A Blessing Behind Locked Doors
Sermon
Water Won't Quench the Fire
Sermons For Sundays After Pentecost
Every Sunday morning, the people of a church in the Pacific Northwest say, "Peace be with you." They begin the worship service with a hymn of praise. The people confess their sins together, and hear of God's forgiveness. Then they are invited to turn to others around them and pass the peace. It has become an exuberant moment in an otherwise sober occasion. Friends leave their pews to embrace one another. Newcomers are warmly welcomed with a kind word or a hug.
Nobody thought much about the weekly ritual until the pastor received a letter from a man who had recently joined the congregation. The new member was a promising young lawyer from a prestigious downtown law firm. He drafted a brief but pointed letter on his firm's letterhead. "I am writing to complain about the congregational ritual known as 'passing the peace,' " he wrote. "I disagree with it, both personally and professionally, and I am prepared to take legal action to cause this practice to cease." When the pastor phoned to talk with the lawyer about the letter, he asked why the man was so disturbed. The lawyer said, "The passing of the peace is an invasion of my privacy."
Perhaps that story could only happen in the 1990s. These are strange times. I have no doubt that there are people who would take their church to court if too many people shook their hands, or if neighbors were too friendly, or if fellow pewsitters interrupted their private little religious moments. To that end, I think the pastor's response to the lawyer was right on target. He said, "Like it or not, when you joined the church you gave up some of your privacy, for we believe in a risen Lord who will never leave us alone." Then he added, "You never know when Jesus Christ will intrude on us with a word of peace."
That's exactly what happened in today's Easter story from the twentieth chapter of John. The disciples were huddled in Jerusalem, recovering from the trauma of Jesus' death. The writer tells us the doors of the house were locked out of fear. Suddenly the Lord appeared to them and said, "Peace be with you." He showed them the nail prints in his hands and feet, the sword wound in his side. With no small joy, the disciples realized the crucified Jesus had become the Risen Lord. Then, for a second time, Christ said, "Peace be with you."
Since they had been cowering in a corner, Jesus could have said a number of things that might have been more helpful. He might have said, "Look, it's me; I was dead, but now I live." Or he could have said, "Pilate and my enemies did not have the last word on my life; God is stronger than every power that can hurt or destroy." Instead his word to them was, "Peace be with you." He greeted them with a message of blessing and good cheer. The word of peace was the last message the disciples expected to hear.
No doubt they had locked the doors because of what happened to the Messenger. Two days before, Jesus had died and was buried. His closest followers knew their own lives were in danger. Now here he was on Sunday night, somehow alive again, inescapably present in their midst. That must have been a shock. They had heard second-hand reports that Jesus had been raised from the dead. Yet it's one thing to hear the news. It's another thing to see a dead friend who had come back to life. No wonder they were terrified.
No doubt they considered keeping the doors locked because of how Jesus commissioned them. The Risen Christ came and said, "As the Father sent me, so do I send you." That's quite a challenge. As he gave his life, they were required to give their lives: to reveal a loving God to a hostile world, to speak truthful words to a deceitful generation, to wash the feet of a soiled church. Just like Jesus, the disciples were called to lay down their lives for their friends, and speak as witnesses for eternal life in the face of certain death.
The greatest challenge for the disciples was not embracing the resurrected Lord. Nor did they deny the open commission he gave them. Rather, the continuing task that Jesus set before the church was to extend his simple greeting to others: "Peace be with you." Do we really want to pass the peace?
There's a church that said, "No, we don't want to do that." Their pastor tried to get them to change their minds, but she couldn't make it happen. Whenever the worship committee would get a new chairperson, she would pull the individual aside and say, "Our worship service flows pretty well. No major problems. There's only one little thing I think we should add. It's called 'passing the peace.' "
The first chairperson said, "I don't think so. I once visited a church that passed the peace. It got out of hand. People were leaving their pews, wandering up and down the aisles, hugging one another. Pure chaos! A stranger came up and hugged me and said 'Peace be with you.' I felt like slugging her. She was invading my space. We're not going to do that here."
A year later, a second chairperson took over. The pastor made her pitch. The lay leader said, "I never heard of such a thing. Where does the idea come from?" So the pastor gave him a brief history lesson. "According to church history," she said, "it became a weekly practice in worship by the year 604 A.D., at the time of Gregory the Great.1 Before that, in the second century, Justin Martyr instructed the church to conclude the celebration of the Lord's Supper with a kiss of peace.2 Prior to that, the apostle Paul wrote to the Romans and said, 'Greet one another with a holy kiss (Romans 16:16).' Around the world the church has been passing the peace for centuries."
The committee chair looked at her and said, "Well, it's a new idea around here. I don't think we should do it."
