Doubting Thomas
A teenager remembers a terrifying night during World War II, when the Russian army was marching on her home in Vienna:
- "[The] victorious Russian army was raping its way to the center of the city.
In the face of such a threat, Father had closed the door to our house, but did not lock
it. With his wife, daughter and some family guests in the cellar, he waited upstairs,
no doubt in prayer. When the Russians approached and pounded against the door
with their guns, Father opened it and stood before them in a way they could not
have expected. He pushed aside their rifles and gestured that they should come in,
as if they were invited guests.
"Of course, a soldier's attitude at such a moment is one of suspicion. He has seen six years of war and wants to survive. He is ready to shoot before he is shot. But they saw in my father's gesture that perhaps their fear was not necessary. They looked in the house to see if it was a trap. They found it wasn't.
"My father could see that they were relieved. They took off their rifles, and then my father called the others up from the basement. He was able to create an atmosphere of welcome, of trust, of love, of belonging.
"Far from raping the women and killing any of the occupants of the house, the soldiers were moved to share their own meager rations. They could see how thin and hungry we were--for the city had been cut off for quite some time. They shared with our family and guests from their own food."
This second Sunday of Easter sees no peace in the Balkans, where a madman has evacuated a whole race of people from their homes and lands under the guise of "ethnic cleansing." We would have thought that such narrow-mindedness and cruelty passed away with Hitler, but we see it still at work in the Milosovices. He and other petty tyrants have no idea of the peace Jesus came to bring by his passion, death, and resurrection.
That peace is to be found in the community of believers. Jesus appeared before that community on the night of his resurrection. From our first reading we can see that four things made up that community of believers.
First , the apostles' teaching, which was everything Jesus had taught, all he had said to them, all that the Holy Spirit brought back to their remembrance. "Repent, and be baptized" (Acts 2:38). "Unless you eat [my] flesh and drink [my] blood, you have no life in you" (Jn 6: 53). "Love one another I have loved you" (Jn 15:12). "As you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me" (Mt. 2 5:40). "I live and [therefore] you shall live" (Jn. 14: 19). For the first Christians, to listen to the apostles' teaching was to listen to Jesus' teaching: "He who hears you hears me" (Lk. 10: 16). To listen to Jesus was to listen to God. Not the forced feeding of a goose to fashion a rich ecclesiastical pate; to hear the word was to experience.
Second, the fellowship. What did fellowship mean? Luke tells us a bit later: "Now the company of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things which he possessed was his own, but they had everything in common" (Acts 4:32). There was a splendid solidarity in the Jerusalem community. Luke does not call his fellow Christians friends; he does not call them brothers and sisters; he calls them simply "believers," because the oneness among them was founded on faith--faith in the risen Christ. And this spiritual oneness had a material component, was expressed in the day-to-day life of the community: "There was not a needy person among them; for as many as were possessors of lands or houses sold them, and brought the proceeds of what was sold and laid it at the apostles' feet; and distribution was made to each as any had need" (Acts 4:34-35). They shared who they were, and they shared what they had. Not only because "the other" was human; more importantly, because "the other" was Christ. to share with the other was to experience the Other.
Third, the breaking of bread. Not just ordinary table fellowship. Supping with one another was indeed significant, for it recalled the table fellowship Jesus had enjoyed with his followers. Still more significant was the Supper of the Lord. I mean what St. Paul would write: "I received from the Lord what I delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took break...broke it and said: 'this is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.'" (1 Cor. 11;23-24). "The bread which we break," Paul asked, "is it not a communion in the body of Christ?" (1 Cor. 10:16). Communion in the body of Christ! Here was an experience far exceeding the most luscious of lox and bagels. Little wonder that early communities sang at Communion the Psalmist's song: "O taste and see that the Lord is good!" (Ps. 34:8). Taste! Communion was not a theological thesis; to break the bread was to "taste" the God-man. Here they experienced God's presence, as the disconsolate disciples had at Emmaus: "They recognized him in the breaking of the bread" (Lk. 24: 31, 35).
