Doors

Pope Francis died this week. He was elected pope in 2013. He was the first Latin American and the first Jesuit pope. The Jesuits are an order of priests in the Catholic Church who take a vow of poverty, which means Pope Francis never collected a salary, despite being offered something like 300,000 a year. He famously chose to live in the guest house as opposed to the papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace. He set up a homeless shelter where there was going to be a hotel in Vatican City. He phoned the priest in Gaza every night since the start of the war, sometimes multiple times a day when the bombings were particularly bad. 

As far as popes go, he moved the needle when it came to the role of women and the inclusion of LGBTQ communities in the Catholic Church. Though he ultimately saw women as maternal figures (he didn’t think women should be priests or deacons, for example), in his tenure he did make women full members of the administrative courts in the Roman Curia of the Holy See (that’s the central administrative body of the Vatican). He will forever be remembered for the airplane video that went viral, when he spoke to reporters about gay priests. He was travelling in economy class, as was his custom, and standing before them he said, “If gay priests accept the Lord and have goodwill, who am I to judge them? They shouldn’t be marginalized.” 

Of all the stories circulating about Pope Francis this week, my favourite is the one that’s told about Francis when he was still a cardinal. He was in the conclave that would elect him pope (the conclave is the gathering of cardinals who meet when a pope has died or resigned, and it’s not until you see the white smoke released from the chimney do you know they’ve been successful in choosing a successor). It’s said that during the conclave, Francis offered a reflection on the familiar image of Jesus standing and knocking at the door. The traditional reading is that of Jesus knocking on the door to our hearts, waiting to be admitted, to come into our lives. But what, he said, if Jesus is knocking for us to come out instead, to join him in the world outside? 

“Risen Christ, for whom no door is locked” we prayed in our opening Collect this morning. 

“For whom no entrance barred: open the doors of our hearts, so that we may seek the good of others and walk the joyful road of sacrifice and peace, to the praise of God, the Source of all life.”

Kind of neat to imagine the door the other way round, eh? Jesus knocking, opening the doors of our hearts so that we might go out into the world and join him there. 

In this morning’s gospel reading, the doors to the house where the disciples are have been locked, for fear of the religious authorities. Our English translations say, “For fear of the Jews.” We make a point of pausing to correct that translation whenever we can. “The Jews” isn’t all Jews. It isn’t Judaism, the whole of the Jewish religion. This is a sect, a fundamentalist group among the Jews who have colluded with the Roman authorities to weed out any opposition. It’s kind of like if leaders from the Westboro Baptist Church, who are famous for their fanatic stance on everything from women to immigrants to guns, it’s kind of like if they hired a private security company to detain all of the Christian leaders across the world who were offering asylum to refugees, and then the 6 o’clock news said, Christians across the world crack down on illegal migrants. It’s not in fact, Christians, but a particular sect of Christians—and in fact, a good majority of Christians are doing exactly the opposite.

So, when we hear that the disciples are in the house with the doors locked for “fear of the Jews” what we mean is that they were afraid of a particular sect of religious authorities who were in cahoots with the state. Regardless of how dangerous it was for Jesus to come and meet them here, he goes anyway. ‘Cause the authorities are looking for him, right? He was supposed to be dead and lying in a tomb, but now there are these reports that he’s out and stirring things up again!

Jesus meets the disciples behind locked doors, but his intention isn’t for them to remain there.

“As the Father has sent me, so I send you,” he says to them. 

His intention is that, empowered by the Holy Spirit, they might come out and join him in ministering to the world. He’s not there to say, “Gosh, this is cozy. Let’s stay a while.”

It’s not that Jesus is unsympathetic. Their fear is real. He gets it. He even comes back for Thomas. He’s already come and shown the others, given them the message, hoping it was enough for them to pass it on. But, Thomas, being Thomas, has to see it for himself (I don’t know about you, but that’s so totally me). So, Jesus comes back and he shows Thomas his hands and puts Thomas’ finger into the wound in his side, and then says, “Okay, now can we go?”

The application to our own lives is a straightforward one, I think. Where are the places where we’ve locked ourselves behind closed doors because we’re afraid of what’s outside? What are the places in the world where people are gathered behind locked doors because they’re afraid of what’s outside? Jesus meets us there, Jesus meets them there, even in the places we’re sure it’s far too dangerous for him to do so. Even in illness and disease. Even in disappointment and hatred. Even in Gaza.

I can’t remember if I’ve told you this one before. I think I’ve told you that my favourite preacher is Yvette Flunder, a gospel artist, womanist theologian, and Bishop in the United Church of Christ. In a lot of her sermons, when she’s talking about the places where we find ourselves behind locked doors, she’ll say,  “Come out from wherever you’re hiding! Closets are for brooms!”

Closets are for brooms. I think, in part, that’s Jesus’ message to the disciples when he meets them in this, one of several resurrection appearances. It’s not that Jesus doesn’t understand why they’re hiding. It’s not that Jesus doesn’t understand why you’re hiding. Like the disciples, you might have very good reason to be afraid—it might be for your own safety that you’ve got those doors locked. Jesus’ invitation is that even while we’re behind those doors, that we align our hearts not with fear, not with doubt, but with belief in the Creator of the Universe who came and dwelled among people as a human being, who suffered and died, and rose again. Jesus’ invitation is to trust, to align ourselves with the promise that ultimately Jesus doesn’t render closets or locked rooms conducive to human flourishing let alone the flourishing of the gospel in the world. 

“Do not doubt, but believe!” Jesus says.