The following year, the pastor appointed a third chair for the committee and pleaded her case. By now, everybody on the worship committee knew of her efforts. With a single voice they said, "People come to church to hear about God; they don't come to be touched. Passing the peace isn't a holy moment. It is too informal, too human." Perhaps it is no surprise that the pastor now serves a different congregation.
Do we want to pass the peace? It is a practice that extends back to Jesus' first words to the disciples on the day of his resurrection. Nothing could be more human or more holy. Nothing could better express the ethical demand of the gospel.
According to the Gospel of John, Jesus gave his peace to people as he blew his spirit upon them. He did not impart the kind of peace that offers an absence of hassle or disturbance. Neither did he imply that his peace provides a quiet weekend away from the troubles of daily life. If anything, the peace of Christ is a gift of assurance in the thick of difficulty. It comes as a breath of life in the midst of sorrow and pain. As someone notes, "The peace of God is the confidence that God is God and neither our gains nor our losses are ultimate. It is the trust that God loves the world, is for all creatures, and is present with us in every endeavor to make real that love in concrete ways."3
What does it mean to pass the peace? First and foremost, it is a sign of forgiveness. The Risen Christ came to a fearful, unbelieving church that was scared of its own shadow, and his word promised to set all people free. He said, "If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained" (John 20:23). Jesus Christ charged his people to forgive, not because it is easy -- it isn't -- but because his people are witnesses of a merciful God whose very nature is to forgive.
In the wake of the first Rodney King trial, many of us watched Los Angeles explode in racial fury. Four white police officers had beaten Mr. King live on videotape. Two officers were acquitted by the court, and two others received short prison sentences. Los Angeles burned. Many senseless acts of violence were committed. One of those acts happened to a white truck driver named Reginald Denny. In April 1992, Denny was dragged from his cab and beaten by two black men. A camera caught that scene, too, and this time all the assailants were convicted and sentenced.
But something unusual happened during the trial. After giving his testimony in court, Reginald Denny shocked the judge, the jury, and the legal counsel when he came to the witness stand and embraced the mothers of his two assailants. He hugged the mothers of the men who had beaten him.
"I had to do it," he said. "The violence and the hatred has to stop somewhere. So why not have it stop with me?" It was a curious, Christ-like thing to do. Call it, if you will, an act of "passing the peace."
What does it mean to pass the peace? It is a sign of forgiveness, an indication that nothing can separate us from the love of God. More than that, it is also a sign that, in Christ, there is nothing that can separate us from the love of one another. When we pass the peace, we show our solidarity and support. Our gestures announce, "In the Risen Christ, God has stood for us, so today we stand with one another."
Some time ago, there was a newspaper story about Ian O'Gorman, an 11-year-old boy who was undergoing chemotherapy. Ian wasn't feeling well. Doctors discovered a tumor and removed it. They prescribed chemotherapy. He lost his hair. His classmates at Lake Elementary School wondered what they could do for Ian. They thought about making a large get-well card, and inviting people to sign their names. They considered pitching together and buying him flowers. They also prayed for his recovery, hoping for a miracle.
Yet they did something more. They shaved their heads. In one photograph, bald-headed Ian is surrounded by twelve friends who shaved their heads so he wouldn't feel out of place. Their teacher was so impressed that he shaved his head too. As one classmate explained, "We figured if everybody shaved their heads, people wouldn't know which one of us has cancer and which of us just shaved our heads."
A reporter asked, "Weren't you afraid that other kids would make fun of you when you shaved your heads?" "A little bit," said one kid, "because some of them made fun of Ian's looks. But Ian is our friend and we would do anything for him."4 Of all the things they could have done for Ian, his classmates decided to pass the peace.
"Peace be with you." That's what Jesus says to fearful people of every age. The word of the Risen Christ has the power to unlock all kinds of doors. His spirit sends us into the world as he was sent: to reveal that the God who gave us breath shall fill us with peace. We are under obligation to make peace with one another.
"Peace be with you." Somebody may be waiting to hear those words from your lips. It might be a person in your home, at work, or among your acquaintances. Maybe it's a neighbor hurt by gossip, or a teacher whose innocence has been shattered by public opinion, or a child wounded by harsh judgment, or a middle-aged executive who is tongue-tied about his own emotions, or the person who still waits to hear a merciful word from your lips.
Today you could set somebody free. When the benediction is over, you could climb out of your pew, go to that person, and say, "Peace be with you." It is possible because Jesus Christ is risen. He is here among us, bearing a perfect love that casts out fear. He gives us the power to forgive and to stand with others.
So what are we going to do about it?
____________
1. Aidan Kavanagh, Elements of Rite: A Handbook of Liturgical Style (New York: Pueblo Publishing Company, Inc., 1982), pp. 77-78.
