Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year C

John 13:31-35

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; even as I have loved you, that you also love one another.

At one level, this saying of Jesus seems simple. There’s nothing very surprising or startling about telling his disciples to love one another. But, especially in John’s Gospel, it’s often worth taking a closer look at our Lord’s words and paying attention to the details.

A new commandment I give to you. Notice, first of all, that Jesus calls this saying a commandment: not a suggestion, recommendation, invitation, good advice, or exhortation, but a commandment. Spoken on the night before his death, these words are part of what is often called his farewell speech. If you want to continue to be my disciples after I’m gone, here’s what you must do. These are your marching orders.

Notice, also, that Jesus calls this saying not merely a commandment but a new commandment: something that the disciples presumably haven’t heard before. And that raises the question: In what sense is the instruction to love one another new?

Well, for one thing, there are the words “one another.” In the Old Testament, God had given Israel the commandment to “love your neighbor as yourself.” Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus tells the disciples to love even their enemies. But here he’s narrowing the focus to speak specifically of love within the community of disciples. In other words, from now on the members of his Church must be known to the world as people who love one another.

Even more than that, this commandment to love one another is a new commandment on account of what comes next: “as I have loved you.” There’s the kicker. It’s really not that hard to love your neighbor as yourself. You just need to be willing to do for your neighbor whatever you’d expect your neighbor to do for you. So, for example, if when I’m not feeling well I’d like you to go to the pharmacy for me and get my prescription filled, then I’d better be prepared to go to the pharmacy for you and get your prescription filled when you’re not feeling well.

But our Lord’s love far surpasses that kind of love. For us, he dies on the cross. That’s not something we’d ever expect anyone else to do for us. Yet for us, Jesus offers up everything, with no thought for himself. The love he demonstrates on the cross is self-giving and sacrificial: love that dies to self for the sake of the beloved.

It’s this quality of self-giving, self-denying love that Jesus commands us to exhibit in our life together as Christians. This does not necessarily mean that we shall literally be called to suffer martyrdom on account of our Christian commitment – although in many parts of the world giving one’s life for Christ remains a very real possibility. But it does mean that in the life of the Church we need to be willing to put each other’s interests before our own interests, and to put the collective good of the community before our own individual good. In this way, we learn to love one another, even as Christ has loved us.

And to a large extent we can already see this love for one another in lives of our parish and diocesan communities. Here at S. Stephen’s, I’m often touched, even moved, by the ways in which parishioners reach out to express concern for one another in times of loss, or to lend a helping hand in time of need. True, we’re not a cozy little suburban parish where everybody minds everybody else’s business; and I’m just as glad for that. But nonetheless our life together in this rather eclectic collection of occasionally eccentric personalities – entirely typical of Anglo-Catholic parishes – is marked by genuine Christian love in all sorts of quiet and unobtrusive ways. And that’s very good.

But loving one another as Christ has loved us entails even more basic commitments. And the most basic commitment of all is simply to be here: to come faithfully to Mass on Sundays and principal holy days throughout the year; and to support by our presence the various other parish activities and events on the schedule as we’re able. In other words, the first step in loving one another as Christ has loved us is simply to be here for one another – even when, especially when, a dozen other claims on our time and attention seem more pressing.

The second step in loving one another as Christ has loved us is to assume collective responsibility for those activities that express our identity and fulfill our mission as a parish. If we truly love one another here at S. Stephen’s, and if we truly love our parish community as a whole, then we shall want to do everything we can to facilitate its participation in the spreading of the Gospel and the up-building of God’s kingdom.

Two opportunities in particular stand before us at this time. First, this coming Friday and Saturday, we shall be hosting Bishop Lindsay Urwin of the Anglican Shrine at Walsingham in England. He shall be giving an address at 6 pm on Friday evening followed by a panel discussion and Vespers of our Lady. And then on Saturday he’ll be our preacher at the Annual Mass and Meeting of the Society of Mary, beginning at 11 am. A number of visitors and guests are likely to be present. Coming out to support our parish in these activities is one concrete way in which we express our love for one another as Christ has loved us.

The other opportunity is perhaps a bit more challenging. We really need more parishioners coming to our daily Offices and Masses. Opening our doors daily for worship has been an integral part of this parish’s mission since 1896. Currently, weekday attendance is running at between two and three people, including the priest; and that’s really not enough to keep these daily services going as an active and vibrant ministry. I know in my bones that there are more parishioners out there who could come to at least some of these daily services if they simply made the decision to do so.

Here is a key example of what I mean by assuming collective responsibility for those activities that express our identity and fulfill our mission. Making the decision to come to one or more of our weekday Masses would be a profound expression of our love for God, for our parish, and for one another.

The point is that loving one another begins with such simple steps as these. They’re not always easy at the outset; they’re not always convenient; and they’re not always what we feel like doing at the moment. And yet, such little sacrifices school us in the art of loving one another as Jesus has loved us. In this way, those in the wider world will know that we’re his disciples, and may even be drawn in turn to joining us.

Easter 2, Year C [Low Sunday]

When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side.

