Unraveled: Unraveling Doubt

It was still the first day of the week. That evening, while the disciples were behind closed doors because they were afraid of the Jewish authorities, Jesus came and stood among them. He said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. When the disciples saw the Lord, they were filled with joy. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father sent me, so I am sending you.” Then he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, they are forgiven; if you don’t forgive them, they aren’t forgiven.”

Thomas, the one called Didymus, one of the Twelve, wasn’t with the disciples when Jesus came. The other disciples told him, “We’ve seen the Lord!”

But he replied, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands, put my finger in the wounds left by the nails, and put my hand into his side, I won’t believe.”

After eight days his disciples were again in a house and Thomas was with them. Even though the doors were locked, Jesus entered and stood among them. He said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here. Look at my hands. Put your hand into my side. No more disbelief. Believe!”

Thomas responded to Jesus, “My Lord and my God!”

Jesus replied, “Do you believe because you see me? Happy are those who don’t see and yet believe.” --John 20:19-29 (CEB)

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Creator, Jesus Christ our Redeemer, and the Holy Spirit our Sustainer. Amen.

Where do I begin? I have to admit to you that, as I’ve been working and living through this past week, there are a lot of things I have felt called to preach today. This may be a longer sermon because of it. Let’s hope it makes some sense by the end.

I want to begin with this idea of how we respond when the unimaginable happens. Perhaps that unimaginable thing is happening to us personally. Perhaps it is something that happens to us collectively. I’m thinking today about the people of eastern Kentucky. 

If you’ve watched any of the videos of the flooding or the damage in the aftermath of the floods, or considered the loss of life, this was for our neighbors one of those “unimaginable” events. I’m one of two co-coordinators for disaster response in our synod. (I used to say I was a co-disaster response coordinator, but decided I needed to change that wording a bit.) 

Whenever a disaster hits, there are organizations, both in-state and from across the country, who begin to meet on Zoom to coordinate the volunteer response. These groups are called VOAD groups - Voluntary Organizations Active in Disaster. Every state has a VOAD group. There’s a national group, too. So, when a disaster hits, all of the VOAD partners plus all of the state and county emergency management teams jump on daily calls to, first, understand the need and, then, to coordinate the response. Lutheran Disaster Response - our churchwide organization that works through the affected synod - is one of those partners. And because Lutheran Disaster Response operates primarily through synods, I am typically on those calls, too.

When the floods hit a week ago in the eastern part of the state, the VOAD organizations and EMS teams took to Zoom. We typically aren’t part of this initial crisis response, but work more longer term. Yet, it’s important to know the extent of the disaster, so we all jump on the calls

You can imagine what we heard. Stories shared that most of us, including the EMS teams, could never have imagined would have happened. The devastation, the loss of life, the grief and heartbreak caused by these floods where streams and rivers, in some cases, were 20 feet above “normal” flood stage.

As I sat and listened in this past Monday, there was one need that stood out to me. A young woman working for a housing development corporation in Owsley Co. - one of the poorest counties in Kentucky. This young woman, Cassie Hudson, made a plea for $50,000 cash. It’s not often that people just blurt out the need for cash on these calls. Usually requests are for volunteers and supplies. Not just cash. But, for Cassie - like for Thomas in our text today - there was a need to be direct. To be honest. To risk. To be vulnerable. To see the evidence. To find the hope.

Isn’t that what Thomas is doing in our text today? Wasn’t he just verbalizing what every other disciple had been thinking - at least before Jesus appeared to all of them (except for Thomas) as they waited in fear in the upper room that Easter evening? A locked room that didn’t stop Jesus from showing up. And who, when he did show up, spoke a word of peace to them. Twice. Peace be with you. Peace. As in shalom. Meaning wholeness. Belonging. Community. 

But, Thomas wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to receive this word of peace from Jesus, literally in the flesh. Have you ever wondered where Thomas was? Why he wasn’t there? I have to wonder if, so devastated by Jesus’ death - by the unimaginable - he might have self-isolated. Caught up in his own grief. Grief that had turned him into a doubter. A skeptic. A cynic. Even a truth-teller. “Unless I see…I won’t believe,” Thomas says, even after the other disciples have witnessed to him. Who believed only when they saw! Who, in that moment, experienced their own Pentecost, as Jesus breathed his Spirit on them and sent them out.

