This is a going away text. Which is the main reason it is a favorite in funerals. Because Jesus is telling the disciples he is going away and he seeks to comfort them.
It also has me, once again, startled by how many of our Easter readings don’t feel Eastery—or at least conform to our expectations of Easter.
We talk now about the risen Christ, not about dying.
But in that sense, however, we may be conforming to a kind of literalism we see displayed here. Staying on the physical resurrection is a kind of fundamentalism that betrays our sense of common purpose in the resurrection.
Of course, this could all just be me. Maybe you don’t think about it that way. Or perhaps you’re like most Christians and think “enough Easter already, let’s get on with it.”
But here’s another interesting piece.
Unseeing is the through-line
Our gospel readings through Easter all have this same character. They are all informed by the notion that the people can’t see the way and Jesus is the one who helps them see.
In the resurrection stories, they don’t recognize Jesus. And we have Jesus “opening the gospels to them”. Then in John 10, we have Jesus talking to the man born blind whom he just gave sight.
Now we have two disciples, Thomas and Philip, essentially claiming they can’t see the way and that they will believe if it is shown to them.
Literalism as blindness.
Literalism is a kind of blindness. And notice that taking that statement literally blinds us to its obvious meaning.
Literalism is a kind of extremism. It’s a way of saying that only a literal vision of this event has any meaning for me. In scripture, we see this evoked as a kind of distrust in Jesus (so physically show me this is true). But it is also a way of avoiding the depth of reality.
We instinctively get the problem with Thomas more than Philip. Because his literalistic response is more obvious. Jesus says they know the way and Thomas is like “show me on a map.” We get this is kind of ridiculous because we embrace a spiritual reality.
See, then, how literalism avoids at least half of the truth.
Jesus is trying to assure them that they will be fine without him. He’s taught them all he knows. He comforts them. Encourages them to stick together. Even says I’ll be back to you! And Thomas is all how about that map I asked for so we can catch up to you?
Of course, our usual response to this sort of thing is to call it “dumb.” Which is a kind of blind extreme of its own. He simply can’t see because he’s obsessed with only part of the problem.
The same goes for Philip.
He’s saying prove it. That he will withhold belief until he can see for sure that this way is the “right way” to God. Even going so far as to say “show us the Father”. Not just take us to him, but show him. Like Go ahead Jesus. We’ll wait.
This response is far more problematic than Thomas’s. His is relatable. But this one is impudent.
We forgive both of them easily because we think they are being rational. The sort of thing anyone would do. Making sense of their weird moment.
What we don’t do is recognize how lost they are. How much their vision is obscured. And how much of God’s will they are avoiding.
Our Modern Problem
Thomas and Philip aren’t modernists. Obviously. But many of us are. Or at least most of us grew up in a modernist world.
Modernism offers us incredible insight into the world we live in. Because of modernism we have the medical breakthroughs that have pushed human lifespans up by decades. We have space travel and billions of transisters in our cell phones.
What modernism does, however, is blind us with literalism. It brought us literal interpretations of scripture and literalist rejection of it. It narrowly defined what counts as “real” and then left us confused by how little that explains our lived experience.
Our blindness isn’t only about our will. But the world we live in; the culture we’ve developed together.
So often we are Thomas, wanting Jesus to give an address we can type into Waze. Or we’re Philip thinking Jesus needs to text us a picture he’s snapped of God in heaven. Then we can believe. Then we can know.
We need to expand the picture.
See more of what is there.
Not literally, of course. We mustn’t confine ourselves to that thinking.
We can always start with the question of “What’s missing?” And then quickly move on to other, deeper inquiries. Like what it means to know something (the way) from a place of ignorance. Or how we might feel the certainty of Jesus’s assurance when we feel the uncertainty of our present.
There is far more to the experience than the literal.
But pair that seeking to expand the picture with Jesus’s assurance of our need to journey.
Because this isn’t merely a mental exercise in finding a “right” way but a living experience of walking with confidence that our direction is true and destination are secure while our ability to navigate is completely gone.
In short, the last thing we get is the map. The plan. The process or “thing to do.” But what we have is everything else.