FOMO Thomas

 

FOMO is nothing new, as evidenced by our yearly reading of Thomas' missing the Risen Christ.

Acts 5:27-32

Psalm 150

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

The Rev. Seth Olson © 2022

 

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

FOMO—have you heard of this? Fear Of Missing Out

Maybe you are rolling your eyes at such a funny sounding ailment, but it is a real thing. This pervasive anxiety particularly haunts those younger generations living among us. A rock concert sounds awesome, but what if an even more awesome comedian comes to town the same night? Sure, dinner with a friend is cool, but what if another friend is throwing an even cooler party at the same time? Going to church on the Second Sunday of Easter is great, but what about brunch?

All joking aside, fear can be so crippling that it paralyzes our decision-making abilities. If you think taking a walk down the cereal aisle causes mild paralysis by analysis, a younger generation raised on technology feels this whenever they are seemingly disconnected. If we polled all our Millennials and generation Z members about their feelings when they are away from their phones or tablets, I imagine they would name fear as one of the primary emotions and particularly a fear of missing out without these connecting devices. FOMO is real, and it is not anything new.

In today’s Gospel, Thomas had FOMO, but he came by it honestly! Thomas missed the Resurrected Jesus. He had a legitimate case of FOMO. If everyone here but you met Dolly Parton, wouldn’t you be upset? Now imagine it’s not Dolly Parton, but instead the Resurrected Christ! Would you not also have FOMO? And, in this sadness of missing such a profound encounter, would you not ask for proof of what your friends were telling you?

Now Thomas had a track record of asking probing questions. On the night before Jesus died, the teacher assured his disciples that they knew the way to the Father’s house. Thomas wondered what everyone else was thinking, “How can we know the way?” Jesus responded with a beautiful, enigmatic challenge: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” Jesus’ words hearken back to when God, from the burning bush, said to Moses, “I AM who I AM.” Meaning: God is presence itself. God who was with us, is with us, will always “be” with us. Jesus subtly dropped this into his response to Thomas’ question, I am the way, the truth, and the life.

In this exchange it was not that Thomas was doubting Jesus, he was curious, like the rest of the disciples, but he was courageous (or foolish) enough to verbalize what they could not. The same thing happened in today’s Gospel story. Thomas voiced something important, not for those disciples, but for all of us who did not see the Risen Lord on that Easter evening. He was wondering something we wonder in our own day, “Is this fake news? Is it real? Can I trust this?”

“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe,” Thomas exclaimed upon missing Jesus. Thomas was not going to give himself over to the idle tales he was hearing. He wanted to experience this for himself. We may think of this as doubting, but it was more than that.

Thomas appeared unable to give himself fully over to what the others had felt in this Sunday evening communion with the Risen Christ. Unlike the other disciples, Thomas had been by himself during this Resurrection encounter. As Brad reminded us on Easter Day, the Resurrection is something we experience not in isolation, but in communion with one another. So, Thomas spent an entire week in community with the others, and remarkably Jesus showed up.

A week later, that is on another Sunday, another First Day of the Week, another Resurrection Day, Jesus returned. This time the disciples were not locked in fear, even if the doors were shut. Jesus showed himself to all the disciples, and to Thomas in particular. Thomas’ response to seeing the Risen Lord demands our attention.

Thomas had yearned to put his hand in Jesus’ wounds, to touch the marks of these scars, but as soon as he witnessed the Risen Lord that was more than enough. This curious disciple identified who Jesus was, “My Lord and my God.” Since we hear this passage every year and since you faithful ones have showed up on the Second Sunday of Easter (kudos) you may have heard this passage so often that it has lost its provocative impact. Thomas’ words serve as the climax of the entire Good News of Jesus Christ.

If we rewind back to the beginning of John, we will remember that this account begins with a cosmic hymn about who Jesus was. The word who was with God, the word who was God, the word through whom all things came into being. This word that the world did not accept, did not know, did not behold. This one who was the light of the world that came into the world, but was not accepted by the world. These huge claims about who Jesus was were made at the very beginning of the Gospel, they unfold throughout John’s telling, and here at the end of the story they point towards the great hope of this Good News. What is that hope? That someone who was curious about this Jesus person would express the truth of who he was, who he is!

