The Flames and Breathe of Divine Love - Acts 2:1-11

A few years ago, I came across story of a couple who had fallen in love and had ended up being been married for decades despite the fact that they couldn’t speak each other’s languages.  It struck me as a remarkable story that illustrates the power of love to transcend barriers.  Searching on the internet, I couldn’t find that particular story, but came across a number of other similar stories.  

I found this story of a person called Charly who refers to the marriage of her own parents. She says that her Mom was Romanian, and her Dad was English and neither spoke each other's language for the first two years of their relationship. She describes how they got round it by drawing things, using sign language, and speaking French - a language neither of them spoke fluently. She says that humour between her parents was conveyed with silly drawings and physical humour and concludes that whatever they did, it worked, because they remained married for 28 years, until they died.

There is a similar historical story of the marriage between Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine and King Henry II of England during the 12th century.  Eleanor spoke the Occitan language, while Henry and the English court predominantly spoke English and French. And yet despite this Eleanor and Henry developed a deep understanding and respect for each other. They communicated through interpreters and relied on non-verbal cues, expressions, and gestures to convey their thoughts and emotions. They shared a strong bond and collaborated closely on matters of state, as Eleanor played a significant role in the governance of Henry's vast empire.

It seems that the language of love powerful and has the ability to transcend barriers between people. 

Today is Pentecost Sunday, and it is traditional on Pentecost Sunday to reflect on the story of Acts 2:1-11 which contains some wonderful and rich imagery for us to reflect on as people of faith. 

The first thing we see is the power of waiting.  In Acts chapter 1 we find the disciples joining in prayer with Mary, the Mother of Jesus together with several other women, following the instructions of the Risen Christ that they should wait in Jerusalem.  As I said in a brief online reflection last week, waiting is not always an easy time. Waiting requires patience.  It is challenging to wait. Waiting is a time of uncertainty and a period of longing.  But there is also power in waiting as it invites us to nurture our faith in a greater wisdom and to cultivate a sense of inner peace. Waiting invites us to embrace the unknown, and to trust in the unfolding of life’s wisdom. 

In this period of waiting we also see the disciples with Mary and the other unnamed women, cultivating a sense of community and belonging.  They gather together in unity and solidarity, finding solace and strength in a shared experience of devotion to prayer.  Acts chapter 1 and 2 remind us that in periods of uncertainty and waiting we can all benefit from the gift of belonging, community and prayer. 

And so at the beginning of the story of Acts 2:1-11, we find the close circle of followers of Jesus gathered together in one place.  Their waiting and the solace they have found in community bears fruit as we read that suddenly there came from heaven the sound like a mighty wind filling the whole house where they were sitting.  We read of what appeared to be tongues of fire separating and resting up each one of them, and then we read that filled with the Holy Spirit, they began to speak in other languages, and that as a result the crowds of people who had gathered in Jerusalem from all over the then known world were able to hear of the wonders of God’s goodness and love in their own languages. 

There is wonderful and rich symbolism in this passage. 

Firstly we have the rich symbolism of the sound of a mighty wind filling the whole house in which they were sitting. 

The word in the passage that is translated as wind is from the Greek word pneuma.  It is the same word we encounter in English when we speak for example of a pneumatic drill, in other words, a drill that is powered by air or ‘wind’. 

But the word pneuma in Greek can also be translated as Breathe and as Spirit.  And so as we read of the sound of a rushing wind it invites the reader to have a sense of the movement of the power of God’s Spirit at work in the hearts and lives of those gathered together in prayer. It also might speak of the breathe of God’s love, breathing over them and into them, breathing new life and energy into their mission. 

Pneuma reminds us that God's transforming love is like a gentle breath, comforting and invigorating. Just as a breath can revive and revitalize, God's love breathes life into our weary souls, awakening us to new possibilities and empowering us to live as agents of positive change. It is through the pneuma, the divine breath, that we are able to embody the transforming love of God in our lives.

The second imagery and symbolism we encounter in the passage in that of a flame that separates and comes to rest of the heads of each of those gathered there together, a metaphor and an image of the fire of Divine Love – a  love that transcends all boundaries and barriers. Just as fire spreads and illuminates, so does divine love reaches every corner of our being, filling us with warmth, light, and a sense of connectedness. The tongues of fire on the heads of the disciples symbolises hearts that have been ignited with warmth and love and a new sense of purpose and minds that have become illuminated with a new depth of insight and wisdom that is fuelled by the love.