Fourth, the prayers. Not just prayers in closeted in privacy. Over and above that, the first Christians prayed together, prayed even in the temple. They recalled the promise of Jesus: "where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them" (Mt. 18:20). To pray was not only to acknowledge sovereign Majesty; to pray was to enter the presence of God. To pray was to experience divine presence. As a lovable old laborer put it long years ago, "I say nothing to Him, and He says nothing to me; but I look at Him, and He looks at me."
What the Jerusalem Christians are telling us is where they experienced God, where they discovered Christ. Not by a me-and-Jesus spirituality. A personal relationship indeed, but through a community, with a community, in a community. The word of God, solidarity in soul and possessions, fellowship at their own table and the Lord's awareness of God's presence everywhere--personal contact yes, but through the mystical body of Christ and his Eucharistic body. (2)
We are church, not because of the building we've built and cared for, not because of the choir, the organ, the preaching, or the various activities. We are church because to us, even to us, he has come and given us his gifts of Spirit, mission, and forgiveness, commissioning us to give them to the whole world in his name.
That's why we're called church.
- [William Willimon says] My first church was in rural Georgia. I was fresh
out of seminary, eager to be a good pastor to my first parish. I was in graduate school
at the time, commuting out to the hinterland on the weekends. Most Sunday
mornings at dawn, it was a tough trip out there from Atlanta. My first visit to one of
the churches, I found a large chain and padlock on the front door, put there, I was
told, by the local sheriff. The sheriff. Why? I asked.
"Well, things got out of hand at the board meeting last month, folks started ripping up carpet, dragging out the pews they had given in memory of their mothers. It got bad. The sheriff came out here and put that there lock on the door until our new preacher could come and settle things down."
That sort of typified my time at that church. I would drive out there each Sunday, just praying for a miraculous snowstorm in October that would save me from another Sunday at that so-called church.
I spent a year there that lasted a lifetime. I tried everything. I worked, planned, offered, but the response was always disappointing. The arguments, the pettiness, the fights in the parking lot after the board meeting were more than I could take. It was tough and I was glad to be leaving them behind. "You call yourself church?" I muttered to myself as my tires kicked gravel up in the parking lot on my last Sunday among them. A couple of years later, while visiting at Emory, I ran into a young man who introduced me and told me that he was now serving that church. My heart went out to him immediately. Such a dear young man, and only twenty-three!
"They still remember you out there," he said.
"Yea," I said glumly, "I remember them too."
"Remarkable bunch of people," he said.
"Remarkable," I said.
"Their ministry to the community has been a wonder," he continued. "that little church is now supporting, in one way or another, more than a dozen of the troubled families around the church. The free day-care center is going great. Not too many interracial congregations in North Georgia."
I could hardly believe what he was telling me. "What happened?" I asked.
"I don't know. One Sunday, things just sort of came together. It wasn't anything in particular. It's just that, when the service was done, and we were on our way out, we knew that Jesus loved us and had plans or us. Things fairly took off after that."
I tell you what I think happened. I think that church got intruded upon. I think someone greater than I knocked the lock off that door, kicked it open, and offered them peace, the Holy Spirit, and forgiveness. And now, they are called "church."
Church isn't my hard work, your earnest effort, our long-range planning, or heavy-duty giving. Church is a gift, a visitation, an intrusion of the living Christ standing among us. (3)
Only by living Jesus can we bring the Milosovices and all tyrants to stop killing their fellow man. Only by living Jesus can we hope to live in peace. And we must remember Pope Paul the Sixth's words: "If you want peace, work for justice."
1) Hildegard Goss-Mayr, A Non-Violent Lifestyle, quoted in "Stubborn, unstoppable peace," Connections, (7 Lantern Lane, Londonderry, N.H. 03053-3905), April 1999.
2) Walter Burghardt, "If your faith is alive ...," Grace on Crutches (New York: Paulist Press, 1986) pp 74-75.
3) "Proclaiming the text," Pulpit Resource 27 (2): 13-14 (Logos Productions Inc., 6160 Carmen Ave. E., Inver Grove Heights MN 55076-4422), April, May, June 1999.
(Comments to Jerry at padre@tri-lakes.net. Fr. Jerry's book, Stories For All Seasons, is available at a discount through the Homiletic Resource Center.)