EASTER 2

“As the Father has sent me, so I send you...”

Readings:

Acts 2: 14a, 22-32 – God has raised this Jesus to life, and we are all witnesses...

John 20: 19-31 – How blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe.

It’s wonderful that we should have these readings today, on a day when we’re going to be spending some time thinking about our plans for the future – some big and ambitious plans, not without risk and maybe a little bit scary – because these readings remind us that all this began with a tiny group of people, fewer than us. We find them in our Gospel huddled together, terrified out of their wits, and with the door shut. The door is shut because they’re afraid of the big hostile world outside.

Not only are they a tiny group to be charged with being sent to the world with Christ’s life-giving Gospel; but they’re about the least likely people you could pick for starting anything important, let alone anything to change the world. But here they are and Jesus knows better than us, he knows who he wants and he knows what they’re capable of. Remember, “you did not choose me, but I chose you”. And he chooses them still. He chooses them now. And as he stands among them, he breathes his Spirit upon them and sends them.

Just imagine Jesus standing among us now and he breathes his Spirit on you, on me, on all of us. Why would he do that do that, why does he do that (because I believe that’s what happens here)? Well, Peter’s experience is the answer to that. Jesus breathes his Spirit on us so that we, like Peter, can go from this upper room into the market place of the world and proclaim the Risen Jesus for a world that needs a renewed faith in new beginnings, a renewed faith in the power of forgiveness, a renewed faith that death is not the last word, a renewed faith that each and every human being is loved from eternity, made in the image of God and made for joy.

This dissolving of locked doors, this breathing of the Spirit, this sending gives the Church its essential energy and its raison d’être. Unless the doors are flung open and we’re energised to share our Good News, we’re just a little huddle of people for whom, if I can put it this way, the Resurrection hasn’t really happened, or it’s not happened yet, or, like Thomas, we’re not entirely convinced. As Thomas might say, show me the small print, prove to me that everything’s ok, unless I see the evidence don’t ask me to take the risk of believing.

The Church today is often at risk of staying in the Upper Room and keeping the doors shut. It seems like an unfriendly world out there, with militant atheism and the church just regarded as a joke at best or as the source of many evils at worst (a charge to which we have to plead guilty at least in part). So maybe the best thing is to just hunker down and wait for people to realise what they’re missing until they come knocking on our shut doors? Maybe, or maybe not.

This week, this St George’s Day, was the 25^th anniversary of my priesting. It came so close to Easter this year I nearly forgot myself; but as I reflect on what that means for me, I can think of almost every church I’ve served in and every one has had a litany of what I call “used to’s”. This goes like this: “we used to have a choir, we used to have curates, we used to have a youth club, we used to have a Sunday school...” and so on. ‘Kind of depressing. So much loss, almost as if with every one the church has closed another door; but equally in every one, in every church I’ve known I’ve seen new doors opening. Because always at some point the living Christ is sensed breathing his Spirit anew, and people, maybe a little bit fearfully at first, say: Yes, Lord, and open a new door.

Could that be happening for us? I believe so. When I ask the Lord: why St Anne’s, Lord? and why me? And why, now? - any of us could ask that question and we should. Why am I here in this moment, now? Why this group of people, with our gifts, our needs, our quirkiness, our need for love and our ability to give love – why us? It is because the Lord has need of us. All of us. We’re the Upper Room disciples, just the right people, the best people, for the Lord to breathe on and send.

We are not here, to be the last ones to worship and witness here, to be the ones who turn out the lights for the last time and lock the doors for the last time. We’re the ones the Lord calls to take the risks of change, which is everything from our bright cheery new signboards to the risks of trying to stay open more during the week so that the children of God in this town, whenever they want to, might meet God here, as we do, and be blessed as we are.

The message we have to share won’t always be understood. When we put up new signs at my last Church, St Ninian’s and they were in bright red with bold gold lettering, one old lady who lived opposite the church phoned up and asked: “Have you opened a Chinese restaurant over there?” Not all our communication will be understood, but renewing our buildings to encourage more community use – more concerts, art displays, meetings and all the rest – are for us an act of faith for our next century. And the same is true for ideas about us drawing physically closer to the altar and to each other in worship – a visible symbol of the real bonds of love that draw us to God and to one another here as the Living Body of Christ. There is real love here and we touch it in our care for each other. This is a very special worshipping community and I want that to be seen and felt by anyone who walks in here to join us.

This is probably the boldest act of faith for our congregation since our Victorian predecessors met with doubtless no small anxiety to discuss the building of an Episcopal church here in Dunbar.

This is that big a moment. But staying in the Upper Room, everything just as it is, is simply not an option. Growth, change, being turned upside down fairly regularly, being breathed on by the same Spirit by which God created everything in the first place, then being sent – apostles, every single one of us – all these are in the job description of the people of God. Even Thomas gets it in the end. And Jesus loves him even if it’s taken Thomas a while to get on board. But Jesus says: How blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe; how blessed are those who take the risk. As the Father sent me, so I send you.