Thomas exclaimed this truth and not because he put his hands in Jesus’ side, but because he beheld the Risen Christ in community. He never got his hand into the side of Jesus, nor did he touch Jesus’ wounds. Instead, Thomas recognized the truth. Jesus is “my Lord and my God.” Thomas was the one who articulated the hope of the entire Gospel account in this simple, provocative, and powerful phrase. To this day, some people even remind themselves of this paramount truth as they receive communion—taking hold of the body of Christ while saying, “My Lord and my God.”

The realization that Thomas had though was not simply for himself. Thomas after all is not this disciple’s real name. His true name was Judas, and no not that Judas. Like how Jesus gave Simon the nickname of Peter, he also gave this Judas the nickname of Thomas. Peter, as you may know means Rock. What does Thomas mean?

Thomas is a nickname, which means the Twin. Some scholars wonder if Thomas was literally a twin and perhaps, he got this nickname as a result. Others wonder if because Judas Iscariot and he shared the same name, maybe Jesus gave this Judas the name Twin to distinguish between the two. There is a more mystic understanding though.

I wonder if Thomas’ twin might not be someone inside the Gospel account, but instead someone outside of it. Someone who is looking into the Good News of Christ Jesus, even someone who is hearing these words two thousand years later, in a completely different language, and halfway across the globe. I wonder if you might be Thomas’ twin. I wonder what you share in common with this disciple.

Thomas was fearful of missing out.

Thomas wanted to see the evidence before he believed.

Thomas was curious.

Does this sound familiar? Does this sound like you?

Thomas’ understanding that Jesus was Lord and God served as the climax of the whole Gospel—and you having this insight yourself is the whole point of this story. "These are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name."

You are—we are the other half of this twinship. Whether you are being baptized this morning, like Rowan or you are being welcomed as a new member, like so many wonderful folks during our New Member Recognition; whether you are brand new to All Saints or you have been here your whole life—all of us are part of this story. 

We yearn to be witnesses of Resurrection in our lives. When we are not part of this community of the Risen Lord we may have FOMO, but for good reason. Thomas doubted in fearful isolation, but he believed in beloved community. He is an inquisitive example for us—we who yearn to take hold of the Risen Christ not in our hands, but in our hearts. Our reception of Jesus as Lord and God is the climax of the good news. May we behold Jesus in beloved community, just like Thomas did. Amen.

Why Do You Look For The Living Among The Dead?

 

A Coptic Icon of the Resurrection

Genesis 1:1-2:4a [The Story of Creation]
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21 [Israel's deliverance at the Red Sea]
Isaiah 55:1-11 [Salvation offered freely to all]
Proverbs 8:1-8, 19-21; 9:4b-6 [Learn wisdom and live]
 Ezekiel 37:1-14 [The valley of dry bones]

Romans 6:3-11
Psalm 114
Luke 24:1-12
 

The Rev. Seth Olson © 2022

Note: This sermon was preached before the Great Alleluia of Easter after the Vigil lessons were read. 

All-loving God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

It’s dark in here, isn’t it? So dark! It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

“In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep.” Before God said anything, Genesis tells us, it was dark—darkness covered the face of the deep. So, it is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

During the Exodus God’s cloud by day was dark coverage—enough even to enshroud the People of Israel as they escaped Pharaoh. At night that cloud became a pillar of fire lighting up a path on dry ground through the Red Sea. Still, it had to be dark walking between the walls of waves on either side. It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

Darkness got no mention in what we heard from Isaiah, but it certainly lurked in the background. Not darkness, like poor vision from lack of light, but something much more disturbing. The prophet extended God’s invitation—a good thing. However, the prophet offered welcome because God’s People had been without. They had been hungry. They had been thirsty. They had been yearning for God. They had been held captive by enemies, by themselves, by a spiritual darkness. It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

