Sermons

The Appearance of Forgiveness

John Wilkinson                               Third Presbyterian Church  April 3, 2005                                John 20:19-31

Yesterday afternoon, I faxed a brief letter on your behalf to Bishop Matthew Clark of the Diocese of Rochester, conveying our sense of sympathy at the time of the death of Pope John Paul II. I assured the bishop that we would be keeping our Roman Catholic sisters and brothers in prayer this morning and in the days to come, and I would invite us so to be in prayer now… Eternal and gracious God, we give you thanks for the gift of this day, and for the season of resurrection in which we continue to dwell and celebrate. We remember the Catholic Church this day, in Rochester and beyond, as it mourns the death and celebrates the life of its leader, John Paul II. We give you thanks for his ministry, and particularly for his commitments to justice and righteousness. As you have welcomed him into your everlasting presence, so give us all a sense this day of your care and refuge, as we seek always to live as children of light and hope. And now open your word to us, and surprise us with your truth. For we pray in the name of the risen Christ, who makes all things new. Amen.

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At memorial services and funerals, as we did so here yesterday, as the service comes to a close, we will typically offer the following commendation – “Into your hands, O merciful savior, we commend your servant…Acknowledge, we humbly pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive her, or him, into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.”

It is a poignant moment, and powerful, and reassuring. Every so often, though, that line – which we borrowed from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer because we Presbyterians, though decent at some things, are not a particularly liturgical bunch – every so often, that line, “a sinner of your own redeeming,” makes me pause. And yet it is the heart of the gospel that we claim and that claims us, and it is the heart of the story around which we gathered just a week ago and around which we continue to gather.

I do not know if these words, or words like them, will be said at Terry Schiavo’s funeral mass or memorial service. I do not know if these words, or words like them, will be said at the funeral mass of the late priest, Karol Wojtyla, known to us as John Paul II.

I do know that these words, or words very much like them, will be said this week hundreds, thousands of times, and that while they should give us pause, they should ultimately make our hearts glad, not because of the difficulties of death, or because of the reality that we all sin and fall short of the glory of God and God’s hopes for us, but that we are redeemed. And that is good news – the best news.

It is still Easter day in John’s gospel. Evening. The day’s events have been carried forth on a combination of fear and joy and confusion and elation and pure adrenaline. The disciples have heard the story from Mary Magdalene and Peter and the other disciple. They have questioned and re-questioned. And frankly, they do not know what to do. They are scared to death, and they do what happens when fear sets in and human nature takes over. They close in on themselves; hunker down, as it were. They meet in a house somewhere and lock the doors. They are fearful of the Jewish authorities, to be sure, but they are also fearful of the story they have just heard.

Remember that morning that the angel appeared and said, “do not be afraid,” as if that were humanly possible. The disciples were facing two fears – that the story was not true (which in some ways would be much easier) and that the story was. Either way, they faced difficulties, spiritual and otherwise. And now they have heard the testimony, and though they are unsure, they trust the messenger and are beginning to believe.

Yet they gather in fear. And somehow, negotiating locked doors and clandestine seclusion, Jesus appears among them. The good news is that they now did not need to fear that the story was not true. Their fear now focused on the truth. Jesus acted quickly to reassure them. “Peace be with you,” he said. “ Don’t be afraid.” The one you have followed and lost is alive, and with you. And then he gives them a kind of blessing, and then a charge – “if you forgive the sins of any, you are forgiven…”

For a moment, I wonder if they were able to let it all sink in. I wonder if still yet they understood the messianic message. This Christ would not rule over a mighty empire, or wrest control of institutional religion. Rather, this Christ would appear to a fearful, huddled group and articulate a revolutionary vision, peace and forgiveness.

I think that by reminding them of the possibility of forgiveness in others, he was forgiving them. Remember that they had abandoned him just a couple of evenings earlier. They had fallen asleep. They had denied knowing him. They had not shown up at the cross. And because Jesus did not admonish them, but rather forgave them, and spoke to them about forgiveness, he freed them for every wonderful thing that would come.

They were certainly afraid. They did not know what awaited them beyond that locked door. At the moment that Jesus appeared, they were faced with the full impact of their shortcomings. And the good news was, not that those did not matter, but that they mattered only as they served as vehicles for forgiveness and redemption.

One cannot be forgiven, one cannot receive forgiveness, unless one realizes the truth about themselves. The disciples surely did that day. Jesus surely did. But rather than dwell on that, his first resurrection message was forgiveness, allowing those followers and all of the rest of us to come, century upon century, to live lives that are free and forgiven and inspired for service.

If we were to judge ourselves only by our own sin, defined in many ways, we would never leave the locked rooms of our spirits. We would deem ourselves too inadequate, too self-centered, too distracted, too uncommitted. And all of those may be true. Except that they are not. Because when Jesus breaks through the barriers, overcomes the obstacles, enters whatever spiritual or emotional or physical hideout we’ve constructed for ourselves, it all melts away, like so much dirty snow in spring-time.

We will need continual reminders of redemption. We will fall into old patterns and practices. But at the end of the day, and at the beginning, we will have the confidence to remind ourselves that we are forgiven, that we are at peace, and that we can live that way.

Gail O’Day writes that this forgiveness verse is very difficult to interpret. (New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX, page 846 and ff) O’Day writes that “the forgiveness of sins must be understood as the Spirit-empowered mission of continuing Jesus’ work in the world.” Our work becomes an extension of Jesus’ work.

Our work, therefore, is not to become a moral police force in the world, to catalog misdeeds in others or ourselves, but rather to remind people of the possibilities of transformation and redemption made real to us through the one who lived with us and died for us and now appears among us to give us the gift of the Sprit. We often separate Easter from the story of the church's beginnings. Here, O’Day reminds us, the church’s mission is clearly and powerfully identified even on Easter evening.

And we would rehearse that mission this morning, as we eat bread broken and cup poured out. Receiving the bread and cup is never about our own accomplishments or abilities. It is, rather, about our openness to the invitation, to “accept that we are accepted,” to use Paul Tillich’s well-known language.

And then, after such acceptance takes root in our own lives, we can live in the world as if we are free, because we are.

Sister Helen Prejean, she of “Dead Man Walking” renown, writes that “in our society, forgiveness is often seen as weakness. But forgiveness is tremendous strength.” This is a strength made real in weakness, a strength made real in love. We receive forgiveness, we forgive, and as we do, the doors are opened wide for a new kind of living, resurrection living.

For us. For the church. For all the world. Christ is risen indeed. Still – a week later, and tomorrow and the day after. Do not be afraid. Live free. Live forgiven. Amen.