Proclaiming forgiveness
Easter 3B | Luke 24:36b-48
Here we are! Once again we gather in the light of the resurrection. None of us floated away. Or ran away. We can marvel at the glory of God and in this marvelous creation.
This week’s eclipse did not disappoint. The sky grew dark, the air chilled. Maybe, like mine, your heart stopped a second there. The birds chattered. In our neighborhood, we heard hoots and hollers, sounds of joy and celebration.
Then we watched the sun return with that odd sense of brightness and shade mixed together. How could it feel bright and also dark at once? Wasn’t that strange? Not unsettling exactly, something short of that. But more than curious. Like a sense that it isn’t supposed to be bright when it looks this dark. Or else, not so dark when the sun is bright. Like the dark of dusk but the brightness of three in the afternoon.
Maybe your brain doesn’t get locked into loops like that. Or maybe you have ways of dealing with it. Like, Ope, here comes the scratch in the record, let me just lift that needle…
I dwelled on that for an hour. Until it was normal. The regular sky. And I could pretend it was always just like that. Almost like it didn’t happen.
What we do when our brains get stuck, though. When we’re trying to figure it out. And it doesn’t quite fit. It’s a thing, isn’t it?
Afraid of the dead rising
In Luke’s gospel, Mary tells the disciples about the resurrection. Then they get another report—two more disciples meet Jesus on the road and walk with him. They share with the rest about the experience.
So they shouldn’t be surprised when Jesus shows up, should they? Were they anticipating? Or still stuck on his being dead and “people don’t do that [rising from the dead, that is]”?
But there he is. And unlike the story from John, where the disciples are already afraid. So afraid that they lock the door on Jesus. These disciples are afraid because of Jesus.
Afraid of the dead rising. Of a messiah returning. Of ghosts! Maybe all of the above!
And Jesus just tries to help them break the spell. Wake them up. Snap out of it. See me. Touch me. Here, I’ll eat something. I will show you that I am here. Just say something! Do something!
The disciples are frozen, not by fear alone, but by confusion. They don’t know what to do, so they, in fact, do nothing.
They know! And still!
It is hard for us not to compare this to the story from last week. That was from John, in the Upper Room; Thomas missing the first time and Jesus returns for a second viewing. And in that one, we engage the question of belief. Or more precisely the nature of belief in the midst of fear and doubt.
And I think this is the more obvious conclusion we come to about fear and the disciples. After all, our posture is most often to examine what they did so as to understand what we might do.
John’s gospel is focused on the heart and devotion. Luke’s focus integrates the heart into acts of discipleship. So when we read about the disciples’ fear, we shouldn’t assume the point for us is to relate to it internally. To feel it, too. Because theirs isn’t a logical fear or an emotional fear.
It’s a fear of screwing up. Saying the wrong thing. “Getting it wrong.”
But there is no “it” or “wrong”! They are blocked by indecision. Precisely when they’ve received the testimony of witnesses to the resurrection! When people have told them about it. Shared with them the Good News.
The question has little to do with belief and everything to do with metabolizing that belief, if that makes sense.
They know Jesus is alive! And yet they treat Jesus like he’s a ghost. And yet, also, not.
Last week, I said we like to hedge our bets, holding onto belief and unbelief at the same time. And that Jesus wants us to choose—to let go of unbelief.
This is about holding onto the expectations of risen Christs and of ghosts and being like “I don’t know what to do here!”
A little discomfort
And of course there isn’t really a right thing here because nobody really has a schema prepared for risen Christs! And the disciples are trying to figure out how they’re supposed to proceed.
Here’s a personal example of this confusion:
Recently, I’ve struggled with the gendered language of family trees. We can speak of children and parents in neutral ways. And cousins and grandparents. But we don’t have neutral terms for aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews. And my kids have a nonbinary cousin.
And it is easy enough to speak to them and about them. But not to my relationship to them. We don’t have any good words for it.
I just did a google search this week and found a couple of words that have been out there for over 50 years. But they’re weird. Nibling and pibling—which attempt to speak to the child of a sibling. A newer option that makes more sense to me is chibling. And I kind of like the sound of it.
But the point is that we don’t have the words. And we also don’t know what to do. Which means we often get stuck in our heads, kinda freak out, especially when we’re on the spot, and either try to ignore the problem or throw up our hands and say “I’m too old to learn things.”
What we see in this moment with Jesus, however, is what confusion does to our motivation. And rather than embrace the truth, the disciples are obsessed with figuring it all out so they can feel comfortable.
What we do (or don’t)
Jesus brings clarity: “he opened their minds to understand the scriptures,” shares what they are to do (proclaim repentance and forgiveness), and says
“You are witnesses of these things.”
He doesn’t just talk about himself—what the scriptures say about him—but what they say about them. Their work, relationships, and commitments to that love and mercy. Jesus offers them guidance and encouragement. Because they have witnessed the redeeming love and mercy of God themselves.
They may be confused; scared they’ll screw up. Say the wrong thing. Feeling like they don’t know what to do. But it isn’t so much true as it is a convenient arrangement for doing nothing new.
Which is what we do.
But it is also what we often choose not to do. When we gather for worship, and proclaim the Good News in our lives, sharing our own wonder, joy, and love with others.
Acting like the witnesses we are is not nearly as difficult as we make it out to be. And not half as confusing.
In our words
This isn’t to say that we won’t be confused. Or that feeling confused is “wrong”. But it is the fear we generate that obscures understanding that we need to deal with.
And the temptation for us at this point is for me to give us all examples of things we can do—life hacks and religious teachings—as if the problem again is our not knowing—but it is the fear we create from confusion.
Luke shows how Jesus reveals their part of the story is to proclaim and witness. These aren’t tricks for dealing with confusion—it is the organizing structure of their very lives! So it means that most of the time they do know what to do.
Love! Share! Be together!
This story is our story. This fear and confusion is our fear and confusion. And also, this revelation is our revelation. This teaching is our teaching. And this witness is our witness.
So this third Sunday of Easter, as we gather again to not only remember the risen Christ, but to praise God, gather in blessed community, and share in grace, let us see ourselves in this story. Not as a static character of confusion, but as one who knows this stuff already. Who just needs reminding (and a kick to get started).
And may we claim our calling, proclaiming repentance and forgiveness, sharing the love of Christ, following him in The Way. And may our witness be a source of new witness to the light that is here and will never go away. Again and again, in our words; in our lives.