(Based on John 20:1-28 and John 21:4-17)
We think of Jesus’ resurrection as a pretty big deal,
don’t we? I mean how much bigger can it get than a guy being crucified and then
walking out of the grave three days later? We think of Jesus’ rising as an
incredible display of his strength and power, and for sure it was. But this
morning, I’d like to focus on a different dimension of Jesus’ resurrection. I’d
like to focus on its gentleness. You’ve probably never thought of Jesus’
resurrection as gentle, but perhaps it’s time you did.
Let’s look at a few of the details we heard in John’s
account of that resurrection morn and the days that followed. The first person
Jesus appears to in risen form is the person who was the most faithful to him,
the most loyal. While all the male disciples ran like heck when Jesus was
arrested, Mary Magdelene didn’t. She stayed as close as she could to Jesus
through his whole trial, his walk down the Via de la Rosa, carrying his own
cross. She even stayed at the foot of the cross, through his cry of dereliction,
until he breathed his last breath, and until the soldiers allowed him to be
taken down from it. Mary was there, weeping, praying, grieving, but never
leaving.
How incredibly kind and gentle it was that Jesus appeared
first to Mary, and he did it in such a gentle way. “Woman, why are you crying?
Who is it that you are looking for?” Thinking he was the gardener, Mary says
gently and respectfully, “Sir, if you have carried him away, please tell me
where you have put him, and I will go to him.” Ever-faithful Mary. Jesus then,
according to John, says only word… “Mary.” He spoke only her name, that one, single
word. And he spoke it so gently, so full of compassion, that Mary turned toward
him and cried out “Rabboni!” which means “My teacher!”
Indeed, Jesus had been Mary’s teacher over these last
three years. And she had paid attention to all his lessons. That’s why she
stayed with him, no matter how scary and how bloody things got, no matter who
else ran away. Mary knew what Jesus would do if she had been the one to suffer.
And that is what she did – what her teacher would have done. And in this
powerful Easter morning moment, she reached for Jesus, to hug him, but he
gently says to her, “Don’t hold on to me, Mary.” It may strike us as harsh, a
bit cold even. But Jesus knew what Mary had already been through; she’d already
lost him once. He knew that in a very few days, Jesus would be leaving again to
be with his father, and from there he would not be coming back. Mary had
suffered enough. Gentle Jesus wanted to teach Mary to live with open hands,
open arms, not closed ones.
Gentle Jesus would go next to some of his disciples.
They’d all betrayed him in one form or another. They’d all “forsook him and
fled,” as Mark’s gospel puts it. He goes to them quietly, into that little
upper room where they hid trembling with fear, riddled with guilt, paralyzed
with no sense of what to do next. And his first words, Jesus very first words to
them were these: “Peace be with you…Peace be with you.” Not “What in the hell
happened out there!” Not “What kind of friends are you, leaving me all alone to
suffer and die!” Not even “I told you I’d be back, but you didn’t believe me,
did you?” No. He just says “Peace be tith you. He even said it twice, “Peace be
with you!” And then, John tells us that Jesus breathed on the disciples and
said, “Receive the Holy Spirit,” that same comforter and counselor he had told
them about less than a week before, the One who would lead them into all truth,
the One who would empower them to do all the things Jesus himself had done and
then some!
Folks, this was a moment when it would have made perfect
sense for Jesus to get a little angry, to call these bozos into account, to
exact at least a little emotional revenge by making them squirm with guilt. But
gentle Jesus did no such thing. He didn’t come to get something from them or to
exact some payment. He came to give them 3 things – peace, his Father’s spirit,
and the reminder that forgiveness is the most important thing. He said, “If you
forgive anyone’s sins, they are forgiven!” What a wonderful and gentle reminder
to bestow upon these struggling, failing disciples. Gentle Jesus…ever Gentle
Jesus.
Now we know that at least one of the disciples missed out
on this upper room reunion with Jesus. He was the one who probably felt
particularly foolish and worthless for all his doubting. Thomas was the one who
had said, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the
nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.” Gentle Jesus
didn’t want to miss Thomas. He knew just what Thomas needed, and he came back a
second time, to make sure he gave that very experience to Thomas. He came back
saying, “Peace be with you!” And then he said, gently and directly, to Thomas,
“Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side.”
