This morning we hear the continuation of the resurrection story – as told in John’s gospel.

It is still Sunday night, the same Sunday of the mysterious disappearance (or resurrection) of Jesus. The disciples are locked in a room, scared of what is beyond the closed door. The terrified disciples are hiding from the temple authorities, or in many translations of John’s gospel, hiding from the Jews. 

The sermon title today is “Examining the Wounds.” So before we go any further, let’s examine this wound right now. The depiction of the Jews in the gospel of John continues to be a raw and shameful part of the Christian tradition. We might explain it away by saying that the translation is bad. Or that the writer of John is telling the story at a time when there was an internal struggle between Jewish groups. The reformers, following the Jewish Jesus, were being excluded from the temple by the more traditional Jewish groups. There was a rift, eventually a schism. 

All these years later, we can find ways explain it to ourselves and still the reality is that Jews have been scapegoated and blamed for Jesus’ death because of the way it is told in this gospel. Furthermore, over the generations, many Christians blame all Jews for the death of the Jewish Jesus. 

This is a gaping wound of anti-semitism that gets scratched open time and again. In fact, it has been the tradition in many churches on Good Friday to read the Passion story from John, that over and over names the Jews as the murderers rather than the Romans. (This is beginning to change with some deliberate lectionary choices.) In the current empire, anti-semitism is led by Christians disguising their blame of Jews as support for Israel. This is like salt poured into this wound as it continues to seep.

I know I am repeating myself, but given how prevalent anti-Semitism is right now, in this country and the world, we can’t over look this. We have to remind ourselves of how this disdain for Judaism shows up in this gospel and in the world. Those of us who center the life of the Jewish Jesus in our own faith expressions have to continually pay attention to how we might unwittingly contribute to this ongoing painful wound. Getting to know our Jewish neighbors and hearing their stories is a start, a way to get close to this wound.

But back to today’s story. The disciples are huddled in fear and then Jesus appears among them, saying, “Peace be with you.” He shows them his wounds, breathes on them and he is present with them. Then he reminds them to forgive. (In John’s gospel, Jesus doesn’t teach them forgiveness in the Lord’s Prayer. And he doesn’t say from the cross, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Instead Jesus instructs the disciples about the ways of forgiveness – after he is resurrected.)

But on that first Sunday night, Thomas the twin – is not there. So when the disciples gather again a week later Thomas makes an effort to be there. And when he hears how Jesus appeared the week before, Thomas is not convinced. He wants proof: he wants to examine the wounds himself. Gruesome.

Then, as the disciples huddle together on that second Sunday evening, Jesus appears among them – again. Just like the previous week, Jesus greets them with “Peace be with you.” And this time, Thomas is there to make his demand to see Jesus’ wounds. We often think of Peter as the one who declares the divinity of Jesus but here Thomas makes his own declaration: “My Lord and My God.”

For asking the question, for wanting to see for himself, Thomas gets a nickname: “Doubting Thomas.” Doubt is often described as the opposite of faith. It takes courage for Thomas to admit that he needs to see and touch the wounds. But what if, in asking to see the wounds, Thomas is being faithful. What if Thomas is following Jesus’ lead. Hadn’t Jesus reached out to touch the wounded? Does Thomas think this is a way to follow in Jesus’ footsteps, to touch the wounds? It is Thomas’ insistence that leads him to persistent to faith – or at least belief. In demanding to examine the wounds – and then being shown, Thomas knows and understands in a new and real way.

I recently saw a video made by some Mennonites in Minnesota. These Mennonites heard from their friends and relatives that they did not understand or maybe didn’t even believe what was happening with ICE in the Twin Cities. People from quiet parts of the country thought the situation with ICE violence and arrests was made up or at least overblown. These Minnesota Mennonites decided to tell their own stories and describe how their neighbors experience detention and deportation, and fear, trauma, job loss, food insecurity.

These good church people from Minneapolis expose the losses – and wounds. They tell the story of what they are seeing with the hopes that, as trusted white Mennonites, they will be believed by their relatives in other places in the US. They choose to show their wounds. I wonder if their doubting cousins have been convinced. Do their cousins respond, “My God!”