Then, for Thomas, Jesus shows up. Again. And offers him exactly what he asks for. Put your finger here. Look at my hands. Put your hand into my side. Touch me. See that I am real. And believe. No longer is Thomas the cynic. No longer does Thomas need to touch Jesus. To touch the wounds on his hands. Or on his side. Simply being in the presence of this resurrected Jesus has restored his hope. Restored his faith. Restored his joy.

We never read of Thomas again in scripture. It might be easy to imagine that he simply faded away. Except, he didn’t. Thomas would go on to found the early Church in India. To build communities of Jesus’ followers that exist today - St. Thomas Christians, they call themselves. One of whom is an ELCA pastor, who serves just down the road from us in Corydon.

Because, like the other apostles, Thomas took seriously the divine authority given him by Christ. The authority for his own mission that can only be understood in light of the mission of Christ. A mission of self-giving love. A mission evidenced and fulfilled by Jesus’ life and death. A mission to which each and everyone of us are called, under the authority of Christ through our baptism in the Holy Spirit. Just as Thomas and the rest of the disciples were called, then sent. Thomas. Truth-teller that he was.

So, who is the Thomas in our midst? What is the truth here that no one is naming? That no one is vulnerable enough to speak out loud? Something that we all see, but that no one will say? 

Perhaps, one of those truths is that church as we’ve known it is no more. Our numbers, like virtually every other church in this country, are unraveling. Drastically. Something that is not your fault, or mine. But, something that has been trending in our nation for well over 50 years. We just - lucky or not - happen to be living at the end of it. In the midst of this liminal time.

What will the future bring? What will happen to the church? I daresay, none of us know. But, here’s the thing. When that unimaginable thing happens, whatever it is - Christ will be there. Breaking through the closed doors of our building, the closed doors of our hearts, the closed doors of our minds, saying to us - as he said to Thomas… Put. Touch. See. Believe. You and I will not do this new thing. God will do this new thing. And, God in Christ through the Holy Spirit will then send us into mission. Whatever that mission will be.

What’s an example of that mission? A possibility? Here’s a real-life, honest-to-God example of a mission God sends us on - of what it means to invite others to put, to touch, to see, to believe.

I’d like to read from two emails I received this week from that young woman I mentioned at the outset - from Cassie Hudson, Executive Director of Partnership Housing in Boonesville, KY. 

On Tuesday, she wrote this: "I have 3 small homes to build and a couple small repairs to other homes. I have the contractor willing to build back all of these 3 homes at no cost for his labor, I'm just struggling so bad with money for building materials. Owsley County is the poorest county in KY, finding money is difficult and we just experienced a historical flood in March 2021 which I was very successful in getting everyone homed, homes rebuilt etc. and fully recovered by July 2021, merely 5 months after the flood. This flood happened in a different part of the county and our previous efforts went untouched and I'm so thankful to God for that. Any and all funds no matter the amount is appreciated but I'm needing at least $50,000. Funds are just not coming in like previously, I think its because there has been so many disasters throughout KY since March 2021."

Then, on Thursday, after receiving an email I sent letting her know that Lutheran Disaster Response, because of dollars we and so many others have given - that LDR through our Synod would fully fund her request, plus any additional funds she might need, here’s what she wrote: I am at lost for words.  I can never thank you and everyone involved with.  You have not only took such a worry off of me but you will be able to help these people who can never recover from such devastation.  I'm usually a person with a lot of faith and belief that everything will work out and line up but on Monday evening, my faith was being tested.  I had doubt, I was worried and didn't know how I would pay for the materials to build these homes, but I was building them as I had just dug footers and poured them on one of the homes.  On Tuesday, I threw my doubt out the window that morning and put it in the lords hands.  He placed me here with PH almost 10 years ago to learn housing and to help the people of Owsley County and everything I've accomplished has been because of him, so I knew he wasn't finished with me...and today I receive your email."