The combined imagery of the rushing wind and the flames of fire remind us that divine love is not a passive force but an active, transforming energy. It ignites our hearts, awakening us to compassion and empathy. It compels us to reach out to others, to extend a helping hand, and to foster understanding and reconciliation.

And this takes us to the very powerful imagery of the disciples being empowered to speak in other languages. 

Acts 2:4 states, "And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance." And a few verses later, we read of how those who had gathered in Jerusalem from all around the then known world, are amazed to hear the wonders of God’s goodness and love being spoken in their own languages. 

It suggests that as the wind or the breathe of God’s love blows over us and within us, and as the fire of God’s love is ignited within our hearts and minds so God’s language of love enables us to reach out towards others bridging the gaps of language, culture, and experience, enabling us to understand and be understood, fostering empathy, compassion, and deep connection.

It is a reminder that sin, hatred, evil brings separation and division. But love unites, heals, crosses barriers and brings people together. 

On this Pentecost Sunday, may the wind or breathe of God’s love blow over us and within us. And may the fire of God’s love and wisdom be ignited within our hearts and within our minds that we too may speak God’s language of love which transcends all boundaries and barriers, filling us with warmth, light, and moving us to reach out towards others, even with those who might seem different from ourselves. Amen. 

​Waiting and Belonging: A Reflection on Acts 1:12-14

Acts 1:12-14 portrays a scene of waiting and unity within the early Christian community. After the ascension of Jesus, the disciples return to Jerusalem and devote themselves to prayer. In this reflection, we will explore the themes of waiting and belonging as depicted in these verses and contemplate their significance for us today.

The Power of Waiting: According to the unfolding story, Acts 1:12-14 highlights the period of waiting that the disciples experienced between the ascension of Jesus and the arrival of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Waiting can be a challenging and uncertain time, filled with anticipation and longing. As people of faith, we recognize the value of waiting as a spiritual practice. It is during these moments of patience and reflection that we can deepen our understanding, nurture our faith, and cultivate a sense of inner peace. Waiting invites us to embrace the unknown and trust in the unfolding of life's mysteries.

The Challenge of Waiting: Waiting can be a difficult and demanding process. In Acts 1:12-14, we witness the disciples enduring a period of uncertainty and longing. Similarly, in our own lives, we encounter seasons of waiting—waiting for answers, waiting for healing, waiting for justice. Waiting challenges us to practice patience and resilience. It invites us to trust in the timing of life and to find meaning in the waiting itself. In these moments, we can draw strength from the example of the disciples and the knowledge that we are not alone in our waiting.

Community and Belonging: In Acts 1:12-14, we see the disciples coming together in unity and solidarity. They find solace and strength in their shared experience and devotion to prayer. As people of faith, we affirm the importance of community and belonging. We understand that we are not solitary individuals but interconnected beings, reliant on one another for support, growth, and spiritual nourishment. In our congregations and communities, we strive to create spaces of inclusivity, where all can find a sense of belonging and acceptance, regardless of their backgrounds or beliefs.

Prayer as a Source of Strength: Prayer is a central element in Acts 1:12-14, serving as a means for the disciples to connect with the divine and seek guidance. Christians of different varieties approach prayer in diverse ways, recognizing its potential as a personal and communal practice. Whether through meditation, reflection, or shared rituals, prayer can offer solace, clarity, and inspiration. It provides us with a space to express gratitude, share our hopes and fears, and seek guidance as we navigate life's challenges. Prayer serves as a source of strength, grounding us in our spiritual journey and fostering a sense of connection with the sacred.

And so, Acts 1:12-14 offers a profound reflection on waiting, belonging, and the power of prayer within the early Christian community. As people of faith, we resonate with these themes, recognizing the value of waiting, the importance of community, and the transformative potential of prayer. May we find inspiration in the disciples' example as we navigate our own seasons of waiting, cultivate spaces of belonging, and nurture our spiritual lives through prayer. In doing so, may we discover a deeper sense of connection, purpose, and peace. Amen. 

​Communion Sunday Reflection - 


As I was preparing for today’s Communion Service I looked up some quotes on the theme of bread as well as eating meals. I found these three wonderful quotes that are particularly interesting when we contemplate upon them in light of our service of Holy Communion. 

