The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa
Good morning and happy Easter!
If you are visiting with us today at the Cathedral, I want to welcome you and let you know that the construction tape over the back door is a prop. We are celebrating the kick-off Sunday of our Capital Campaign, which is “Carrying the Vision Forward.” So, I don’t want you to be afraid. To the best of my knowledge, nothing is going to fall today.
My favorite movie—actually I have a few—but one of my favorite movies and yes, I’m going to talk about it at Easter though it has a Christmastime setting. It is the classic “It’s a Wonderful Life.” How many of you know that movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”? Raise your hands high. (Yes, this predicts how much of the story I actually tell.)
In 1945, I think, or 1946, Frank Capra, produced a wonderful movie in its time. Of course, it got panned. Now it’s a sentimental favorite among many. (Frank Capra’s wife, by the way, was a native of Delaware. She is buried in the cemetery of the parish that I previously served—just a little bit of a tribute for those of you who care about those things.) But, you know the story of George Bailey, who is filled with life, hope and dreams, wanderlust. He envisions his entire upbringing in that small town, living in that house with his father who has that business—the savings and loan. He can’t wait until he’s old enough to get up and out, and begin to chase his dreams. You know how the story goes, of course. His father dies and he is faced with a decision of whether he will remain and carry on the business or whether he will go off and pursue his dream. The life as it goes, as you know, is that he makes a success of his father’s business as defined by all of those who come to find housing and income through the building savings and loan. This goes until one day, actually the happiest day of George’s life—his wedding day, when he discovers that there has been something tragic. Money has gone missing.
You know the scene when he spins into desperation. All of the happiness, the dreams of his life are dimmed and confused, and in his despair and hopelessness, he finds himself on the bridge asking this wish: Would it not have been better if I were not born at all? Well, you know what happens. Clarence, the angel, visits and George is treated to an experience of seeing what life would have been like if he had never been born. Of course, through seeing the flashed life, the interweaving of all the goodness that had occurred because of George’s life and faithfulness, he stands on that bridge again asking for his life back. George, in that moment, gets it. He gets it. He rushes home with what’s her face’s petals in his pocket—Zuzu, thank you Ron Heneghan—Zuzu’s petals in his pocket, surrounded by all those who, of course, were the witnesses to the goodness of his life. So, let me cut to the chase.
Thomas gets it. Doubting Thomas gets it. Thomas gets what’s going on. He’s just the only smart one to ask the right questions, but Thomas gets it. For centuries we’ve been giving Thomas a bad rap, but I’m here to tell you that Thomas gets it, like our good friend, George Bailey. Let’s face it; Thomas has had one heck of a week. He has seen the one in whom he has put his trust and his faith. He has followed him every step of the way and has watched him go to Jerusalem, be tortured, crucified, and murdered on a cross. Thomas has had a heck of a week. He has lost his dreams. He, like the other disciples, is clearly off-center, off-base. You have to believe that they are in deep, deep despair and, of course, they fear the worst.
I am here to tell you that Thomas gets it. He just wasn’t there when Jesus showed up. You have to remember that early in John’s gospel, when Jesus was prepared to go to Bethany, a place he had to leave under the threat of being stoned, it was Thomas who said to the other disciples, “We have to follow him there, even if we have to die with him.” That doesn’t sound very doubting to me. You see, Thomas was just the hands-on guy, the guy who needed the facts. He needed to know the skinny. Once he had the skinny, he would follow and go anywhere. It was Thomas who, later in the midst of Jesus’ farewell address not all that long ago, on a Maundy Thursday night, that we sat here and recreated and listened to. In the intimacy of that moment when Jesus took off the towel and washed their feet and left them with the poetic imagery that in my father’s house there will be many dwelling places and where I am, there you will be also. “You know the place where I’m going,” he said to them. It was Thomas who was the only brave one to speak up and say, “Wait a minute, Jesus, what exactly do you mean, because I have no idea where you’re going. In fact, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not sure of the way.” It is not because he didn’t want to know the way. He just didn’t understand. So he says, “Jesus, clarify.” You see, I believe Thomas gets it. Thomas gets what’s going on here. He just wasn’t in the room on that day when the disciples were locked in the room for fear. Who knows where he was—perhaps buying milk, buying bread, buying resources that would sustain them. Who knows where Thomas was. Maybe he was wandering the streets in despair, weeping over the one who he had lost. We don’t know where Thomas was.