And in one of my favorite moments in all of scripture, Thomas says, “My Lord
and my God!” Gentle Jesus brought Thomas peace, forgiveness, and an experience
with the risen Christ that Thomas would never, ever forget.
But Gentle Jesus wasn’t done yet. There was one more
crucial errand he had to run. It would involve a long walk – anywhere from 2 to
5 days, walking from Jerusalem back up to the Sea of Galilee. But Jesus would
take that walk. It was that important to him, for he knew that the most
tortured, guilt-ridden disciple of all needed him. Peter had gone fishing – not
just as a little one-day outing, but as in going back to his old life, to his
career, to what he was doing long before he ever met this Nazarene. Peter had
said, “I’m going fishing,” because he was done as a disciple. He’d blown it in
the worst possible way, denying that he even knew Jesus, and he did it three
times.
One can only imagine the terror and the horror that
filled Peter’s head and heart that morning on the fishing boat, when an
all-too-familiar voice came from the shore, saying, “Haven’t you caught any
fish…? Throw your net on the other side of the boat and you’ll find some.”
Peter froze in absolute horror. John made things worse by saying, “It is the
Lord.” Can you imagine what must have run through Peter’s head as he started to
picture this face-to-face encounter with the risen Jesus? “He’s going to kill
me! He’s going to tear me a new one! Jesus is going to call me out and humiliate
me in front of all the others…and I deserve it.”
We know that Peter was pretty darn scared and messed up
inside, for John tells us that before he dived into the water to swim to shore
with the others, he first put his shirt back on!
When Peter reached the shore, expecting the worst, Jesus
said, “Bring some of the fish you just caught…Come and have some breakfast with
me.” And then, after a great breakfast, like so many of the great breakfasts
they’d enjoyed together over the last three years, Jesus asks Peter a question:
“Simon, do you love me more than these?”
“Yes, Lord, you know that I love you,” Peter replies, feeling the ache
of guilt and failure. Again, Jesus asks him the very same question; “Simon do
you love me?” Peter must have thought Jesus was trying to pour salt in his
wound, for why else would Jesus ask him the very same question a second time?
“Yes Lord, you know I love you.” When the question came the third time, Peter
must have wondered whether the cock was going to crow again, for that’s what
happened on that awful night when he denied this same Jesus three times. But no
cock crowed. No lightning struck. No harsh words came. Jesus – the ever-gentle
Jesus – just sat there, smiling. And it slowly began to dawn on Peter what was
happening. Jesus was reinstating him. Jesus was making sure Peter knew that he
was not only forgiven, but loved! Here Peter had thought Jesus had come all
this way, back from the dead, to ream him, to humiliate him, to give him the
old “Donald Trump” from The Apprentice days – “You’re fired!” But Peter couldn’t
have been more wrong. I guess Peter didn’t realize just how gentle Jesus really
was.
I wonder if we realize that – the depth of Jesus’
gentleness? Gentleness is arguably the most consistent thread in Jesus’ life
when you really think about it. He came into the world in such a gentle,
humble, quiet way: a silent, holy night in a Bethlehem manger. He went about
his work so gently, without fanfare. Every time Jesus performed a miracle or a
healing, he tried to do it in secret. And when circumstances wouldn’t allow for
secrecy, he charged those who’d witnessed it to tell no one. Jesus embraced his
capture, his trial, and his crucifixion so gently, without resistance, and so
it only makes sense that his resurrection would be handled with that same
characteristic gentleness, doesn’t it?
I don’t know about you, but when I look around at this
season’s Presidential debates, at all the terrorist attacks, at the incredibly
vitriolic, anger-laden, and vengeful speech, I can’t help but think that this
world could use a little gentleness. The next time you’re in a tough situation and
you’re trying to discern what Jesus would do, start with gentleness and you
won’t be too far off the track.
When Jesus of Nazareth rose from the dead, an event that
seems so powerful, so mighty, may you always remember that Jesus even managed
to do that with gentleness. He used his precious little time on earth, after
conquering death not to flaunt his strength, nor to seek revenge, nor to tell
people that he told them so, but to make sure everyone knew they were loved,
forgiven, and restored. Wouldn’t it be great if we used whatever little time we
have left to do the very same thing? Amen.
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