Sermon on John 20:19-31

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

Thomas has long been one of my favorite biblical characters. He gets such a bad rap for being “Doubting Thomas,” but really, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He happened to be out when Jesus appeared to the other disciples and showed them his hands and his side.

Poor Thomas just wanted what the other disciples had been given: the physical presence of the risen, wounded Jesus. He wanted the physicality of touch and the confirmation of sight just like Jesus had given to his friends. And once he had that, he gives one of the clearest declarations of Jesus’ identity in the Gospels: “My Lord and my God!” By the end of the story, Thomas should be called Trusting Thomas.

Sure, Jesus followed up his visit to Thomas by saying, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” But I don’t see this as Jesus scolding Thomas.

If this were a movie, I imagine Jesus would look right at the camera while saying that line.

This isn’t about Thomas—it’s about the followers of Jesus who would come after him throughout the centuries, including us.

Remember: Jesus didn’t have one of his disciples transcribing all of his teachings or writing firsthand accounts of his miracles day by day as they happened.

The stories of Jesus spread by word of mouth. People shared their experiences of Jesus with their families and neighbors. That’s how information was shared. Many people weren’t literate. Writing materials were expensive. And importantly, people thought Jesus was going to return right away—like any day now. They didn’t consider that they might need to record these stories for future generations. They were able to share them with each other in person.

So, you see throughout the book of Acts for example that Jesus followers told their stories wherever they went, including as we see in our reading from Acts today: in court. They wouldn’t stop sharing what they had seen and heard.

That worked great until the first disciples started dying. Suddenly, they realized they did needto start writing these stories down so they wouldn’t lose them.

So, they did. We have in our Bible the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and there were many others that were written later or considered not as authoritative but can still be interesting.

People started writing down the stories of Jesus, and thank goodness they did, because that’s nowthe primary way we get to know who Jesus is.

This explains why we have verses 30 and 31 in the Gospel of John: “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may continue to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

Our ancestors in faith wrote down these stories for us so that we could be those who have not seen and are blessed because we have come to believe. And remember that the word “believe” means something closer to “trust.” We trust in Jesus—it’s not about simply agreeing with something in our minds.

People wrote down the stories about Jesus so that we could trust in Jesus without having met him in the flesh the way they had.

And still, God knows we need physical things to connect with God. We need the water of baptism to remember that we are part of God’s family. We need the bread and the wine to trust that Jesus is with us and that we are his body in the world. We see God’s love in our neighbors’ eyes. We experience God’s love for us in the beauty of God’s creation lovingly crafted for us.

And that gets harder as we become less and less connected to creation.

Many of us spend more and more time indoors with air conditioning and central heating and electric light whenever we want it. Our waking hours aren’t dictated by the sun. The seasons don’t have to affect us unless we brave the beach or take a walk outside.

We’re largely disconnected from where our food comes from. Even though we’re fortunate enough to live in a state where so much food is grown, we can still get blueberries from Peru or avocados from Mexico year-round. What we cook isn’t dictated by the produce that’s in season. And I would probably become vegetarian pretty fast if I had to slaughter my own chickens and other meat.

In our modern, suburban lifestyle, we can easily become disconnected from creation. That can lead us to miss out on some opportunities to notice God in our daily lives.

It may be that blessed are those who believe without seeing, but like Thomas, I have a much easier time connecting to God through the material—through the crashing of waves or the juiciness of a freshly picked tomato or the hot breath of an excited dog. We are Earth creatures. God created this world to walk around it with our ancestors Adam and Eve. And we miss so many opportunities to connect with God in that way.

And the human impact on the environment is devastating.I’m sure you’ve all seen pictures of oil spills and sea creatures wrapped in bits of plastic and vast, smoldering, deforested wastelands.You’re all as capable as I am of Googling climate change.

It doesn’t take much to get disheartened by the state of our planet—what should be a lush green and blue orb—entrusted to us by God to steward and nurture.