2. Gilbert Cope, "Gestures," The Westminster Dictionary of Worship (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1979), pp. 187-88.
3. Fred B. Craddock, John (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982), p. 111.
4. Richard Guentert, PresbyNet Sermonshop, as quoted from The Des Moines Register 3 March 1994.
Nobody thought much about the weekly ritual until the pastor received a letter from a man who had recently joined the congregation. The new member was a promising young lawyer from a prestigious downtown law firm. He drafted a brief but pointed letter on his firm's letterhead. "I am writing to complain about the congregational ritual known as 'passing the peace,' " he wrote. "I disagree with it, both personally and professionally, and I am prepared to take legal action to cause this practice to cease." When the pastor phoned to talk with the lawyer about the letter, he asked why the man was so disturbed. The lawyer said, "The passing of the peace is an invasion of my privacy."
Perhaps that story could only happen in the 1990s. These are strange times. I have no doubt that there are people who would take their church to court if too many people shook their hands, or if neighbors were too friendly, or if fellow pewsitters interrupted their private little religious moments. To that end, I think the pastor's response to the lawyer was right on target. He said, "Like it or not, when you joined the church you gave up some of your privacy, for we believe in a risen Lord who will never leave us alone." Then he added, "You never know when Jesus Christ will intrude on us with a word of peace."
That's exactly what happened in today's Easter story from the twentieth chapter of John. The disciples were huddled in Jerusalem, recovering from the trauma of Jesus' death. The writer tells us the doors of the house were locked out of fear. Suddenly the Lord appeared to them and said, "Peace be with you." He showed them the nail prints in his hands and feet, the sword wound in his side. With no small joy, the disciples realized the crucified Jesus had become the Risen Lord. Then, for a second time, Christ said, "Peace be with you."
Since they had been cowering in a corner, Jesus could have said a number of things that might have been more helpful. He might have said, "Look, it's me; I was dead, but now I live." Or he could have said, "Pilate and my enemies did not have the last word on my life; God is stronger than every power that can hurt or destroy." Instead his word to them was, "Peace be with you." He greeted them with a message of blessing and good cheer. The word of peace was the last message the disciples expected to hear.
No doubt they had locked the doors because of what happened to the Messenger. Two days before, Jesus had died and was buried. His closest followers knew their own lives were in danger. Now here he was on Sunday night, somehow alive again, inescapably present in their midst. That must have been a shock. They had heard second-hand reports that Jesus had been raised from the dead. Yet it's one thing to hear the news. It's another thing to see a dead friend who had come back to life. No wonder they were terrified.
No doubt they considered keeping the doors locked because of how Jesus commissioned them. The Risen Christ came and said, "As the Father sent me, so do I send you." That's quite a challenge. As he gave his life, they were required to give their lives: to reveal a loving God to a hostile world, to speak truthful words to a deceitful generation, to wash the feet of a soiled church. Just like Jesus, the disciples were called to lay down their lives for their friends, and speak as witnesses for eternal life in the face of certain death.
The greatest challenge for the disciples was not embracing the resurrected Lord. Nor did they deny the open commission he gave them. Rather, the continuing task that Jesus set before the church was to extend his simple greeting to others: "Peace be with you." Do we really want to pass the peace?
There's a church that said, "No, we don't want to do that." Their pastor tried to get them to change their minds, but she couldn't make it happen. Whenever the worship committee would get a new chairperson, she would pull the individual aside and say, "Our worship service flows pretty well. No major problems. There's only one little thing I think we should add. It's called 'passing the peace.' "
The first chairperson said, "I don't think so. I once visited a church that passed the peace. It got out of hand. People were leaving their pews, wandering up and down the aisles, hugging one another. Pure chaos! A stranger came up and hugged me and said 'Peace be with you.' I felt like slugging her. She was invading my space. We're not going to do that here."
A year later, a second chairperson took over. The pastor made her pitch. The lay leader said, "I never heard of such a thing. Where does the idea come from?" So the pastor gave him a brief history lesson. "According to church history," she said, "it became a weekly practice in worship by the year 604 A.D., at the time of Gregory the Great.1 Before that, in the second century, Justin Martyr instructed the church to conclude the celebration of the Lord's Supper with a kiss of peace.2 Prior to that, the apostle Paul wrote to the Romans and said, 'Greet one another with a holy kiss (Romans 16:16).' Around the world the church has been passing the peace for centuries."
The committee chair looked at her and said, "Well, it's a new idea around here. I don't think we should do it."
The following year, the pastor appointed a third chair for the committee and pleaded her case. By now, everybody on the worship committee knew of her efforts. With a single voice they said, "People come to church to hear about God; they don't come to be touched. Passing the peace isn't a holy moment. It is too informal, too human." Perhaps it is no surprise that the pastor now serves a different congregation.
