“BEHIND CLOSED
DOORS”
SCRIPTURE:
PSALM 16; JOHN 20:19-31
The Rev. Dr. Marcia
Mount Shoop, Guest Preacher
I
don’t know about any of you, but I do not watch horror movies—really I don’t
watch any movies or TV that may be the least bit scary.
In
fact, my last scary movie was “Silence of the Lambs” back in the early nineties.
I was visiting my parents after college and saw it with them. My parents’
good friend told them it was the best movie he had ever seen.
So, foolishly trusting him, we went to the movie without looking into it
further. I was terrified by it. And,
I am embarrassed to say, that at 23 years old, I slept with my parents that
night because I was so scared!
We
have all known that kind of fear that can make us hide, flee to safety—to a
place where the doors are locked tight and we feel protected from harm.
Indeed each one of us has something that makes our blood run cold when we think
of it.
And
we fear things collectively—as communities, as a nation, and as the church.
Terrorism, disease, violence—there are plenty of things to be afraid of
in this world. We don’t need scary
movies to feel afraid.
Fear is as old as life itself perhaps—at least as old as the Hebrew Scriptures.
We’re not sure what kind of things the Psalmist was afraid of.
Psalm 16 may have been written by someone who sought asylum in the
What we do know is that the Psalmist was open to letting God care for him; this
person felt God close, he felt God’s desire to be in relationship with him.
The
Psalmist poetically describes the authentic refuge that God provides.
God can be utterly and palpably present to us and make our lives better.
Indeed God can transform us from people who live a life of fear, to people who
live a life defined by the antithesis of fear.
When we think about the
antithesis of fear we think of comfort, safety, refuge.
But Jesus has something
else in mind when he comes through the closed doors his followers were hiding
behind.
Scripture tells us that those gathered were hiding “for fear of the Jews.”
Some have mistaken John’s problems with “the Jews” (which grows in intensity as
the Gospel progresses) to be a license for anti-Semitism.
But, we must be careful to distinguish what this term meant to John’s community
in their context.
For
John’s community “the Jews” referred to those in their midst who did not believe
Jesus was God incarnate. That is,
“The Jews” is not an ethnic category for John, but a reference to people who
denied the Christological claims that these Jesus followers were making.
This very located problem that they had with “the Jews” is not a sanction
for what we know as anti-Semitism.
This Gospel is not making a claim about all Jewish people at all times and
places.
“The Jews” point us to a probably diffuse group of people—not just Jewish
officials with power, but also others in the community who did not acknowledge
this truth of who Jesus was. For
John’s community this term, “the Jews,” also carried with it a lot of sadness
and anger because some of these Jesus followers had been put out of the
synagogue, cast out of the worshipping system they had always known.
We’re not sure why they were expelled from the synagogue, but it was
probably because of their strong claims about the divinity of Jesus.
Conflict with the Jews in John’s community was about Christology, not about
ethnicity.
So,
what were those people gathered in that room afraid of?
They had heard from Mary Magdalene that Christ had risen from the dead.
She saw the Risen Christ, she talked to him.
But
still they were behind closed doors, afraid and not believing Mary’s report.
What were they afraid of? What kept
them there behind closed doors?
In
1945 near Nag Hammadi in
Three of these texts discovered revealed a book called “The Apocryphon of John”
or the “Secret Book of John.” It
tells the story of John, son of Zebedee, the person early tradition asserted had
authored the Gospel of John. This
text begins after Jesus’ death; John is deeply hurt by a Pharisee who shames him
about the way he had taken up with Jesus.
The
Pharisee tells John: You should be ashamed of yourself for believing in that
Nazarene. You gave up your whole
heritage and now he’s dead and gone and amounted to nothing.
John takes this shaming such to heart that he flees to the desert,
overcome with confusion. He prays
fervently for God to help him.
This “Secret Book of John” then tells of the ascended Jesus appearing to John in
the desert to tell him all the secrets of the universe.
The rest of this text spins a very different view of the universe than we
Christians believe today.
But, the interesting thing for us today in this early Christian text is the
sentiment of shame and embarrassment.
We see in it that Jesus’ resurrection brought on a whole new layer of
questions and accusations—his followers weren’t just afraid of persecution, but
they were afraid of being insulted, ridiculed, being made out to be fools.
Perhaps those gathered behind those closed doors who we read about in the Gospel
of John were afraid of being embarrassed, afraid of being known as one of
“them.”
But, when Jesus comes through those closed doors he does not aim to make them
feel comfortable in their hiding place, but instead he reminds them of who they
are empowered to be.
Remember Jesus had told his followers that the world would hate them.
Jesus knew they would be shamed and embarrassed and ridiculed and
insulted. But, he doesn’t say—stay
here protected behind closed doors.
He
says go out and continue my work, show people how close God is to them, show
them that God isn’t contained by one place or one people, show them that power
and privilege are not God’s measure of worth, show them that God seeks to heal
and to love and to bring justice.
Jesus gives them the Spirit he promised he would—he breathed it into them so
that they could feel the power they had to be messengers of Christ’s Good News.
The Greek here for breath, emphysao,
parallels the breath of life in Genesis that God breathed into the first human
being. These Jesus followers are
reborn—they are given NEW LIFE, new breath.
This is Pentecost in John’s Gospel.
Jesus reminded them that they don’t need to be afraid—they have God’s peace and
the Holy Spirit— important gifts for gifts for those who would experience the
world’s hatred.