The first is by the English poet Robert Browning who wrote:  “If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens”.  This is very similar to a quote by the late Vietnamese Zen teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, who used to say “This bread in your hand, is the body of the cosmos”   If you eat it mindfully, you will get in touch with the soil, the sunshine and the rain. 

And secondly an anonymous quote: 

“The family that eats together stays together”. I wonder what that could mean in the context of the church family gathered at the table of Christ sharing Communion together.  “The family that eats together stays together”. 

And then lastly a quote from Barbara Colorose

“There is something profoundly satisfying about sharing a meal. Eating together, breaking bread together is one of the oldest and most fundamentally unifying of human experiences.”

Today, instead of a sermon, I would like to read an extract from Khalil Gibran’s book called Jesus the Son of Man.  The whole book is a profound meditation on Jesus the Man… Jesus the Human Being.  In it he reveals a depth of insight into Jesus, the Human One, as well as the spiritual depths of Jesus heart and life, that has come from many many years of creative and imaginative reflection and meditation on the 4 Gospels.  

This extract is written from the perspective of SIMON, WHO WAS CALLED PETER, when He and His Brother were first Called by Jesus.  At the heart of this reflection, we see Jesus in the family home of Peter, sharing a meal with Peter and his family.  And as we listen to it, I invite all of us to listen to it, in light of the fact that this morning, we gather at the table of Christ to share a meal with him.  The extract from Khalil Gibran reads as follows: 

I was on the shore of the Lake of Galilee when I first beheld Jesus my Lord and my Master.

My brother Andrew was with me and we were casting out net into the waters.

The waves were rough and high and we caught but few fish. And our hearts were heavy.

Suddenly Jesus stood near us, as if He had taken form that very moment, for we had not seen Him approaching.

He called us by our names, and He said, “If you will follow me I will lead you to an inlet where the fishes are swarming.”

And as I looked at His face the net fell from my hands, for a flame kindled within me and I recognized Him.

And my brother Andrew spoke and said, “We know all the inlets upon these shores, and we know also that on a windy day like this the fish seek a depth beyond our nets.”

And Jesus answered, “Follow me to the shores of a greater sea. I shall make you fishers of men. And your net shall never be empty.”

And we abandoned our boat and our net and followed Him.

I myself was drawn by a power, viewless, that walked beside His person.

I walked near Him, breathless and full of wonder, and my brother Andrew was behind us, bewildered and amazed.

And as we walked on the sand I made bold and said unto Him, “Sir, I and my brother will follow your footsteps, and where you go we too will go. But if it please you to come to our house this night, we shall be graced by your visit. Our house is not large and our ceiling not high, and you will sit at but a frugal meal. Yet if you will abide in our hovel it will be to us a palace. And would you break bread with us, we in your presence were to be envied by the princes of the land.”

And He said, “Yea, I will be your guest this night.”

And I rejoiced in my heart. And we walked behind Him in silence until we reached our house.

And as we stood at the threshold Jesus said, “Peace be to this house, and to those who dwell in it.”

Then He entered and we followed Him.

My wife and my wife’s mother and my daughter stood before Him and they worshipped Him; then they knelt before Him and kissed the hem of His sleeve.

They were astonished that He, the chosen and the well beloved, had come to be our guest; for they had already seen Him by the River Jordan when John the Baptist had proclaimed Him before the people.

And straightway my wife and my wife’s mother began to prepare the supper.

My brother Andrew was a shy man, but his faith in Jesus was deeper than my faith.

And my daughter, who was then but twelve year old, stood by Him and held His garment as if she were in fear He would leave us and go out again into the night. She clung to Him like a lost sheep that has found its shepherd.

Then we sat at the board, and He broke the bread and poured the wine; and He turned to us saying, “My friends, grace me now in sharing this food with me, even as the Father has graced us in giving it unto us.”

These words He said (before) ere He touched a morsel, for He wished to follow an ancient custom that the honoured guest becomes the host.

And as we sat with Him around the board we felt as if we were sitting at the feast of the great King.

My daughter Petronelah, who was young and unknowing, gazed at His face and followed the movements of His hands. And I saw a veil of tears in her eyes.

When He left the board we followed Him and sat about Him in the vine-arbour.

And He spoke to us and we listened, and our hearts fluttered within us like birds.

