still processing this unexpected, difficult thing that has happened to us— this year of loss. Now, at last, we’re starting to catch glimpses of life returning to normal again… or at least, a new normal… But still, we’re cautious, aren’t we? I’ve been hearing many of you say things like, “I SO want to give hugs again… but then I stop myself… because I don’t know if it’s really ok to do that yet.” Or, “I’ve had my shot, I know it’s safe, but still, I just don’t feel ready to go to indoor gatherings. I can’t bring myself to go to restaurants right away. I don’t think I’ll feel like going to a movie for a long time.” A friend of mine remarked recently that that morning he’d gone into his local grocery store to get a cup of coffee— something that used to be his daily routine. But this was the first time he’d done it in over thirteen months. He said, “It took me a minute even to remember what to do!”
So we’re still a little fearful, many of us, about venturing back out into the world again.
We hear this Gospel every year. As we know, the star of this passage is so-called “doubting” Thomas, the one disciple who isn’t locked in with the others at the beginning, and so misses seeing Jesus when he first shows up. One of the big questions is, “well, where WAS Thomas? Why wasn’t he there?”
Was it like he just missed an appointment in his calendar? “Whoops— forgot to meet up with Jesus.” Did he try to move on from this sad, frightening thing that had happened, by jumping back into his old life, just getting on with it as fast as he could?
We don’t know.
But it is interesting that at the beginning of the Gospel, Thomas is the ONLY one who is *not* locked up in fear. He’s often portrayed as being late to the party— but his absence could mean something good. Maybe he was outside, bravely trying to adjust to a new normal. Maybe he was trying to do what Dorothy Day did, by refusing to hide, refusing to be afraid.
So Thomas tends to get a bad rap. But this could be something admirable about him. Actually, there’s a lot to like about Thomas. We’re told his name is “Thomas Didymus” … Didymus means “the twin.” Some people think he was called this because he was the twin brother of Jesus. It seems likelier that he’s OUR twin. Yours and mine. He’s just like us… Thomas is every one of us.
It’s Thomas who isn’t satisfied with reports of Jesus from other people. He’s not okay with secondhand sightings. No, he says, I have to touch him myself. Thomas is a mystic. And he’s in touch with a very deep impulse in all of us.
I’m curious whether any of you have had the experience of going to the zoo or the aquarium with a preschooler. Have you noticed that when we’re that age, the HIGHLIGHT of the trip is the one exhibit where you can touch the animals? At the zoo it’s the barnyard, with a pony, and maybe a pig, and some rabbits. At the aquarium it’s the tank of saltwater called the Touch Tank, where you can hold a snail or a starfish in your hand.
These are NOT the most impressive creatures in the animal kingdom, by any means. But a kid will walk past majestic whales and exotic sharks and unusual animals from all over the planet— to get to the ones that aren’t behind glass; the ones you can touch. To feel the ridges on a snail’s shell; to feel the cold of a starfish, the texture of that tiny being against your skin; to feel the heartbeat of a rabbit, and its softness, under your palm… Somehow that makes all of nature REAL in a way it otherwise wouldn’t have been. When we’re kids, touch is the doorway: it opens up the world for us.
I don’t think we ever completely lose that. This year we’ve all learned how much it’s still true— that without touch, *many* of our experiences, much of our world, feels a little less real.
Thomas is the voice of that truth.
He says, I need to touch Jesus in order to experience that he’s alive. And happily, he gets his wish… Because a little while later, Jesus appears again. This time, Thomas IS locked in with the disciples. At first he was outside, now he’s in that locked room with them. He starts out fearless, then he’s locked in fear again.
I think we’ll all need to expect that pattern over the months ahead, as we re-emerge from this time of social distancing. Some days we’ll be fine, and some days we’ll still be afraid. That’s okay.
We know that it is like this with many things.
If you have grieved the loss of a loved one, you know that grief also comes and goes. As time passes, we expect to heal, and be done with it. But then we come to an anniversary, or a birthday, or sometimes just an average day… and find the pain is still there. The wound still hurts.
Our dreams can be like this too. Oftentimes, when we’re young, we have one picture— one ideal way we imagine our life will go. And then, with one thing and another, we’re led down a different path. That’s not always bad. In fact, we usually end up saying to ourselves, “I’m glad things worked out like this, because this is where I’m meant to be. It’s not what I expected, but it’s the right thing for me to be where I am.”
But that doesn’t mean that every once in awhile, we won’t feel that old longing. We’ll be going along, and out of nowhere we find ourselves wondering about that road not taken. Not regretting where we ended up, but just wondering what might have been. And there’s a bittersweet feeling.
In all these things, there is that back and forth.
When Jesus appears the second time, appears to Thomas, he’s risen— but he still has the wounds in his hands and feet and side. They haven’t disappeared. Suffering and resurrection often coexist in the same place. They’re side by side in Jesus’ body… They’re side by side in our own bodies.
This year has left its mark on all of us. Some of the wounds may not ever be totally gone.
But in time, new life will surround them. That’s the message we hear today. Even in the presence of hurt, hope will come back to us, and stay with us. Peace will come back to us, and stay with us.
Just as Jesus keeps coming back, as many times as it takes, to bring his joy and his blessing to Thomas, who missed them the first time around. Look how PERSISTENT Jesus is in this passage! When he arrives, he wishes the disciples peace… Then he says it again, “peace be with you.” For Thomas, he has to say it a third time: “Peace, peace, peace…” This is what we need, when we’ve been through a trauma. We don’t dare to hope at first. It takes awhile for a feeling of calm to make its way back into our hearts.
But Jesus keeps breathing his peace down upon us… as many times as it takes, for it to sink in that all is well.
If that peace hasn’t come to you yet… just wait.
It will come.
*
Around here, we know from nature that new life is always a push-pull, a back and forth. April really teaches us that. One day it’s brilliant sunshine and 70, the next day it’s 30. The green shoots venture upward, then they’re blanketed by snow. Then they reach upward again. The mud exists beside the flowers, the rain comes down through the sunlight.
Dreariness and beauty.
Fear and hope.
Doubt and faith.
Suffering and resurrection.
Side by side.
Just like our twin Thomas experiences.
And we’re left with one final mystery about him.
When Jesus appeared for the second time, DID Thomas actually reach out and touch him?
The passage doesn’t say so.
So maybe Thomas learned a new kind of faith that day. The kind that trusts that love connects us, even when physical touch is impossible; that even when we can’t be in the same room, we are still connected— to Jesus, and to our community. The kind of faith that looks within. So many of us looked within this past year, and were surprised to discover we had more faith than we knew… and more courage… more resilience.
Albert Camus, the great philosopher, spoke to this beautifully in a novel called The Plague: “In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the […] chaos […] an invincible calm.
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against [us], within [us], there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”
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