Know that the LORD does wonders for the faithful; *
when I call upon the LORD, he will hear me.
I had been at work as a chaplain on the pediatric oncology floor at the Children’s Hospital in Austin Texas for about two weeks. I was beginning to learn the names of the nurses who worked long hours and gave so much of themselves to these children who were much too young to be in this place. I was beginning to learn the names and the stories of the children who spent too much time hooked up to IV’s waiting patiently for test results and continuing to submit themselves to one more treatment that would take their hair, dull their eyes and cheeks, but hopefully return them to themselves as energetic, carefree children. In these early days, I struggled with myself to enter into these doors that led to rooms of people who did not know me, could not yet trust me to bring them anything they needed except another head poking in and disturbing their brief time of quiet in the midst of such turmoil.
I prayed for something to say that would be helpful—something that would give them hope—something that, in reminding them that they were loved, would give them the courage to face the day ahead. But I felt so insignificant. I had taught children with disabilities for years, but nothing in my teaching or parenting had prepared me for this experience of how a minor bruise, or a small ache, or seemingly simple cold could lead to a diagnosis that upended everything that so many hold as sacred—life, health, the lighthearted joy of childhood.
And so as I stood outside the door of another child with cancer. I prayed to have something helpful to say, to be a presence that would offer comfort. I felt my heart lurch at the threshold to this room.
As I peeked into the darkened space, I could barely make out the shape of a young child lying on her side facing the covered window. I was about to gently close the door, not wanting to wake her, when she suddenly turned over and looked at me. I said, “I am sorry I woke you. I am Janet Zimmerman, the chaplain. She sat straight up and with a big smile on her face said, “Oh good, I was looking for someone to pray with!” The Lord does wonders for those who are faithful.
Jesus comes and stands among the disciples. He shows them his hands and his feet. They fear that he is a ghost. He tells them to “touch him and see” that it is really him. And to further convince them, he asks for something to eat—and right in front of them eats broiled fish. Yes—he’s present all right. The disciples are said to have been filled with joy, but still they could not bring themselves to believe. They still looked for him among the dead. But here he was alive, fleshy, offering them—peace– shalom and sending them into the world to be a source of shalom for others in his name.
Jesus comes to his still cloistered and frightened disciples. He presents himself in a form that while it engenders initially surprise and terror, opens these followers to the real presence of the one who was crucified on a cross, died and was buried and now stands before them alive. He gives himself to them in a way that is very physical, not simply a spiritual presence—but one of bones and flesh, who is hungry and capable of eating food. Luke teaches the community that from now on, this is where Jesus will be found— in the daily-ness of our lives—when we break bread together in fellowship, when we hear the Scriptures and prayers and hymns and he is remembered, when we are touched by or when we touch others and are reminded that we are all God’s children— Christ is present.
We are a physical faith. We are followers of a risen Lord who are called not just to believe things or to think things. We are exhorted to go into the world in our bodies. We who follow Jesus, who came to his frightened followers in the fullness of bones and flesh and empty belly, are sent into the world to embrace life—to love and to touch, to feed and to care, to offer ourselves as disciples of the Christ who lives and walks with us. As Jesus reached out and touched and held and shared with others in his earthly ministry, so too are we to enter into this ministry of presence where we partake fully of God’s love and then turn and share it with those we meet.
“Peace be with you” are the first words Jesus speaks to his disciples that night in Jerusalem. Peace—shalom in Hebrew—means something far beyond an absence of violence.
Shalom is a rich and multifaceted word that speaks to the physicality of God’s mission. Shalom offers a vision of the world where hunger is not experienced because there is always enough room at the table, where illness or incarceration do not capture bodies because all sorts of disease have been healed, where the gifts and dreams of all are fulfilled because all live as brothers and sisters in the family of God enjoying fully the abundance in God’s creation. Shalom means that all human beings live together caring for each other, seeing each other for the blessings that each of us are, grateful for God’s grace and generous mercy with all the rest of creation. Shalom welcomes all into a wholeness of life and an abundance that comes from God who is love that can never be defeated or extinguished. It is this peace that Jesus offers to the disciples in that closed room.[1]
God invites us to take our place in God’s shalom. As each of us is filled with the grace of God and nourished in God’s abundance, we are invited to share this abundance with others as we receive from God’s grace.