He spoke of the second birth of man, and of the opening of the gates of the heavens; and of angels descending and bringing peace and good cheer to all men, and of angels ascending to the throne bearing the longings of men to the Lord God.

Then He looked into my eyes and gazed into the depths of my heart. And He said, “I have chosen you and your brother, and you must needs come with me. You have laboured and you have been heavy-laden. Now I shall give you rest. Take up my yoke and learn of me, for in my heart is peace, and your soul shall find abundance and a home-coming.”

When He spoke thus I and my brother stood up before Him, and I said to Him, “Master, we will follow you to the ends of the earth. And if our burden were as heavy as the mountain we would bear it with you in gladness. And should we fall by the wayside we shall know that we have fallen on the way to heaven, and we shall be satisfied.”

And my brother Andrew spoke and said, “Master, we would be threads between your hands and your loom. Weave us into the cloth if you will, for we would be in the raiment of the Most High.”

And my wife raised her face, and the tears were upon her cheeks and she spoke with joy, and she said, “Blessed are you who come in the name of the Lord. Blessed is the womb that carried you, and the breast that gave you milk.”

And my daughter, who was but twelve years old, sat at His feet and she nestled close to Him.

And the mother of my wife, who sat at the threshold, said no word. She only wept in silence and her shawl was wet with her tears.

Then Jesus walked over to her and He raised her face to His face and He said to her, “You are the mother of all these. You weep for joy, and I will keep your tears in my memory.”

And now the old moon rose above the horizon. And Jesus gazed upon it for a moment, and then He turned to us and said, “It is late. Seek your beds, and may God visit your repose. I will be here in this arbour until dawn. I have cast my net this day and I have caught two men; I am satisfied, and now I bid you good-night.”

Then my wife’s mother said, “But we have laid your bed in the house, I pray you enter and rest.”

And He answered her saying, “I would indeed rest, but not under a roof. Suffer me to lie this night under the canopy of the grapes and the stars.”

And she made haste and brought out the mattress and the pillows and the coverings. And He smiled at her and He said, “Behold, I shall lie down upon a bed twice made.”

Then we left Him and entered into the house, and my daughter was the last one to enter. And her eyes were upon Him until I had closed the door.

Thus for the first time I knew my Lord and Master.

And though it was many years ago, it still seems but of today.

And on this Communion Sunday, I repeat just a few lines again: 

...He broke the bread and poured the wine; and He turned to us saying, “My friends, grace me now in sharing this food with me, even as the Father has graced us in giving it unto us.”

These words He said (before) ere He touched a morsel, for He wished to follow an ancient custom that the honoured guest becomes the host.

And as we sat with Him around the board we felt as if we were sitting at the feast of the great King.  Amen. 

Cross Community Kindness and Compassion 
Luke 10:25-37

Our passage today is most often referred to as the Parable of the Good Samaritan.  It is normally upheld as a story encouraging us to be kind and compassionate towards others, and indeed that is true.  

What we don’t always fully understand is how radical this parable of Jesus would have been in Jesus’ own day. It is more than just a story about a random act of kindness.  It is a story of radical cross-community compassion. It is also a story of showing love and care, even to an enemy. 

We know the passage well.  A scribe is trying to discredit Jesus.  He asks Jesus to summarise the essence of his teaching. Jesus obliges, telling him the essence of it is about Loving God and Loving One’s Neighbour as oneself. 

The scribe wants to justify himself… who is my neighbour he asks Jesus? 

Jesus tells the story of a fellow Jew who is set upon by a band of robbers, assaulted, robbed, and left to die. 

As he lies dying on the side of the road, the man is ignored by his fellow Jews.  Interestingly, he is not ignored by just any Jews. He is ignored by some of the most well respected religious Jews of the day.  He is ignored firstly by a Priest.  Secondly he is ignored by a Levite. 

The priests held exclusive rights to serve at the sacrificial altar and in the outer and inner sanctum of the temple.

The Levites were a kind of second tier group of people who also worked in the Temple and took responsibilities of non-priestly tasks like singing, guarding the temple, and other secondary tasks and  work (Num 3-4; 1Chr 23-26).

The priest and Levite in the story therefore represent the religious elite, or the religious establishment.  They were in a sense the guardians of the faith.  They were the mediators between God and the Jewish people. 

In the story, these two very religious people, ignore the man who has been assaulted, robbed, stripped naked and left to die. 

