“While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’ They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.”
Unfortunately we may know these stories too well to be astonished like the disciples in those first days following Jesus’ Resurrection and if so, we must then reacquaint ourselves with the astonishing Jesus. This Easter season provides us with readings that focus on some aspect of the Resurrection. Today we actually encounter two dimensions of the mystery – the wondrous character of the risen Lord and the effect our own transformed lives can have on others. But in the midst of miracles is simplicity – in the midst of these miracles is everyday life. This is where the risen Christ meets us now; he meets us in the activities of our everyday lives. God chose to come among us and even after the glorious miracle of the Resurrection, asks us to have a meal with him.
When God interrupts our lives, as Jesus did the lives of the disciples that day by the Sea of Galilee, it has a way of bringing us face to face with what we should be all about. We like to retreat into the comfort of what we know, as opposed to being challenged to grow. We like to look back instead of looking forward. Peter and the others might have told Jesus, “Let somebody else be your disciple, I’m busy fishing, earning a livelihood.” But Jesus offers the gift of each new day as the opportunity to put to practice what we preach; it is the opportunity to be changed and transformed.
I’m reminded of the story of a wife who put a little plaque in the kitchen which said, “Prayer Changes Things.” Twenty-four hours later it was gone. She went to her husband and asked, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like prayer?” to which he replied, “Oh, I like prayer. I just don’t like change.”
The grace of a new day brings with it the challenge to change. The disciples could no longer be comfortable to ease back into their old, former way of life. They were given the gift of another opportunity to become what Jesus had envisioned for them. We, too, are being challenged to believe that not only can we have the grace of a new day, but in that day we can change and in changing, change the world around us.
Our opening collect for this Sunday reminds us that the “blessed Son made himself known to the disciples in the breaking of bread” and we prayed that God would “open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work.” We just prayed that God would open our eyes to what is right in front of us.
This is Incarnation – God appeared and appears where we never expect it. Jesus Christ is here, part of everything we do. Our life is a miracle. Our life is a prayer.
Where are our meetings with the risen Christ? They are right in front of us!
If the stories about the risen Lord no longer astonish us, the implications of the Resurrection in our lives well may. We have all been called to witness to our resurrection faith. This includes our interactions with family members and neighbors, companions in the workplace, fellow parishioners, even strangers. Faith in the Resurrection of Jesus influences the decisions that we make about everything in life. Jesus extends the invitation: “Follow me.” Our manner of living reveals how we have responded.
The only One whose resurrection means anything to us is the One who was wounded, as we are. The only Christ worth believing in at all is the One who was crushed by what crushes us; Who knows pain and anguish and longing and confusion and ultimately death. I am wounded… as you are. A remote God in the heavens who merely offers rest to the dead or the occasional granting of a wish or two is of little help to me; To maybe get an eternal reward if I get through my years with enough good points to outbalance my bad ones, does not give me spiritual strength. I am wounded; I need a God who can heal my wounds and make me a wounded healer. I am a prisoner and I need to be set free. I need – we need – the God of the crucified Christ, whose wounds are the sign of life.
We are all here together, wounded, every one of us… By the burdens of life and by secret pains, by sin and suffering and threat of dying. We are here because we are looking for the One who lived the life we live, wounded as we have been, and was healed. He is here: the Christ of God, Jesus of the scars, who brings life from death and salvation from sorrow.
Last week our Gospel lesson related the well known story of the Resurrected Christ appearing to Thomas who would not believe until he saw Jesus for himself. Jesus loved Thomas, not in spite of his doubts and fears, but perhaps because of them. Jesus called Thomas from his doubt to belief and from his belief to missionary ministry to the poor, the lonely, the hurting. We are Thomas Christians called by our Lord to do the same: We are called to go to the lonely and befriend them. We are called to go to the crying and dry their tears. We are called to go to the wounded and dress their wounds. If we do accept our Lord’s mandate to us, then we just might find ourselves touching the wounds of Christ in those we serve and in those moments, along with Thomas, looking into the eyes of Christ Himself to proclaim, “My Lord and my God!”
Jesus’ appearance in the midst of His frightened friends is a story of the Incarnation. It reminds us that God came and comes among us, experiencing and loving our humanity (no matter how rough around the edges it might be sometimes). We are aware of the Incarnation at Christmas when we hear that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.” Then the churches are full and even fair-weather Christians and non-believers are drawn somehow into the Christmas story. Yet Good Friday is just as much about the Incarnation. Jesus on the cross is an icon of suffering, a powerful statement about the flesh and its vulnerability. The Passion reminds us of our almost infinite capacity to inflict and suffer hurt. Easter Day can be a pleasant abstraction, especially for most of the people who show up in all their finery but did not crawl through the messiness and pain of the cross here on Good Friday. We can ring bells and surround ourselves with lilies and joyous music as we distance ourselves from the broken, scarred body.
But the risen Christ did not appear to His followers in dreams or visions: He came among them in the most ordinary experiences of walks and shared meals. He still comes to us in “everydayness.” He still says: “See my hands and my feet.” “Don’t avert your eyes from my wounds out of politeness or disgust.” “Look at them. Put your finger here. Don’t be afraid. Remember the Incarnation. I came among you first in human flesh – flesh that can be hungry and tired, flesh that can be hurt and even killed. Flesh that can embody God’s love.”
He comes among us still. Behold His hands and His side. Touch Him and see.
Amen.
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