Do we want to pass the peace? It is a practice that extends back to Jesus' first words to the disciples on the day of his resurrection. Nothing could be more human or more holy. Nothing could better express the ethical demand of the gospel.
According to the Gospel of John, Jesus gave his peace to people as he blew his spirit upon them. He did not impart the kind of peace that offers an absence of hassle or disturbance. Neither did he imply that his peace provides a quiet weekend away from the troubles of daily life. If anything, the peace of Christ is a gift of assurance in the thick of difficulty. It comes as a breath of life in the midst of sorrow and pain. As someone notes, "The peace of God is the confidence that God is God and neither our gains nor our losses are ultimate. It is the trust that God loves the world, is for all creatures, and is present with us in every endeavor to make real that love in concrete ways."3
What does it mean to pass the peace? First and foremost, it is a sign of forgiveness. The Risen Christ came to a fearful, unbelieving church that was scared of its own shadow, and his word promised to set all people free. He said, "If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained" (John 20:23). Jesus Christ charged his people to forgive, not because it is easy -- it isn't -- but because his people are witnesses of a merciful God whose very nature is to forgive.
In the wake of the first Rodney King trial, many of us watched Los Angeles explode in racial fury. Four white police officers had beaten Mr. King live on videotape. Two officers were acquitted by the court, and two others received short prison sentences. Los Angeles burned. Many senseless acts of violence were committed. One of those acts happened to a white truck driver named Reginald Denny. In April 1992, Denny was dragged from his cab and beaten by two black men. A camera caught that scene, too, and this time all the assailants were convicted and sentenced.
But something unusual happened during the trial. After giving his testimony in court, Reginald Denny shocked the judge, the jury, and the legal counsel when he came to the witness stand and embraced the mothers of his two assailants. He hugged the mothers of the men who had beaten him.
"I had to do it," he said. "The violence and the hatred has to stop somewhere. So why not have it stop with me?" It was a curious, Christ-like thing to do. Call it, if you will, an act of "passing the peace."
What does it mean to pass the peace? It is a sign of forgiveness, an indication that nothing can separate us from the love of God. More than that, it is also a sign that, in Christ, there is nothing that can separate us from the love of one another. When we pass the peace, we show our solidarity and support. Our gestures announce, "In the Risen Christ, God has stood for us, so today we stand with one another."
Some time ago, there was a newspaper story about Ian O'Gorman, an 11-year-old boy who was undergoing chemotherapy. Ian wasn't feeling well. Doctors discovered a tumor and removed it. They prescribed chemotherapy. He lost his hair. His classmates at Lake Elementary School wondered what they could do for Ian. They thought about making a large get-well card, and inviting people to sign their names. They considered pitching together and buying him flowers. They also prayed for his recovery, hoping for a miracle.
Yet they did something more. They shaved their heads. In one photograph, bald-headed Ian is surrounded by twelve friends who shaved their heads so he wouldn't feel out of place. Their teacher was so impressed that he shaved his head too. As one classmate explained, "We figured if everybody shaved their heads, people wouldn't know which one of us has cancer and which of us just shaved our heads."
A reporter asked, "Weren't you afraid that other kids would make fun of you when you shaved your heads?" "A little bit," said one kid, "because some of them made fun of Ian's looks. But Ian is our friend and we would do anything for him."4 Of all the things they could have done for Ian, his classmates decided to pass the peace.
"Peace be with you." That's what Jesus says to fearful people of every age. The word of the Risen Christ has the power to unlock all kinds of doors. His spirit sends us into the world as he was sent: to reveal that the God who gave us breath shall fill us with peace. We are under obligation to make peace with one another.
"Peace be with you." Somebody may be waiting to hear those words from your lips. It might be a person in your home, at work, or among your acquaintances. Maybe it's a neighbor hurt by gossip, or a teacher whose innocence has been shattered by public opinion, or a child wounded by harsh judgment, or a middle-aged executive who is tongue-tied about his own emotions, or the person who still waits to hear a merciful word from your lips.
Today you could set somebody free. When the benediction is over, you could climb out of your pew, go to that person, and say, "Peace be with you." It is possible because Jesus Christ is risen. He is here among us, bearing a perfect love that casts out fear. He gives us the power to forgive and to stand with others.
So what are we going to do about it?
____________
1. Aidan Kavanagh, Elements of Rite: A Handbook of Liturgical Style (New York: Pueblo Publishing Company, Inc., 1982), pp. 77-78.
2. Gilbert Cope, "Gestures," The Westminster Dictionary of Worship (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1979), pp. 187-88.
3. Fred B. Craddock, John (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982), p. 111.
4. Richard Guentert, PresbyNet Sermonshop, as quoted from The Des Moines Register 3 March 1994.