We are told that they cross over to the other side of the road.  And as we read that we imagine perhaps one of the roads in Dromore or Banbridge.  If you had to pass on by on the other side of the road there would be a good few meters between you and the person.  And so the Priest and the Levite attempt to distance themselves from the dying man. It gives the impression that they perhaps tried to avoid seeing how serious the situation was.  Perhaps he was just a drunk who didn’t deserve their help. Perhaps if they were looking the other way, they could create the impression that they hadn’t really seen the man at all and they could go on their way pretending to themselves that it really wasn’t as bad as it seemed or that he didn’t really need their help?

But Rob Bell reminds us that the parable is set on the road from Jericho to Jerusalem. According to Rob Bell the road between Jericho and Jerusalem was an extremely narrow and treacherous one that wound up through the mountains.  At the most, this road was only a few feet wide.  To avoid the man, the Priest and Levite would have almost have had to step over him, perhaps to push themselves up against the side of the mountain to squeeze past the dying man on the road.    There is something far more deliberate about this kind of avoidance than walking past a few meters away on the other side of a wide and busy road.  

Then a third character enters the story. He is described as a Samaritan. 

We don’t understand the parable fully, until we know what the relationship was between Jews and Samaritans. 

The Samaritan and Jews shared a common past.  At one time in the distant past they were one people.  The Samaritans were the descendants of the Israelites in the north.  But after the north was conquered by the Assyrians over many generations, the Samaritans intermarried with their conquerors. They became half-breeds in the eyes of the Jews. 

But they also shared many religious commonalities.  Jews and Samaritans both shared some common Scriptures.  Samaritans accepted the first five books of the Bible, Genesis, Exodus, Numbers Leviticus and Deuteronomy.  But the Jews had added extra books including the history of their kings and the writings of the prophets and some wisdom writings and psalms. 

They shared similar religious practices, making sacrifices in a temple. But the Samaritan Temple was on Mount Gerezim and the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem.  The Samaritans believed that the worship of the Jews had new innovations and was illegitimate.  Likewise, the Jews believed that the Samaritans were no longer worshipping the true God or upholding the purity or the fullness of the faith. 

Jews and Samaritans shared a lot in common.  Both had ancestral claims to the land in some way or another. They lived in neighbouring towns and villages but as much as possible avoided one another.  To an outside the differences probably seemed small, but to the Jews and Samaritans, their differences probably felt enormous. 

And so they were rivals.  They had rival claims. They had rival religions.  They had rival traditions. They looked down upon one-another.  At one time, the Samaritans had even supported the Seleucid army when they came in and attacked Jerusalem and desecrated the Jewish Temple. And so walls of bitterness and hatred were erected on both sides and did nothing but harden over a period of around 550 years and perhaps going back even further.

And yet, in the story of Jesus, it is the foreigner, the stranger, the rival, the hated Samaritan who reveals what it really means to be a neighbour to the Jew who was attacked and left for dead on the side of the road.  

Not only does the Samaritan stop. He uses his own water and oil to wash, clean tend and bind up the man’s wounds. He puts him on his own donkey, he takes him to a place where he can receive the further care he needs, and then promises to pay for it himself.  This is an act not just of compassion, but of generosity too. 
 
I imagine most of us would probably, hopefully do this for a family member or a close friend?  Would we do it for a stranger? Someone from our own community?  What about someone from a different community?  A foreigner? Someone who is different from ourselves?  Would we do it for a rival? Would we do it for an enemy? 

At the end of the story, Jesus asks the Scribe? 

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

The expert in the law replied, “The one who showed mercy towards him.”

And Jesus replied, “Go and do likewise.” “Go, and do the same”. 

​Have you ever felt your heart burning within you… and I’m not talking about what is commonly known as heart-burn. 

Today we explore the resurrection passage set for the third Sunday of Easter.  It is the story of the walk to Emmaus. 

The story is set on the day of Resurrection. Two disciples of Jesus are walking away from Jerusalem the place of Jesus’ recent crucifixion, to the village of Emmaus 7 miles away. 

They are broken, dejected and filled with grief. As they walk, the Risen Christ draws up beside them, but they think he is a stranger.  He notes that their faces are downcast and asks what they are talking about. They share with him the events of the past few days, the events leading up to Jesus death and also the claims from some women that Jesus was Risen and how all the hopes they had in Jesus had been dashed. 