Put your finger here. Look at my hands. Put your hand into my side. No more disbelief. Believe! Believe that God is working in our midst. Believe that God will turn our cynicism to hope. Will move us from isolation to community. From disbelief to faith. From fear to joy. So that we might then be like Thomas, like Cassie. To throw our doubt to the wind. And with all the authority of Christ to invite others to put, touch, see, and believe. 

Let us pray: Lover of the poor, defender of the needy, sanctuary of the rejected: for those who suffer injustice today, for men and women who cannot provide food for their families, and for whole communities who fear today and have no hope for tomorrow, we offer the longings of our hearts in prayer. We seek for them, O God, the gifts that are dear to us: food for the table, drink for the soul, shelter in the night and open doors to welcome us in. Amen.

Preached August 7, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville.

Pentecost 9

Readings: John 20:19-29; Psalm 16.

The Life We Claim: The Creed - God, Our Creator

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.  Genesis 1:1-5 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the Holy Trinity: Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen.

How many of you begin your day with a kiss? Perhaps, in the morning, as you’re preparing to walk out the door and go to work - perhaps you stop briefly to give you husband or your wife a little kiss. Or perhaps, it happens when you drop your children or your grandchildren off at school during the school year. That sweet little face upturned and waiting for a kiss - their sendoff to school. Or maybe, your children or grandchildren are older and, if they are anything like my son was in high school, the last thing he wanted his friends to see was him giving a quick little kiss to his mother before heading into school. 

These small gestures that we share with those we love each day can often happen without much thought. They seem like such a natural part of our lives in relationship with others. Yet, it is these small gestures - those little perfunctory kisses - that bear witness to something that is very deep. And very large. And very profound.


Today, we’re beginning a series on the Creeds. Each week, we recite a creed in worship. Sometimes, it’s the Apostles’ Creed. Sometimes, it’s the Nicene Creed. Sometimes, it’s the Athanasian Creed (Do you even know that one?). And, sometimes, it’s even a new creed that your pastor sneaks into the liturgy. We say the words like we give those kisses. Almost without thinking. Without much thought about what we’re actually saying. 

So, beginning this Trinity Sunday, we are going to take a deeper dive into the Creed. Into the depth of what it is we believe and why we believe it. To find out if there really is anything of substance to hold onto in the church. To ask questions. To be asked questions. To test our minds and our souls. And, particularly, to continue to grow into a kind of spirituality and faith that is not just some free floating, nebulous belief, but a faith comes from someplace. And that is going someplace. Someplace significant.

John Howell in his book on the Creed shares this lovely legend that circulated in the early church. “...[A]fter the Holy Spirit descended on the disciples that first Pentecost, Peter spoke the words, 'I believe in God the Father Almighty…' And, then Andrew added, 'And in Jesus Christ God’s only Son, our Lord.' And so they went around the table, a dozen disciples, a dozen sentences forming the Apostles’ Creed."

Now, this likely not how it happened. We’re pretty certain that the Apostles’ Creed originated sometime around the end of the 2nd century perhaps in response to a heresy that was being spread. Or, perhaps, they wanted to capture the big story in just a few words. God’s big story. After all, if we look at the Creed, it’s a pretty good summary of the sixty-six books of the Bible, isn’t it? It gives us a bird’s eye view of a story that spans thousands of years - in just thirteen phrases.  It helps us get our arms around the story of God’s mighty acts. Or maybe, it helps God get God’s arms around us.

The word, “creed,” comes from the Latin word, credo. It means “I believe.” This isn’t, though, the same as saying, “I feel,” or “I want,” or “I think.” Instead, it’s saying “God is.” That this is who our God is. And what our God has done. And continues to do. (One of the reasons I particularly like the New Creed, which we spoke throughout the Easter season is that, unlike the Apostles’ and the Nicene creeds, the New Creed, developed by the United Church of Canada, is in the present tense. It’s a reminder for us that this God and this story of God is not only in the past. But it is in our present. And will be in our future.)