And still, there are people who care. This past Tuesday was the 55th Earth Day. People around the world took part in Earth Day actions and activities—the map on earthday.org was filled with hundreds and hundreds of events worldwide. Locally, there were beach clean-ups, educational events for kids, recycling events, protests, nature walks, and more. People do care about the environment and want to take action.

And though humans have taken a poor interpretationof Genesis 1:28 that we should “subdue” the earth and “have dominion over” it to extremes, there are people in the Christian tradition who advocate for creation care.

One is Pope Francis, who sadly died last Monday. He released an encyclical letter in 2015 entitled “Laudato Si – on care for our common home.” In it, he wrote a beautiful call for unity and action in tending to our earthly home.The document spans pollution, climate change, economic inequity, our duty to future generations, the dialogue between religion and science, civic and political love, and numerous other topics.

In his words: “the urgent challenge to protect our common home includes a concern to bring the whole human family together to seek a sustainable and integral development, for we know that things can change. The Creator does not abandon us; he never forsakes his loving plan or repents of having created us. Humanity still has the ability to work together in building our common home.”

Few people have as much global attention and authority as the Pope, and it can seem like each of us as individuals can hardly make a difference. But small individual actions and partnerships and community building can add up to big changes.

And of course, things that are impossible for humanity are possible for God.

Our Jesus, who appeared in a locked room to reassure his fearful disciples, is present with us too. Our Wounded Healer can use us, flawed instruments that we are, to help heal the hurting world.

We can’t do this alone, so when you get to the point of losing hope or giving in to despair, turn toward your neighbors, your siblings in Christ here at church and beyond, your siblings of other faiths and community-minded people of no particular faith. Remember that there are people who care, who want change, who are speaking out.

Ground yourself in nature however you can: by touching grass, by admiring a bird, by feeling the sun on your skin.

Remember Who made your good body that dwells on this good Earth. Remember Who broke the power of death to reconcile Creation to Godself.

You are not alone, and God will one day make all things right. As we continue to wait for that day, do what you can, encourage each other, and give thanks for the home God has given us.

Let us pray this “prayer for our earth” that closes Pope Francis’s Laudato Si:

A prayer for our earth

All-powerful God, you are present in the whole universe
and in the smallest of your creatures.
You embrace with your tenderness all that exists.
Pour out upon us the power of your love,
that we may protect life and beauty.
Fill us with peace, that we may live
as brothers and sisters, harming no one.
O God of the poor,
help us to rescue the abandoned and forgotten of this earth,
so precious in your eyes.
Bring healing to our lives,
that we may protect the world and not prey on it,
that we may sow beauty, not pollution and destruction.
Touch the hearts
of those who look only for gain
at the expense of the poor and the earth.
Teach us to discover the worth of each thing,
to be filled with awe and contemplation,
to recognize that we are profoundly united
with every creature
as we journey towards your infinite light.
We thank you for being with us each day.
Encourage us, we pray, in our struggle
for justice, love and peace. Amen.

Sermon on John 20:1-18

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

It had been a tough week, to put it mildly.

Jesus’ followers had watched him go from the political performance art of Palm Sunday to being arrested, beaten, humiliated, and executed by the Roman Empire.

And after a Sabbath full of mourning and fear, Mary Magdalene went to visit his grave, and—wouldn’t you know it?—someone had rolled the stone away and stolen his body.

After all that, grave robbers? Really, God?!

Did she really need one more thing?

Didn’t she have enough to grieve without someone having disturbed his body?

Did she really need one more thing to deal with?

Hadn’tshe been through enough?

Fortunately, Mary had the wisdom not to face it alone—she ran and got two other disciples. We need community in grief, especially when things go wrong.

And even though all three of them were confounded by the situation, God was at work.

What they thought was adding insult to injury was actually resurrection.

It wasn’t desecration of the dead but evidence ofnew life.

Jesus met Mary by a tomb, a hole in the ground, amid the dirt and decay. But what seemed like rot was more like compost: rich nutritious earth that new life sprung out of.