Like Isaiah, our Fourth Lesson shed light upon the darkness of ignorance that comes from a lack of knowing God’s Wisdom. This Wisdom cried out, she yearned to be heard—to be sought after more than gold and silver. For with her comes justice and flourishing relationship with God, with neighbor, and with self. Without her, life is lacking—it’s like living without the light. It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

Wisdom though is not vital for living—enlightening yes, essential no—but we must have breath! Without it, we perish—we become like the beginning of Ezekiel’s lesson from this night. What a dark and dry time it was in that valley of the bones without God’s breath! It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

These lessons speak to us about darkness. Funny, right? It’s amusing because so often we associate the Christian Faith with the brightness of the noonday sun. It’s like my favorite Easter dad-joke: Tomorrow’s forecast is a 100% chance of Son rise—S-O-N rise. The popular perception of Christianity is that it is about this noontime walk with God—some say Church and our Christian Faith is about all our shiny bits, the put-together parts of us, our Easter-Sunday-morning-best selves, and yet, so much of these stories and so much of our growth happens in the dark.

Yes, it has been said, we are Easter people, but you specifically are an Easter Vigil person. You and me, we are people who sit in the dark. Whatever brought you to church on this most holy night, you are here sitting in the dark. And, it makes me wonder, if you are willing to not only sit in this darkness, but also to be in moments of spiritual darkness. Challenging moments within yourself—tough times with your family, friends, neighbors, strangers, and even God.

Often it is in dark moments, these moments before the in-breaking light, that we experience the greatest gifts that come from our relationship with God. This is not always easy to see, but our walk with God is strengthened in deep darkness. There we find courage, compassion, community, curiosity, creativity—gifts we would not realize if we always stayed in the perceived safety of the light.

It really is so dark in here, which reminds me of an Easter service several years ago when I was serving at St. John’s in Decatur. There we had a morning Easter Vigil and in the predawn half-glow on that new day, the Organist, a man named Foster Bailey, missed the stairs that led into the side of the church. Instead, he nearly walked into the columbarium. It was funny because he was so disoriented at that time of day, but I think Foster had it right.

Walking into our dark church on this night is so startling. With only the light of the Paschal Candle it feels as though we are walking into a tomb precisely because that is what we are doing—we are walking into the grave of Christ Jesus. Now, the thought of being stuck in a tomb makes my skin crawl.

The closest experience I have had to being buried alive is going caving. Those trips beneath the earth were riveting. Especially, when everyone in the group would turn out their headlamps and stop speaking for a moment or two. It was disorienting down there—like in here.

On those trips, a worry would wash over me, “What if I get trapped here? What if some rocks fall at this precise moment? What if stones collapse over me, like the Red Sea washing over Pharoah’s army?” Worse still is the thought of getting trapped not in a cave, but in a place of deeper darkness—a place without the true light, like where God’s people were when the Prophets issued God’s call. That is a place where many of us have been, maybe some of us feel like that’s where we are now. A place with hunger, thirst and yearning, but without wisdom, breath, and life. This place of darkness is where we wait.

We await a moment so passionately longed for by us and by all. A time when the darkness not outside of us, but inside of us will be no more. A second when any semblance of separation is smashed. An era when evil ceases to exist. A day when death is vanquished. An age bathed in radiant light. That is what we await, sitting in the shadows.

And, how remarkable it is during this service, coming into this completely dark place with only the light of Christ leading us! Slowly that light spreads, but even just that one true light is enough to keep the darkness away, enough that the darkness cannot overcome it, enough that the darkness comprehendeth it not.

But, for a moment more it is dark—in this church—in this tomb. And, if we were to blow out all our candles, and maybe you need to if you are holding a puddle of wax at this point, then it might be almost as dark as it ever has been. As dark as it was on Maundy Thursday when the disciples betrayed, denied, and abandoned Jesus. As dark as it was on Good Friday when at noon Jesus hung on the cross and the light of the sun failed to shine. As dark as it was when Joseph and Nicodemus laid Jesus down and the tomb was sealed.

It is dark, but certainly it has been darker. And, in this dark silence, if we listen closely, we will hear the footsteps of the women approaching. And, messengers of the true light await, wondering, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”