Nancy E. Petty
April 15, 2007 – Second Sunday of Easter
Text: John 20:19-23
The Eighth Deadly Sin
What do you fear? Really, what are you afraid of? Death—your own or that of a loved one? A debilitating illness? Losing your job? Not making a difference in the world? Being insignificant? Being alone? Financial insecurity? Failure? Not being included in the “in” group at school. Not getting into the college of your choice? Who will take care of you when you’re old and can’t take care of yourself? I fear not being a good mom…not having a thoughtful and meaningful sermon when it’s my Sunday…disappointing the people I love and care for. I get afraid for my children’s future. I fear living in a world that is constantly wrought with war and violence. Sometimes I even get afraid of making a decision, for fear of making the wrong decision. I used to fear death more than anything else. It was, for me, the ultimate loss of control, the great unknown, the one thing in this life that felt final—no do-overs with death. I can’t say that I no longer fear death, but the fear of dying has subsided, or at least faded into the background for now. Now it seems that my fears are more about living—how I live, what choices I make, who I am in this world, what happens to the people I love.
Lately, at Pullen, in conversations about our future we, as a church, have given voice to some of our fears—fears about what’s happening in our world politically, environmentally, socially, economically and spiritually. We’ve named our fears about money—how much can we afford to borrow in order to implement our dreams? We’ve faced our fears about buying and not buying the Lutheran Family Services building. When doing so, I have heard some of you wonder out loud about what’s behind the fear. You’ve wondered where it’s coming from. Is it real? You’ve asked, “Should we really be afraid of dwindling world resources such as oil and energy and food supply?” Or is such fear misplaced and misguided? There are no clear responses to such wonderings.
What is clear to me is that we are living in what can feel like fearful times. The events of September 11, 2001, the Columbine school shootings, the bombing of the World Trade Center, the Iraq war and the effect it has had on our economy, the betrayal of elected leaders and officials, the growing evidence that our environment is suffering from human abuse, and the increase of daily violence on our streets has many of us feeling fearful not only for our future but for our present. Our fears have grown from being personal to being more global, and understandably so. While fear and being afraid is a basic human emotion—one we can’t avoid and maybe even one we shouldn’t deny ourselves—for people of faith or for people who are trying to be people of faith, fear is not the final word. I know. You hear preachers say things like that all the time. Despair is not the final word, hope is. Death is not the final word, life is. Hate is not the final word, love is. You’ve probably even come to expect us to say such. And yet, the words in and of themselves are empty, rhetoric if you will. Just saying them doesn’t make them real or make it so. At some point, we have to put flesh on our words. We have to be willing to live like we believe what we say is true. And that is exactly what Jesus did when he appeared before those gathered in fear behind locked doors the evening after his burial.
Today’s scripture text continues the Easter story—a story that goes beyond the grave and empty tomb and into our everyday living; a story that has significant implications for how we live in this world in 2007 as people who are not fearful but hopeful. Before I go on, I want to say something here. Whether it’s the Easter story, the prodigal child’s story, the story of jealous siblings, the experience of a barren woman giving birth in her 90’s, or an event where thousands are fed with five loaves of bread and two fish—I believe these stories and the power they hold. I believe them not for their historical significance or factual accuracy or even their religious context. I believe them and study them and try to live by them because they hold meaning for how I can live my life with purpose and fulfillment; with love and compassion; with grace and forgiveness and justice. The truth is that most of us know something, as small as it may be, about resurrection—moving from deadness to being alive, about leaving home, about jealousy, about barrenness, and about sharing. And just like we know something about those things, most of us know something about fear. These stories are our story. What happened to the people gathered in that locked room the day after their leader had been executed is as much our experience as it is theirs. It is our story because it challenges us to deal with our own fears. It invites us to think about whether or not we believe that Jesus’ spirit really lives on with us. It forces us to think about forgiveness—about holding on and letting go.