And Jesus is always ahead of us opening opportunities– calling us into life. Every moment we can be present for Jesus’ invitation to join him in the world sharing shalom. Whether it is preparing meals, writing a letter, planting a garden or holding a hand, each of us are given what we need to spread God’s peace. We may set aside time each week to volunteer at a food pantry, or tutor someone learning a second language or read with a child or visit someone who is lonely and isolated due to illness or disability. Or in our daily goings and comings we may sense the occasion to participate in God’s shalom.
We may help an exhausted parent open a door or put groceries into their car so they can comfort a tired child. We may be the first person to offer someone a smile and kind word that day. We may think of someone and give them a call providing a much needed listening ear or calm assurance. It is always amazing how much God can do with our simple offerings and often so much more than we may ever know. The Lord does wonders for those who are faithful.
A man had lost his beloved wife to a very sudden death. Many people generously brought food. Some offered words and actions that were life giving. These gifts allowed him to get through the day and for them he was deeply grateful. But one person he remembered most clearly was someone who he had not considered as a close friend. He was someone from his church who he knew only casually.
But this man offered him something that gave him what he most needed in in his time of grief. Every day, the man would just come and sit with him on his porch. He might occasionally sweep or put a dish in the dishwasher, but basically he just sat nearby letting the man know that he was not alone. Day after day he came offering his presence that companioned the bereaved husband in his time of grief and loss. He offered no profound words or distracting activity that could be remembered. He was just there—simply sitting alongside offering the presence of God’s generous love.
When Jesus appears to his disciples, he is not only assuaging their fears, he is telling them that their work is here and now—in this corporeal moment—right here on earth—living, caring, serving, loving. Moses at the burning bush was told to take off his shoes because the ground on which he stood was holy ground (Exodus 3:5).
The risen Christ tells his disciples and all who follow him that all ground is holy ground because God not only made it, but walked on it, ate and slept and worked and died on it. It is here in this fleshy place, that Jesus comes to us offering us his peace. As Marilyn Sewell says, “The sacred is not in the sky, the place of transcendent abstract principle, but rather is based on this earth, in the ordinary dwelling places of our lives, in our gardens and kitchens and bedrooms. And it is no less present in the streets and public halls and institutions. The sacred is fueled by love. Always love, Love over and over and over again, love.”[2]
We are empowered and nourished for our work in shalom through the tangible presence of the risen Christ in word and in meal. When we hear scripture read in the assembly; when the strains of a familiar hymn stir memories of life and hope; when we gather around Christ’s feast table sharing bread and wine; when we pray together and receive the touch of healing; when we are received into the baptismal waters of reconciliation, Christ is present. Christ stands among us, offering us his peace and in this moment we receive what we need to love and serve. We receive what we all long for—an experience of the love that never ends.
In the room on the first night after the resurrection, Jesus comes and stands among his frightened disciples. He offers his peace, reassures them that God has raised him, and then sends them into the world as witnesses to share the hope of his resurrection.
We too are called as witnesses. We each are called to share who we are—our minds, and souls and bodies– and all that we have been given, receiving sustenance through God’s abundance. And God takes what we offer and uses it in the building of God’s shalom.
This is the truth of the resurrection for me: Hate, violence, and death will never win. Love wins.
And no matter where I am—frightened, joyful, disbelieving—the risen Christ always comes and stands with me so I can step through doors and simply be present.
God is always working out shalom in the world, offers this love to me, and invites me to dance.
The Lord does wonders for those who are faithful.
[1] From the Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori’s Investiture Sermon, November 4, 2006. http://archive.episcopalchurch.org/3577_79214_ENG_HTM.htm
[2] Marilyn Sewell. Cries of the spirit. Boston: Beacon Press, 1991.