A curious feature of the resurrection narrative in today’s Gospel is the emphasis placed on the wounds of the risen Christ. The Evangelist John mentions them twice.

First, Jesus appears, stands among the disciples, and says, “Peace be with you.” That greeting suggests that the disciples need reassurance. John has already told us that they’re hiding behind closed doors because they’re afraid of the authorities. But perhaps they’re also afraid of this mysterious figure that has suddenly appeared from nowhere—and certainly without having come in through the closed doors.

Then, after he says, “Peace be with you,” he shows them his hands and his side. Only then do the disciples recognize him: “Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord.” In other words, the disciples realize that it’s Jesus standing before them, risen from the dead, precisely because they see his wounds.

Throughout the various resurrection appearances, even those who were closest to Jesus during his earthly life have trouble recognizing him at first. But then there comes a moment when it becomes overwhelmingly clear who he is. Here, in this account, the clear markers of his identity are the scars in his hands and his side. Christ is gloriously risen; yet he reveals himself by means of his wounds.

This detail casts new light on the story of doubting Thomas that follows immediately afterwards. Here is the second instance where John mentions the wounds of the risen Christ. When the disciples tell Thomas, “We have seen the Lord,” he responds, “Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails, and place my finger in the mark of the nails, and place my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

On account of these words, Thomas has become known and loved down through the centuries as the patron saint of skeptics everywhere. But perhaps what he’s saying is not so much that he disbelieves the story, as that the only way that he will recognize this mysterious figure appearing to the disciples as Jesus is by touching his wounds.

In other words, perhaps Thomas doesn’t doubt that someone or something—a ghost, an angel, or a demon—is really appearing to the disciples. In those days, such supernatural apparitions were believed to be commonplace occurrences. But the only Jesus that Thomas wants anything to do with is the same Jesus that he knew during his earthly life, the same Jesus whom he saw crucified and laid in the tomb. No ghostly phantom will do.

In that case, Thomas’s attitude is not so much as doubt or lack of faith as an admirable insistence on the reality of Christ’s sufferings. One of the first heresies to trouble the early Church was known as docetism. The word comes from the Greek verb meaning “to appear” or “to seem.” According to this false teaching Jesus was indeed fully divine but had only the appearance or semblance of a human being. Thus, he could not suffer or die, and only appeared to suffer and die on the cross. It was all a sham. And three days later, he appeared to the disciples to reveal that his death was only an illusion after all. Everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about.

The Church rightly condemned this teaching as a dangerous heresy. Unless Jesus is truly human, unless he has shared fully in the human condition, then he cannot be the savior of real human beings. Unless he has truly suffered and died, he cannot redeem us from suffering and death. By repudiating docetism, the Church effectively took its stand with Thomas and said, “Unless we can place our fingers in the mark of the nails, and place our hands in his side, we don’t have a faith worth believing.”

In the course of my priestly ministry, I’ve discovered that as I get to know parishioners really well, there often comes a moment when they either come into my office or invite me into their home and sit me down and tell me the story of the worst things that have ever happened to them—bereavements, family tragedies, divorces, accidents, injuries, crimes, betrayals, assaults, incarcerations, incidents of childhood neglect or abuse.

It’s a privileged moment, and very humbling. I've come to think of it as "the showing of the wounds." The underlying premise is that I don’t really know you until I’ve seen your wounds. And by revealing your scars, you entrust me with the knowledge of who you really are, and you invite me into a closer pastoral relationship with you. And that’s precisely what the risen Jesus does when he shows the disciples—when he shows us—his wounds. He reveals to us who he really is, the crucified Savior, and invites us into the closest possible relationship with him.

Some years ago I read the story of a woman who’d suffered a great trauma, being assaulted in broad daylight in her own back yard. While her physical injuries were minimal, the psychological and emotional shock was overwhelming. She was hospitalized for several weeks and then spent months recovering on heavy doses of medication and frequent sessions with her therapist. Although everyone knew that something was wrong, the only people who knew what had happened were the police, her doctors, her therapist, and her pastor. Outside that circle, she just couldn’t talk about it.

Finally, her therapist suggested that a necessary step on the path of healing would be to tell someone else, perhaps a close friend. She told her pastor of this suggestion, and then said: “I want to tell my story to Joe.” The pastor was surprised. Although a member of the congregation, Joe seemed an odd candidate. Joe’s life seemed straightened out now, but several years back he’d become addicted to drugs, lost his career, lost his family, and had spent years in and out of rehab clinics. Now he mostly kept to himself. “Why Joe?” he asked. “Because,” she replied, “the only person I can talk to right now is someone who knows what it’s like to have been to hell and back.”

The message of today’s Easter Gospel is that we worship a risen Lord who has literally been to hell and back. He can understand anything we tell him and help us through anything we ever have to suffer. And he’s got the scars to prove it.

Acknowledgment: Key ideas for this sermon came from William R. Willimon, “He showed them his scars,” Pulpit Resource, Vol. 25, No. 2 (April, May, June 1997), 3-6.