In the middle of the hardest parts of being human, God brought about something miraculous.

God became human and experienced the worst of humanity and the human condition: betrayal, scorn, agony, and death. And God didn’t turn away. God experienced all of it and still met Mary in her grief.

Jesus rose again and trusted Mary with proclaiming that news to the other disciples.

The story continued. New life won out.

That’s wonderful, and 2,000 years later, we still have to deal with the hard parts of being human.

People still get cancer. Wars are still fought. Disasters still devastate. Dreams are still broken. Our hopes can seem fruitless.

Today we celebrate what happened so long ago, and tomorrow we again have to face all that’s still broken in this world.

Sometimes it seems like our worlds are stuck inHoly Saturday or even Good Friday—the waiting, the pain, the uncertainty, the fear, the confusion.

Sometimes the circumstances of our lives and the world around us feel a lot more like rot than compost.

But every Easter is an affirmation that God is turning our rot into compost, that we continually need the promise of new life, that we need to hear God calling our name, that we need to know that God is still at work in the world.

Easter still has something to say to us today—that promise of new life, of hope.

Author Anne Lamott was once asked how Easter had changed for her over the years, and this was her response:

“When I was 38,
my best friend, Pammy,
died, and we went shopping
about two weeks before she died,
and she was in a wig
and a wheelchair.

I was buying a dress
for this boyfriend I was trying to impress,
and I bought a tighter,
shorter dress than I was used to.
And I said to her,
“Do you think this makes my hips look big?”
and she said to me, so calmly,
“Anne, you don't have that kind of time.”

And I think Easter has been about
the resonance of that simple statement;
and that when I stop,
when I go into contemplation and meditation,
when I breathe again and do the sacred action
of plopping and hanging my head
and being done with my own agenda,

I hear that, ‘You don't have that kind of time,’
you have time only to cultivate presence
and authenticity and service,
praying against all odds
to get your sense of humor back.

That's how it has changed for me.
That was the day my life changed,
when she said that to me.”

In some ways, Easter is a reminder that we “don’t have that kind of time.” We don’t have time to waste on things that don’t matter. We don’t have time to waste doing anything but loving God and each other. We don’t have time to do anything but proclaim along with Mary Magdalene that Jesus is alive and that our gardener God is at work in the world, turning rot into compost.

And in another way, Easter is a reminder that we have all the time that’s needed.

I’ve learned from my own backyard compost pile that it takes a lot of time for things to break down (especially when I forget to take care of it properly).

Moldy vegetable scraps from the back of the fridge and eggshells and fallen leaves and bits of cardboard take a lot longer to turn into that rich, nutritious soil than I would like. The progress is slow. It requires patience and trust in the process.

Once you plant a seed, you can’t dig it up every five minutes, or every hour, or every day, hoping to see growth. It takes the time it takes. And a lot of growth happens underground, in the dark, before a sprout pops its head out into the sun. It’s mysterious and miraculous.

New life takes time. Growth takes time. Healing takes time. But God is at work through all of it, slowly, richly, and abundantly.

And either way—the ways in which we don’t have that kind of time and the ways we can’t rushwhat is being created—hope is our anchor.

Even though the first Easter happened so long ago, it still speaks to us today because it reminds us that God is more powerful than death and that God is lovingly at work in the world now.

We need that hope of new life amid the hard things about being human. We need the anchor of hope to keep us from being tossed about by the storms that are all around us. Easter hope holds us fast.

It helps us remember that “we don’t have that kind of time” and we have the time we need for new life to emerge.

It helps us remember that Jesus conquered death, and even though we still feel its devastating, tragic effects far too often, death is not the end of the story.

We will one day be forever in the arms of our gardener God.

And for now, we have only enough time to love God and our neighbors, creating with God that Beloved Community where all are included, cherished, valued, and loved.

And so, we, along with Mary Magdalene, proclaim:

Christ is risen!

Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Love That Lingers

Pr. Jaz Bowen-Waring

April 6, 2025

One of my favorite poets once shared a post on Instagram for Valentine’s Day—a tribute to a friend. It read: “Friendship is the most sacred form of love. Home is less a physical location, more a good conversation with a friend. Take me there: the opposite of small talk. Romantic love is fickle and prone to spontaneous combustion. Friendship, it sticks. Keeps my feet on this earth. My head held high. Reminds me why I’m here.” I’ve been blessed with many friends who have carried me through the peaks and valleys of life—and I’ve had the honor of doing the same for them. Through school drama, graduations, heartbreaks, marriages, births, and even death, friendship has been a transforming force. I wonder who those people are for you? Today’s Gospel reading from the Book of John lifts up a special relationship in Jesus’ life that often gets overshadowed. Some folks focus on the cost of the perfume, or Judas’ response, or the awkwardness of someone pouring nard on feet and wiping it with their hair. But what strikes me this time is the deep, abiding friendship between Mary of Bethany and Jesus—a relationship that models a mutual, grounded kind of love. A love that carried both of them through the unimaginable. As Mary wiped the perfume from his feet with her hair, I wonder if Jesus remembered the meals they shared with Martha and Lazarus. I wonder if he thought back to when Mary confronted him—grief-stricken and angry—because he had arrived too late to save her brother. People may have looked on and felt awkward, even scandalized by this intimate act. But Jesus received her love, openly. And then—moved by that act of love—Jesus turned around and did something similar. He knelt before his disciples, washing their feet, and commanded them to love others as he had loved them. Judas was there. He witnessed Mary’s gesture. He felt Jesus’ hands on his own feet. And yet… he rejected Christ’s love. Judas’ betrayal wasn’t just about handing Jesus over to Roman soldiers. He betrayed Jesus by refusing to receive his love. It’s often easier to give love than to receive it. Many of us are more comfortable offering compassion than accepting it. So I ask you: How willing are you to receive love? Judas knew Jesus. He could say the “right” things. But for him, love was just a theory —a belief in his head, never embodied in his actions. The love of God was not incarnate in his life. This story reminds us of the temporary nature of the incarnation. Jesus told his disciples, “You will not always have me.” Yes, there will always be people in need—and that doesn't let us off the hook. But Jesus’ time on earth was limited. And that made it all the more powerful. The urgency of Jesus’ three-year ministry came from knowing his time was short. And so is ours. Mary Oliver once wrote: “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Are you willing to love, even if it doesn’t unfold the way you hoped? Even if it's only for a brief moment? Mary’s love was poured out extravagantly—onto Jesus’ feet, into the air, and into the memory of that moment. The fragrance filled the home she shared with her brother Lazarus. I wonder if, in the days leading up to and after Jesus' death, the scent still lingered in the rugs, in the cracks of the table, in her hair. I wonder if that same scent clung to Jesus' clothes as he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. If he caught a trace of it while washing his disciples’ feet. If it followed him into the garden as he prayed. If it stayed with him even as he hung from the cross. The feet Mary anointed with love were the same feet that were later nailed to the wood. Christ’s ultimate act of love—his death—was not a waste. It was a defiant outpouring of solidarity with the oppressed, the broken, and the rejected. To many, it looked like failure. But Love is never wasted. Love is the most abundant resource in the universe. It never runs dry. Even when you think you’ve run out—when heartbreak makes it feel like there’s nothing left to give—there is more love within you than you can imagine. Even when you feel alone, misunderstood, or forgotten—God’s love is still being poured out, abundantly and extravagantly. Even though our lives are brief, fragile, and finite, God’s love is not wasted on us. So what about you? Are you willing to pour out your love, even if it might be rejected? Are you willing to love, even knowing life is fleeting and uncertain? I pray that you experience a friendship like Mary and Jesus shared. May you pour your love out on others without fear of it running out. May you be open to receive love—even when you feel unworthy of it. May that love carry you through the unimaginable, like the lingering scent of perfume. Amen.