Dearly Beloved,
What a joy it was this last week to share together some of the ways and times that our hearts burn within us. And the ways in which simply holding that space together can in and of itself make God's presence known to us and among us. I am deeply deeply grateful.
This week, we continue through Luke's telling of the Gospel stories and Christ's resurrection appearances. In Luke 24:36-49 we pick up where we left off last week. Cleopas and his companion who have met Jesus rush back to Jerusalem where the other disciples are gathered and talking about Jesus risen. Cleopas and his friend tell of their encounter with Jesus and then Christ appears among them. They are, understandably, startled and terrified. And Jesus asks them: ‘Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?'
These seem like worthwhile questions. In the midst of our own lives, why are we frightened? Why do doubts arise in our hearts? In the midst of an already really messy election cycle, why are we frightened? And of what? As war in Gaza continues to kill children, healthcare workers, and journalists among others, why are we frightened? And of what? As our congregation shifts and changes, as new faces join those that are familiar, as new ideas and new ways of being and different ways of being family appear among us, why are we frightened? And of what? As our bodies age or as we deal with chronic illness, mental illness and our own (and others') mortality, why are we frightened, and of what?
Now I want you to hear me say that I don't think that fight is wrong. Often, when I hear Jesus asking why someone is frightened, I read in some sort of disapproval or judgment. But that's me. I think it much more likely that Jesus is simply curious: Jesus is inviting those around him to be reflective, to wonder, and to share. After all, Jesus does not say: "There is no reason to be frightened!"
And Jesus then invites the disciples close: to look at him, to see him, to come close. He invites them to encounter his woundedness, to touch his hands and feet where he has been hurt. Jesus' response to the disciples' fear is to share his own vulnerability, his own suffering.
Writer Ross Gay asks the question: "What if we joined our sorrows, I'm saying. I'm saying: What if that is joy?" Perhaps it is joy. After all, the very next verse after Jesus shows his disciples his wounds tells us that they are found "in their joy." And they are still "disbelieving and still wondering." I love the way in which both for Gay and for the gospel writer joy lives alongside other things that are far more messy: sorrow, disbelieving, wondering. Or perhaps the truth is that joy itself is also messy.
What if it were?
Why are you frightened?
What if, in sharing that fright, what if in sharing your vulnerability, what if in meeting each other in the messiness, we find joy? I think it just might be so.
With love and in wonder,
Thandiwe