John’s description of the mood on the evening after Jesus’ death is vivid. He paints a picture of the disciples—not just the twelve but a gathering of Jesus’ followers—huddled in a house behind locked doors. If you read between the lines that John has written, an even more vivid picture emerges. Can you see inside that house? A small Mediterranean house made of stone and clay and a thatched roof, furnished with modest means. There in the middle of the main room the disciples gathered around a small wooden table that holds an oil lamp for light, a small dish of flat bread and bowl of grapes. The conversations are in hushed tones. You can hear the sounds of those still grieving. And you can feel the fear that fills the room. John writes that the door is locked. I wonder what that lock looked like? Maybe a thick wooden bar that drops down into a metal latch. He writes that the door is locked because they—the disciples— fear the Jews. His words are a little misleading here because the truth is they were all Jews. What John means is that they were afraid of the Jewish authorities that had just participated in executing Jesus, their leader. Their fear is justified. It wouldn’t be a giant leap for any of us to think that the authorities who killed Jesus would also have it in for those who followed him.
I don’t criticize Jesus’ followers for being afraid given what they had just experienced. As a matter of fact, I admire them for sticking together in their fear. In their fear, they could have decided to abandon one another—to disperse into their individual homes to hide—making it more difficult to be found. But they didn’t. They stayed together…I imagine to find comfort in one another, to find support from one another and to summon up the courage to keep on going with the mission and ministry they had been left with. Feeling alone, abandoned and at risk, it took guts for them to huddle in that house together even if it was behind locked doors.
Soon, however,
they realized they were not alone. The One who had called them, commissioned
them, loved them and who had promised to be with them always, appeared. Yes,
even through locked doors. But displaying supernatural powers was not the point
of Jesus’ presence to his followers that evening. John writes, “Jesus came and
stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’” He didn’t say don’t be afraid.
He didn’t question their actions. He didn’t rebuke them. He simply said, “Peace
be with you.” He not only offered a comforting word to his friends and
followers, but he reminded them of his promise to them: the gift of his peace.
It is the peace that is given to the community—any community, any group of
followers, any individual—who will continue the work of God in the world. In
the face of fear or in the absence of fear, those who follow in the way of
truth, love, compassion, justice and forgiveness are promised Christ’s peace.
It’s the kind of peace that I imagine sustained Rosa Parks as she took her seat
in the front of the bus. It is the kind of peace that I imagine sustained
Martin Luther King, Jr. as he sat in a
John records that after Jesus spoke words of peace to those gathered in fear, he showed them his hands and his side and then he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Can you imagine? Here stands a man who had been to hell and back—persecuted, beaten and crucified—and he says to his followers, “forgive them.” Don’t fear them, don’t hate them, and don’t hold on to what they did…forgive them. One of the most important things to understand when reading the gospel of John is that sin is a theological failing, not a moral or behavioral transgression. To have sin is to be blind to the revelation of God in Jesus. In other words, when we allow our fears to keep us from speaking truth, or loving with compassion, or showing mercy and grace and forgiveness to our enemies then we are sinning. I don’t know if fear can really be considered the eighth deadly sin but for sure— just like lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, anger, envy and pride—it can keep us from being who we are called to be in this world as God’s people—it can be our biggest theological failing.
What I take from our text this morning is that fear is an unavoidable human emotion. But what we do with our fear and how we respond to our fears will either give us life or suck life out of us. Our response to our fears will either keep us behind locked doors or it will free us to be God’s courageous people in this world. And God knows that this world needs people who are willing to move beyond fear and be God’s hopeful presence in our world.
I end with this parable of sorts. A man and a woman, strangers, stood at the top of the stairs in a burning building as people poured around them heading for safety. The man, immobilized with fear, could not bring himself to start down the stairs, even knowing that safety and freedom dwelt somewhere “down there.” The woman kept urging him to move, “Just put one foot down and then the other.” But the man couldn’t do it, he was too afraid. The woman, knowing that to stay there was becoming more and more dangerous, but refusing to leave him, begged him to start down the stairs. “I understand that you are afraid,” she said, “but we must go now.” “I can’t,” he said, “I’m scared!” To which the woman replied, “Then do it scared.”
Fear will always be with us. Ultimately, our challenge, as people of faith, is to not allow our fear to keep us from doing God’s work in this world; knowing deeply that the other side of every fear is freedom.