Then Jesus, the stranger begins to share with them words of Scriptures. As he speaks to them they find their hearts burning within them. 

At the end of the journey, they invite Jesus to dine with them, as the bread is broken and blessed by him, their eyes are opened and they see it is Jesus. In that moment Jesus disappears. 

What could this passage mean for us today? 

In preparing for today, the phrase that I was chewing on was the phrase: Were not our hearts burning within us on the road?   I asked Wendy if she can remember a time when her heart burned within her. After a brief moment of thought she replied: when she fell in love with me! Which warmed my heart! 

The phrase is such an expressive one.   It speaks of hearts that might be stirring with hope, expanding with a sense of love, a sense of positivity, a sense that everything is right with the world and that everything is going to be ok.

When I was chatting with Wendy about it, she reminded me of a few pages from a book written by the author, Rob Bell, who refers to a number of such experiences in his own life and the lives of close friends, some seemingly very ordinary experiences and other more serious or weighty moments. 

He remembers of the first time he was truly in awe of God. He said he felt like he was being caught up in something massive, loving and transcendent and true. Something he was sure could be trusted and that in-spite of all the horrible, tragic things in the world, the universe was somehow safe.  He remembers feeling that underneath it all, life is somehow good and true. This all happened at the age of 16 at a U2 music concert. He says that when they started to sing the song: “Where the streets have no names” he thought he was going to spontaneously combust with joy.  He writes: This was real. This mattered. Whatever it was. And he wanted more. He had never felt that way before. 

He then tells of an experience surfing.  He paddled out on a gorgeous day and as he sat there on his board, a couple of hundred feet off shore, surrounded by blue and green and sunlight and quiet, a dolphin jumped in the water next to him.  He writes that he thought his heart was never going to start beating again.  It was not because it gave him a fright, but because he was overwhelmed by the  crushing beauty of what he had just seen and experienced. 

He speaks too of the day that his first son was born and he couldn’t speak. He writes that he will never forget standing there by the bed and hearing the doctor ask him what his son’s name was and simply being unable to answer. He just couldn’t get the words out. 

He writes: What I find fascinating is how many of us have had moments like these when we were so overwhelmed with the presence of something or somebody, and the moment feels so good, so right, so true and so safe. Warmth, comfort and terror he says. But the good kind of terror. Maybe it is “awe”.  Others might have their own way of describing such moments. 

But it isn’t just the extraordinary experiences when this happens. It also happens sometimes in the day to day ordinary moments. For example, he describes being with his friends at one of their favourite restaurants. They had been there for at least 3 hours when he noticed they were the last ones left and the employees were starting to stack chairs and sweep the floors.  In that moment he looked at his wife who he adores; Shauna who he describes as one of the best storytellers on the planet; Tom for whom he would be willing to take a bullet for and Cecilia who he describes as one of the most loving, authentic people he has ever met. And in that moment as he was soaking it all in, he was overwhelmed with the sacredness of the moment.  The sense that in-spite of everything awful that he had ever seen they were going to make it, as though the moment was suddenly infused with something else, with meaning, significance and hope. 

And then the experience of watching his boys one evening playing with his neighbours kids in September with their plastic sleds, trying to see who could sled down the hill in front of their yard.  He says cars were slowing down as they drove by, filled with people wondering if these kids were actually sledding on grass.  And he was standing in the front yard laughing and pushing the kids down the hill.  The trees overhead were just starting to turn colour and the neighbour Tim was telling a bizarre story about what had happened to him that day, and the kids were laughing and in that moment he says, everything felt like it was in its right place. 

These are moments when one is caught up in something so much bigger than oneself that one can’t put it into words. He asks,: What is it about certain things that ignite something within!  And he adds, And is that something actually a Someone?

He writes that whatever those things are that make you feel fully alive and like the universe is ultimately good and you are not alone, he needs a faith that is able to embrace these moments and that doesn’t deny them.  He needs a spiritual understanding that celebrates these transcendent moments instead of avoiding them. He needs a faith and a spirituality that is able to affirm that these moments are expressions of what it means to be in God’s world.  

And they don’t only have to happen in the best of times. Sometimes they can come to us even in the worst of times as well.  Moments, when even in the midst of pain and sorrow one can feel as though one is walking on sacred ground, like there is something else, something more going on. 