There is no shortage of wounds these days. The wounds are deep and wide and real. This week I got a call from a Tanzanian friend who is looking for help getting a visa so they can come visit friends and family in the US. Could I help with this process? In a call to my congressman’s office, I found out that Tanzanians are not being let into this country. No visas are being given to this “dangerous” group. The staffer could give no explanation other than affirming my supposition that Tanzanians are not welcome because they are black. This lie about the danger of Tanzanians is a wound that cuts us off from people and possibility. Who or what is wielding this sword? Is there a way to strike back? I wonder what will happen at the next Mennonite World Conference gathering, now to be held in Tanzania in June 2028. Will Tanzania allow people from the US into that country?

This week I was cleaning out some old files. I came upon files and piles of meeting minutes and reports from Allegheny Conference. Though more than a decade has passed since our discipline by the conference (for counting queer folks as a full and vital part of the body here,) a few of the old wounds are still tender. To go back and touch and examine those reports and letters, was to touch the wounds of the Body of Christ. Though I was not the one pierced by the sword, I could feel the pain. And now from this distance, I see that the pain was not just felt by LGBTQ folks and this congregation. It was a more generalized pain – across the whole body of the conference and beyond.

Closer to home, I have heard and you probably have too, about people being robbed by scammers posing over the phone as government officials or utility salespeople or any manner of legitimate sounding representatives. Those who are taken advantage of are often older people who are convinced that they must give money and gift cards to these officials in order to be safe or even to help the “officials” catch thieves or criminals. The stories are always changing and it all seems so ridiculously impossible. Is it for real? And then I found out that I know a number of people caught up in the scheme, who have lost money. When I could see the reality of the theft and understand the wounds of humiliation, betrayal, fear, and confusion, I began to believe.

This is so very complicated because we are living in a time when we seeing is not necessarily believing. Is what we are seeing misinformation, disinformation? Is it fake news? Is it AI? And on the other hand, when what we are seeing is real, leaders in the government try to distract us, tell us not to believe our own eyes. Suddenly, Thomas’ demand to examine the wounds for himself begins to make more sense. “Show us proof of who you really are – a ghostly villain or the real Christ.”

After affirming Thomas in his new understanding, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” Believing without seeing is a gift, a different gift of faith. It reminds me of some local elementary school students who heard about the Apache Stronghold and the potential destruction of Oak Flat in Arizona. The children read closely the reports of the animals that would die, the ancient trees that would be torn from their roots, the water forever poisoned, the girls who would not be able to have their coming of age ceremonies at Oak Flat like their ancestors. If the land is turned into a copper mine, as now the courts have ruled can happen, there will be death. 

The students followed the law suits, the Supreme Court case, and the gatherings of the Apache Stronghold when they came to DC. And the students brought the situation to their own prayer times as requested by Dr. Wendsler Nosie, the leader of the Apache Stronghold. The students had not seen Oak Flat, but they believed what they had heard about the potential wounds to this rare and endangered piece of blessed earth. Their hearts were touched. 

In fact, the students were so faithful to what they had heard but not seen, that they wanted to go see for themselves. Over their Christmas break, eight students, now in middle school, and some parents, traveled to Arizona to experience for themselves the beauty that is Oak Flat. They got to touch and examine the body of the earth before it is forever wounded, stripped of its dignity and left to dry up and wither. I wonder if they also felt wounded? Or healed? (Or empowered?) 

Thomas wants to see and touch the wounds. He knows that as part of Jesus’ ministry, Jesus touched wounds and healed them. Does Thomas think that he will be able to heal Jesus’ wounds? Or is Thomas himself healed in some way by touching the wounds of Christ?  

St Teresa of Avila has a familiar saying, so beloved that it made it into Voices Together twice – as a song (568) and a prayer (1035.) “Christ has no body now on earth but ours, no hands or feet but ours.” I have always imagined this means that we are to walk as Jesus walked, do the work that Jesus did. Now I am beginning to wonder, what if, in being the hands and feet of Jesus, we are also to experience the wounds of Christ? What if it is our presence to the woundedness of the world, that keeps us close to the woundedness – and the risen life – of Christ? What if it is in touching the wounds that we touch Christ? It is a paradox of faith that I would rather set aside but it seems true to me. When we dare to touch the wounds of Christ, we can find new life.

In this season of resurrection, as followers of Jesus the Christ, may we be like Thomas, daring to ask to see the wounds of Christ. And in that audacity, may we too see the Risen Christ.