The point of the story, the point of the good news that John is telling us in the end, is not that Thomas doubted. It is that Thomas got it. On the first day of the week, John tells us they gathered. What he is telling earliest readers of the story is that what you do as followers of Jesus is that you gather on the first day of the week. We get it. We’re here the first day of the week. What Thomas wanted to know quite simply, is this—is it he? Is it Jesus? Is it the same Jesus that I’ve been following around for the last few years? Is it indeed the same Jesus who I followed in trust and hope, believing and hoping for the kingdom he proclaimed? Is it the same Jesus whose dream I had bought into? That the lowly would be raised up? That those who suffer injustice would be stood up for? That the poor would have food in their stomachs? That the blind would be able to see again? That those who were held in bondage by whatever, whether it be Caesar or by their own spiritual sin, that they would find freedom? This is what I signed on for Thomas is saying. This is what I believe. Is it you, Jesus?
Okay, Thomas, Jesus says on his return. Poke your fingers, take a whiff...remember that night I washed your feet? It’s I, Thomas. I’m the guy who promised that I would abide with you, that I would be with you. I’m the guy who challenged you on that night to live the kingdom dream by issuing the command to love one another as I have loved you. This, you remember Thomas, is how the world will know me—that you will love one another as I have loved you. So surely Thomas, dazed and confused, grief-stricken and dimmed by Golgotha, you bet he wants to know it is Jesus. This, you see, is the message that John has for us in this gospel because the gospel is written for us. We are Thomas. It is he. It’s Jesus. He’s the one we follow. He’s the one we put our heart into and it is his kingdom in which we believe. Like Thomas and the rest of the disciples, unlock the door. Throw it open wide and get out there and start loving it as Jesus loved us. The issue you see, on this first Sunday after Easter, is who will carry the vision forward? Will the disciples become the resurrection community? Having seen the risen Christ, will they carry the vision of the kingdom forward like George Bailey? I wonder what the world would have been like if the church had never been born at all.
There are three questions the church is being asked, both at the time that they were reading the story in John’s gospel and in our time today. Who are you? What have you got? How do you do what you do? The early church were believers. They were people who gave their heart and soul to this Jesus, who dreamed the community that loves and cares and forgives and lifts up, who reached out to the sick, the poor, the persecuted and the hungry. What did they have? They had the experience of Jesus, the presence of Jesus. They shared the resources of their time and talent and treasure. How did they do it? They did it by unlocking the door, by simply unlocking the door, unlocking their fears, and living united, loving one another as Jesus loved them, and living like they had just seen the living Jesus. They believed it. Knowing who they were, what they had, and how to do it, they did it.
You and I know that we are launching a capital campaign. The words “capital campaign” often drive us to our rooms, asking us to lock the doors. Or is it the opportunity to hear the call of God as those who founded this parish a hundred and fifty years ago: To unlock the beauty, the resources and the talents of their lives so that a community here in south Bethlehem might know this dream that Jesus dreams. The people who founded this parish one hundred and fifty years ago built this parish. By looking at it, we know that they built it like they believed it. They built this foundation so that it would last. Nobody builds buildings that are going to last 150, 250, 350 years and in Europe, many, many, many, many, many years more unless they are believing it to reflect something in which they really believe. Our founders built this place, not as a testimony to their successes, but to their belief that who they were and what they had was a gift from God. They built it on this hill, I believe, for a reason: That it would be a manifestation of Christ’s kingdom here on earth and that those who would enter it would be challenged to spread the light from this hill in such a way that others would know Jesus. Just look up the hill that way and see St. Luke’s Hospital. Just look up the hill that way and see Lehigh University. Just look down the street to that corner and see New Bethany Ministries. Just look down to the basement of Sayre Hall and see the children who come here each day. Just look even to the Shawnee Building, which stores food to feed 400 people a day. Just look to the parish hall on any Thursday night in the winter and see the homeless being fed and housed.
This belief is Jesus’ dream, and I believe it was our ancestors’ dreams as they laid the foundations to this place because who they were and who we are are the people of God. What they had that they shared and what we’ve got are resources, physical and intellectual, spiritual and financial, built, shared, shared and built. And, of course, what they had and we have and Thomas and his friends had is the abiding presence of the risen Christ. How did they do it and how do we do it? We do it the way Jesus commanded us to do it, by loving one another as Jesus loved us, gathering on the first day of the week since 1864 or before. Those gatherings within these walls become the beacon of what those who would come here are called and sent to do. For generations in this place we have held one another’s children, baptized them in that baptismal font, celebrated with one another as love was consecrated in marriage and, as we have experienced even as recently as last week, embraced one another in the most despairing of times. Holding one another’s faith, comforting one another in our grief, and loving one another through difficult times, is how we do it. We do it coming together to serve the community and the world, loving one another as Jesus loved us. Can you imagine? Can you imagine if no one ever dreamed this cathedral church? Can you imagine your own lives without it? Can you imagine the south side of Bethlehem without it? Who we are, what we have, and how we do it—this is the way we carry the vision forward. Thanks be to God. Amen.