He describes going to a funeral, and walking into the entrance way thinking that he was the first one there. Then he realised he wasn’t.  The husband of the woman who had died was already there, standing over the open casket. He walked over to him as he stood over her body, put his arm around him and didn’t say anything. Just the two of them in that big open room looking down at his wife’s body. And the husband just kept saying over and over: “She was such a good woman; she was such a good woman” And as they stood there together with his arm around his shoulder he had the sense that the ground they were standing on was holy. 

He concludes by saying that it isn’t just the concerts and the surfing and the high points, and it isn’t just those beautiful moments in the midst of the everyday and mundane; it is also the tragic and the gut-wrenching moments when we cannot escape the simple fact that there is something far more going on around us than we realise.  Moments when it feels like our hearts are burning within us. 

And that brings us back to the story of those two disciples walking dejected and broken on the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus.  Is it possible that the story that we have in Luke’s Gospel is an attempt to put into words and experience that is difficult to describe? 

Was it Jesus in physical form who walked up beside them? Or was it perhaps and experience beyond words or description, that as they walked and talked and reflected together that they became aware of a sense of living Presence with them, the Presence of an overwhelming goodness and love that was speaking to them in their hearts? The presence of the Living Christ that they felt like a burning within their hearts, a sense of hope rising out of seemingly nowhere? 

And when they sat down to eat together at the end of their journey, as they gave thanks, blessing and breaking the bread, was it the physical Jesus that they suddenly became aware of in their midst, or was there an opening of the eyes of their hearts becoming aware of the sacred presence of the one who is always with us and who will never leave us and forsake us.  Maybe for them it was literally the physical Jesus? For most of us maybe it is more likely to be a growing sense of presence, like we are standing on holy ground. Like our hearts expanding with a sense of love and wonder at the goodness of life with the feeling deep inside that life is ultimately good, that everything is going to be okay and the inescapable feeling that there is something far bigger going on around us than we realise. 

May God bless you, and in those moments when it feels like your heart is expanding with love and hope and there is a burning within at the sheer beauty or sacredness of life, may your own faith allow you to embrace those moments as experiences of the Divine, when it has felt like the Risen Christ has visited you and been with you. Amen. 

​Our passage for today is often referred to as the story of doubting Thomas. According to John’s narrative on the evening of the day of resurrection, the Risen Christ meets with the disciples in the upper room where they are behind closed doors.  All the disciples except Thomas are present.  

They tell Thomas but Thomas refuses to believe…. Not until he is able to place his fingers into the wounds of Christ. 

In our passage today from John 20, a week later Thomas encounters the Risen Christ, who tells him: “Put your finger here; look here are my hands. Give me your hand; put it into my side. Doubt no longer, but believe”.  

In preparing for today I thought that I might explore briefly the theme of doubt, and so I looked up some quotes on doubt. It was really interesting to see the diversity of opinions on the theme of doubt. 

Some quotes spoke of doubt in a negative way:

Brian Tracy writes that “Fear and self-doubt have always been the greatest enemies of human potential.”

There is a lot of truth in this quote.  I see it being played out in my own life.  If I am honest, I have grown up often with a chronic sense of self-doubt and a lack of self-confidence.  It can be a very disabling feeling. Having an idea to do something, but not having the confidence to go ahead and do it.  Backing out before one had even embarked on the first step. 

One of my life challenges has been and continues to be wrestling with a sense of self doubt. 

Another quote on doubt seems to support the view of Brian Tracy. Honore De Balzac states the following “When you doubt your power, you give power to your doubt.”  

Or how about this anonymous quotation: “Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will”

And this one by Bill Plotkin “Remember that self-doubt is as self-centred as self-inflation.  Your obligation is to reach as deeply as you can and offer your unique and authentic gifts as bravely and beautifully as you can.”

I will read it again… 

That’s quite an insight. Is it possible that self-doubt is another form of self-centredness?  I had never thought about it from that perspective before?  

And so from one perspective, doubts are something which need to be conquered and overcome.  Helen Keller wrote “Doubts and mistrust are the mere panic of a timid imagination, which the steadfast heart will conquer, and the large mind transcend.”

From a religious perspective, doubt has most often been frowned upon and even used as a stick to keep church members in line.  If you doubt certain aspects of the faith, then you are no longer a true believer. And for many Christian religious traditions, this means that your salvation is at stake. 

But scrolling through all the internet quotes online, there were surprisingly many quotes that also spoke of doubt in a positive light. 

