Happy Easter! I’ll be preaching this Sunday, April 7, at Central Church of the Brethren in Roanoke, Virginia. If you come (or watch online), you’ll see where these reflections lead.
When I was a kid, I was terrified of snakes. I had nightmares about them. One summer, at Camp Bethel, I ran across a little garter snake on a trail and, in my terror and haste, turned to run and fell face-down in the mud. I hated snakes for a long time.
And then, I moved to North Carolina, where there are copperheads everywhere. Not just out in the woods, but in my VERY suburban neighborhood. In the summer of 2021, the copperhead population in the Woodcroft neighborhood was so vibrant that the vets started keeping tallies of how many dogs were brought in with snake bites. I was terrified of snakes, but that was still during the pandemic times, and I simply could not give up my stupid little mental health walks on the neighborhood trails. What’s a terrified lady to do?
I don’t know how you approach fear, but my M.O. is to research. I decided to learn all I could about copperheads, to arm myself with information. As if knowing how they live and what they eat and why they like suburban neighborhoods so much would protect me from their venom.
I learned that copperheads are technically classified as pit vipers. They are ambush predators, lazing in advantageous positions and waiting for prey to come across their path. They eat cicadas, lizards and mice. They don’t chase humans, and they generally don’t strike unless they’re touched. That means that most of the time, people who get bit by copperheads have accidentally stepped on them, or intentionally messed with them.
Last summer, a copperhead started nesting right under the eave of my building. That building had a persistent mouse problem, so it’s no mystery what drew the snake to be my neighbor. Maintenance came a couple of times and relocated the snake, but it kept coming back - the all you can eat rodent buffet was too good to pass up, I guess. I could see the snake and its nest from my porch, and I was fascinated. With all my recently amassed knowledge, I was pretty confident that the snake wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t bother it, so I just watched it, amazed.
I was amazed at the snake, but I was also kind of amazed at myself, surprised that instead of losing my ever-loving mind about it, I was…curious. Interested. Absorbed. I wish I could go back to elementary school and tell my bad-dream-having self how *cool* snakes actually are, how unnecessarily exhausting dragging that old fear of them around with me for the next few decades would be.
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John’s gospel tells the resurrection story in several parts. On the evening of the day Jesus’ rose again, we hear, he shows up in a locked room where his friends are hiding out, sore afraid. The text says it was “fear of the Jews” that kept them huddled together that night, but I suspect it was really fear of their own reactions and responses to this new, weird thing that they were encountering.
Jesus shows up and says, immediately, before anyone can get anything out, “Peace be with you.” He shows them his hands and his side, proving with his wounds that he is really himself, and then he says it again: “peace be with you.”
Poor old Thomas misses this appearance, and refuses to believe it until he sees it. So, a week later, Jesus appears again, this time with Thomas in attendance and, again, cuts off any speculation or exclamation by saying, immediately, “peace be with you.” “Thomas,” he says, “look. Here I am. Touch my wounds. Do your research. It’s me. I’m here.” And Thomas falls to his knees in awe.
Thomas gets a bad rap, being labelled all these centuries as “Doubting Thomas,” but he is actually the model for faith and trust. “I can’t trust in it until I see it with my own eyes,” he says, and then he sees, and he trusts.
I think Jesus knew how afraid his friends were. He spent three years with them, didn’t he, getting to know each one of them intimately. And he knew the social climate of the day, the repercussions they’d each face for having aided and abetted a political criminal worthy of crucifixion. Who *wouldn’t* be scared in that position? Who *wouldn’t* demand some proof before getting on board?
And what Jesus offers - to the trembling disciples huddled behind the locked door, and to Thomas, a week later - isn’t a theological proof or a logical explanation. Jesus’ reassurance for the deep-down, paralyzing fear of his friends is an encounter. An experience. “What are you afraid of? This? It’s just me. Look at the nail punctures in my hands, you’ll see. Reach out and touch the lacerations in my side, you’ll know.”
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There’s a lot to fear in the world right now. Fear is not wrong, and it isn’t without its uses. It’s human to be afraid, and sometimes our fears are what keep us safe. Sometimes, huddling together in a locked room feels like the only thing we’re capable of doing.
But I wonder, sometimes, how much of our paralyzing fear would dissipate if we left our huddles, walked out of the locked rooms, and encountered the terrifying world for ourselves. What if we just…looked at the wounds? What if we accepted the invitation to touch the scars? Maybe they’d transform into things that were more interesting than terrifying. Maybe we’d be less scared. Maybe we could follow curiosity all the way through our fear out into a transformed world.
I don’t seek out snakes these days. I still have that cringe-y feeling when I happen upon one. But I don’t turn and run anymore. I stoop down. I look closer. I see if I can identify its markings, and watch where it’s going and how it gets there. I am, more often than not, grateful for the encounter.
“Peace be with you,” Jesus says, because he knows what fear feels like and he knows what’s possible beyond it.
“Peace be with you,” Jesus says, as he invites his friends - then and now - to touch his hands and open the locked door and venture out into the terrifying, fascinating world filled with possibility.
A good word. Looking forward to worshipping with you on Sunday,
Loved this! I thought of JoJo who through her engagement with CWU sisters overcame her misunderstanding (translate prejudice ="fear") of people of color. Barbara Pendergrass Richmond tells of a conversations with JoJo when JoJo said "I found out that Black women want the same thing for their children as white women!" Engagement matters! (BTW, I too think Thomas gets a bad rap as a "doubter". I think his grief was so profound that (1) he needed solitude and couldn't be with the disciples because his grief was compounded in their presence and (2) he didn't want to be disappointed and his grief deepened if what he heard was not true -- in other words he couldn't get his hopes up. We all know that feeling...) Thank you Dana!