So, as Howell writes, "when we say the words 'I believe,' we are, in effect, flinging ourselves upon God. Attaching ourselves to God. It’s the equivalent of 'I promise.' It’s not an opinion we’re expressing. It’s a promise that our lives and our love, our minds and our hearts, and everything we do, are steadfastly set now and in the future on God. And God alone.”

When you say the Creed each week, do you realize the promise you’re making?

The Creed, though, isn’t only about believing. It’s also about remembering. In ancient times, hundreds of Christians under interrogation by the Roman empire, refused to bow down to their gods. They would stand their ground. And declare, “I believe in God the Father almighty maker of heaven and earth…” And on and on through the Creed. Until they were executed.

Long before these moments, they had left their old lives behind. Risking everything by choosing Christianity. Not in the very posh way we choose Christianity today. But, knowingly choosing, and knowing that they could lose everything: families, homes, livelihood. Even lives. New converts were instructed in the faith for months, instruction that included fasting, abstaining from all entertainment and sex, and being prayed over diligently by elders in the church. And then, at an all-night prayer vigil beginning on the eve of Easter (Can you imagine worshiping all night long?), they would wade into a pool of water. And would be questioned: “Do you believe in God the Father almighty? Do you believe in Jesus Christ, God’s Son? Do you believe in the power of the Holy Spirit?”  Do you? Do you?

Then, after their confession of faith, they would be anointed with oil, dressed in white robes, and given a drink of milk and honey - a powerful reminder of the Promised Land and a symbol of their new life in Christ.

Every time we say the Apostles’ Creed, we step into this long, long, flowing river. A two thousand year story of believers, missionaries, and martyrs. 

The word “creed” originally meant “to give my heart to.” When we say the words of the creed - “I believe” we are claiming this life. Not only with the faith that lies within us, but a faith that is also outside of us. A faith that is part of something far bigger than we are. That we can’t even begin to imagine. 

Now, this has been a long introduction to the Creeds - to this life we claim. Before we go this morning, I’d like to briefly look at the First Article. I believe in God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.

Do you ever wonder why we use Father instead of Mother? We know God is not male. That God has both male and female characteristics. The Bible itself is full of feminine images for God. So, why do we open the Creed by confessing our faith in “God the Father?” Anyone?

We call God “father” for one reason only. Because when Jesus spoke to God, he called God “Abba” - an Aramaic word that a little child would use when curling up on his or her father’s lap. And a word that the same child would use into adulthood as a term of endearment and affection. It’s a word that reflects an intimate relationship. A word that, when Jesus used it, the disciples noticed it. And marveled at his use. Jesus’ whole mission was to invite them to curl up on the lap of almighty God, to look up, and simply say, “Abba.” 

It’s why the prayer Jesus taught them begins with “Our Father.” Because, he wanted them to understand that they didn’t have to go it alone. To believe alone. Not only did they have a loving God - a loving Father - to love and protect them, but they also were saved to be part of a community. Part of a family. Part of the body of Christ. It meant, in the words of Tom Wright, that they, like we today, were signing on for the kingdom of God.

The second part of this article looks at the work of God. Creating. It’s the profound work and the profound theological claim that we heard in our reading from Matthew 6. That God is a creator who cares for all that God creates. All of creation. Every creature. A God who clothes the grass (and the lilies) and who will clothe and care for us, too. Because God loves God’s creation. And God loves God’s creatures. And God loves us. As Luther writes in the Large Catechism: “To say “I believe in God the Father’ is to say, ‘I hold and believe that I am a creature of God; that is, that God has given and constantly sustains my body, soul, and life.’”

This is the beauty and the promise we hear in the First Article and throughout the Creed. A promise of a God who loves us deeply. Who desires to be in relationship with us. Who constantly seeks to pull us back into relationship with godself and back into community with others who also seek to believe and to understand this mystery that is the Holy Trinity. This is mystery and this life we claim whenever we speak the words, “I believe.” 


May God help you to live fully into this promise. And this life we claim. Amen.

Preached June 16, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
The Holy Trinity (Pentecost 2)
Readings: Matthew 6:30-34, Genesis 1:1-5.