This is the birth of the post-Easter church—a gathering of people transformed
from fear to belief, who go out and bear witness to God’s love for the world.
They become witnesses to the resurrection—that Jesus lives through people filled
with the Spirit to do his work—that’s you and that’s me—that’s us—we’re not just
proof that Jesus breathed new life into that fearful crowd so long ago, we
are those Easter people—the spirit-filled Body of Christ alive and moving
about transforming a broken world.
Interestingly enough when Jesus comes back a week later and shows his wounds to
Thomas, the doors are still closed—but apparently not because of fear—at least
we’re not told of lingering fear.
Now
Thomas has gotten a bad wrap from biblical scholars and preachers for a long
time for being a doubter, for needing to see Jesus for himself in order to
believe—but Thomas is no different than the other followers of Jesus who didn’t
believe Mary when she reported that Jesus had risen.
Those followers believed, too, when they saw Jesus for themselves.
Thomas just missed the meeting the first time around.
After seeing Jesus and his wounds, Thomas makes the strongest statement there is
in John’s Gospel about Jesus’ identity—“My Lord and my God!”
The
Good News for John’s community of believers and for us comes in what Jesus says
next—he says that all who believe without this up close evidence are blessed.
Jesus isn’t judging Thomas’ need to see for himself—he gives him what he
needs to believe and promises that many more after him will have what we need to
believe, too.
We
all aren’t just fools to believe. We
live and breathe the promises of Christ each day.
We
are those who have been changed, transformed by what Jesus gave us—the palpable
presence of God, the peace that passes understanding, the Spirit-filled capacity
to love even the hardest to love, the audacity to believe that God loves the
world enough to heal it.
You
see the antithesis of fear for Christians is not comfort, it is JOY!
Jesus had told disciples in chapter 16 that they would turn to joy when they saw
him again—and they did turn to joy when they were reminded that Jesus fulfilled
his promises.
We
are the modern-day witnesses of this glorious Easter truth.
That’s not something that can be done behind closed doors.
Jesus says to go out and continue to transform a fearful world to a world whose
joy can be complete.
For
Easter people fear gives way to open doors, outstretched arms, effusive work of
the Spirit, and JOY.
These are the things that gave birth to us—open doors, open arms, blowing,
breathing, dynamic spirit, and joy.
I
wonder if we are knowing heirs of this heritage of joy and open doors or are we
still afraid, still behind closed doors—or maybe things have gotten pretty
comfortable for us and we are simply afraid of having to change.
My
family and I visited a new church every Sunday during Lent as a Lenten practice
to step out of our comfort zones when it comes to church—we called it our
“Lenten adventure.”
The
churches visited ranged from Pentecostal, to Baptist, to African American
Presbyterian, to non-denominational, to middle of the road Presbyterian in
cities other than
One
week we got to experience a new way of doing church that is the fastest growing
expression of Christianity in
Honestly, being there felt a bit more like going to the movies than it did going
to church.
Nothing much was demanded of us—we never spoke a prayer, we never said a
confession. The music was dynamic,
with some songs we could sing along, but generally the feel was “sit back,
relax, and enjoy the show.”
The
only thing really responsive or active that we were invited to do in the service
was an optional ritual at the end.
This ritual involved standing in line for about 25 minutes and then pouring a
communion cup full of lavender oil on a giant cross that was on the stage.
The minister explained that this “act of faith” was a way to enact
pouring our lives out for Christ.
I
liked the idea of something in church that calls on us to do this kind of
embodied practice. I thought it was
a neat idea. My daughter and I stood
in the line waiting for our turn to walk across the stage.
As
we stood in line I watched people chat casually with one another like they were
waiting to buy popcorn. The woman in
front of us, probably in her 40s, chatted a bit with people who passed by.
At
one point, her cell phone rang and to my surprise she answered it, right there
in the middle of church.
“Oh hey, yeah, I’m standing in line at church.
It shouldn’t take long. What
are you doing?” The conversation
proceeded for a few minutes about non-essentials and she hung up and resumed
waiting in line to pour her life out for Christ.
Somehow I don’t think this kind of casual comfort is what Jesus had in mind when
he showed those first disciples his wounds and breathed the Holy Spirit into
their bodies.
The
peace of Christ does not mean that Christian life is comfortable.
Jesus changed the world and gave us the power to keep changing it.
Jesus healed the sick and told us we could too.
Jesus welcomed the outcast and told us not to be afraid to do the same.
Jesus told us that God is near, that God loves us—not just one group, not just
in one place—but God loves the whole world—and he told us to go and spread that
Good News.
Jesus told us he didn’t come to judge—he told us we didn’t need to either.
Jesus told us that God’s love is abundant—that there is plenty for everyone—and
he told us to share what we have in God’s name.
Maybe we’re afraid if we share what we have that we won’t have enough for
ourselves. Maybe we fear people who
aren’t like us because we’re afraid to hear what they think of us.
Maybe what we’re really afraid of is losing our comfortable spot in
life—maybe what we fear most is being changed, even healed, set free,
transformed.
The
fear that kept those early disciples behind closed doors is the same fear that
keeps us from letting our lives be really changed by Christ.
Church the Sunday after Easter is the church born anew—a place that doesn’t
cower behind closed doors in disbelief and fear, a place that isn’t comfortable
resting in its own satisfaction, but a place that is open enough to let the
Spirit move the way Jesus intended it to.
What does life feel like when you don’t have to be afraid anymore?
Brothers and sisters in Christ, may that be a feeling we can testify to first
hand!
Thanks be to God.