According to Voltaire, the 18th Century French philosopher, Doubt is uncomfortable, but certainty is ridiculous. 

I have often admired people who seem to live with a confidence and certainty that makes them look like they cannot be swayed from their goals in life. I would call them the Buzz Lightyears of this world.  I have admired them because I know the discomfort that comes from doubt.  And yet, even while admiring people who have a seemingly unshakable self-confidence, there is also often a question within me wondering how solid the foundation of their confidence really is.  Sometimes, as much as I think I would love to live in a world where issues are more clearly black and white, thus giving ground for greater confidence, I am reminded from my own experience that life is in fact far more nuanced. Is it possible that certainty, as Voltaire suggests is actually ridiculous? 

Is it also possible that on some occasions too much certainty might actually be dangerous? 

Putin’s invasion of Ukraine was predicated on an unshakable sense of being right. That this was the right thing to do.  Is it possible that if Putin had exercised a healthy sense of self-doubt, the invasion of Ukraine would never have happened? Is self-doubt possibly sometimes a good thing? 

And so there are a number of people who suggest that doubt is not always a bad thing. Under some circumstances doubt can clearly be a positive thing. 

Rene Descarte is quoted as saying that “Doubt is the origin of Wisdom”.  There is a real truth in this statement for as Richard Feynman says: “There is no learning without have to pose a question. And a question requires doubt.”  Doubt is therefore essential to learning and growing.  If the Reformer Martin Luther had never doubted some of the teachings he had received from the Roman Catholic Church, there would never have been a Reformation.  

Doubt is also an essential element in all scientific enquiry.  No progress would ever have been made in any scientific field without doubt raising questions that then required investigation.  And so without a certain amount of healthy doubt the world would be living under the shadow of a lot more superstition than it currently does. 

Perhaps doubt can sometimes be beneficial? 

Which brings us to religious doubt.   Most religious organisations actively discourage doubt.  Doubt is seen as the enemy of faith.  I have heard many stories over the years of adults who have given up on religious faith because as children they were frowned upon for raising sincere questions and doubts in sunday school or their confirmation classes (or even sitting in the pews). 

The problem is that when religious doubts are not given space to be expressed then people end up being encouraged (or forced) to adopt a blind faith.  Bind unquestioning faith however will never lead to a mature and personal first hand faith.  At most it will be a second hand faith that is held onto either out of obligation and often out of fear. 

Any organisation that has to keep people faithful by discouraging doubt and discouraging sincere questions is behaving very much as a cult would do.  And the truth is that there are very many large and well-respected denominations who operate on this basis. 

For me, this is one of the gifts of the NSPCI.  The Non-subscribing Presbyterians of Ireland, have for around 300 years given space for their members and ministers to have doubts without excluding them from the family of Christ. If the NSPCI had patron saints, I think Thomas might have made a very good patron saint for the NSPCI.  The character of Thomas in the gospel story today represents the doubters in all of us.  He represents us.  He represents our desire to have a faith that is meaningful, a faith that we hold not because we have been told to do so blindly, but rather a faith that allows us to question and come to our own conclusions. And thereby, to have a faith that is not just a second hand hand-me-down, but a faith that each of us can own for ourselves and that makes sense according to our own understandings. 

There can indeed be downsides to doubting everything all the time.  But doubt is not always a bad thing. Sometimes our doubts can even be a gift. 

I would like to end with two quotes from Peter Enns , a Biblical scholar, from his book entitled: The Sin of Certainty.  Firstly Peter Enns believes that Doubt needs to be embraced. 

“Doubt is God’s instrument, will arrive in God’s time, and will come from unexpected places—places out of your control. And when it does, resist the fight-or-flight impulse. Pass through it—patiently, honestly, and courageously for however long it takes. True transformation takes time.”
― Peter Enns, The Sin of Certainty:

Secondly he writes… 

“The life of Christian faith is more than agreeing with a set of beliefs about Christ, morality, or how to read the Bible. It means being so intimately connected to Christ that his crucifixion is ours, his death is our death, and his life is our life—which is hardly something we can grasp with our minds. It has to be experienced. It is an experience.”  Peter Enns  And I would add… this is ultimately to experience Christ’s love, which is stronger than death, living in us and flowing through us. 

I wonder if that is what it might really mean to put one’s fingers in the wounds of Christ’s hands and to put our hand in his side?