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You might remember that we heard a fuller version of this same gospel story on the Second Sunday of Easter. In that longer version Jesus invited Thomas to reach out and touch his wounds and to believe. This is John’s gospel, where the giving of the Holy Spirit, the feast of Pentecost, doesn’t happen 50 days after the resurrection but in the evening of the same day Jesus rose from the dead. On that first Easter morning, the women at the empty tomb along with the disciples realized that Jesus was not dead in the tomb but was with God. He had gone to the Father; he had ascended. Now, on the same evening, the disciples discover that Jesus is in their midst in that upper room. So, Jesus is simultaneously ascended (with God) and resurrected (with them). Because Jesus is the pattern of all life, then everyone you have said “good-bye” to in death is also ascended and resurrected. They are with God in heaven, yet very much still present to us in Spirit here on earth. This is the mystery of the “communion of the saints” which we profess in the Creed.

This story of the disciples hiding in the upper room occurs on the first day of the week. What happened on the first day of the week? Think symbolically and metaphorically. Creation began by both breath and word…God’s breath and God’s word. God’s breath swept over the formless void and God spoke the words, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God breathed another time, in that creation story. From the soil of earth, God fashioned a human, breathed life into his nostrils and the man became a living being. Now you know what’s happening with the frightened disciples in the upper room—he’s breathing life into them. The world, and not only the Church, is being recreated, reborn. That’s probably why theologians speak about Pentecost being the birthday of the Church. From the locked doors of the upper room, the Church is emerging as if from the darkness of the womb into the light of the world. No longer frightened but courageous, the Apostles will soon be willing to lay down their lives for the mission Jesus has given them.

The reason given for their fear is that they feared the Jews. If I was one of them, I too would have been afraid, but mostly afraid of one Jew in particular—Jesus. Picture yourself in that room with them. Feel the humanness of the whole situation. The disciples go into fight or flight mode, and they choose flight. Although it’s a false security, they feel safer huddled together shutting out the rest of the hostile world, a world full of suspicion and accusations. Into their midst Jesus appears seemingly though locked doors. Until now, the disciples were sure it was all over between Jesus and themselves. Afterall, their conduct the past few days was nothing short of shameful—the denials, betrayals, the in-fighting, and leaving Jesus to go it alone, to die alone.

Shame, embarrassment, and their guilty consciences were the only things they had left. This bunch of failures deserved to be behind locked doors. Who would want them? Who would speak to them? Maybe it would be best if they just slink away, go into hiding somewhere, and be forgotten.

That is not the way Jesus saw it. Instead of getting the scolding, the reprimand, they deserved they got something else—a gift. They got the gift of the only thing Jesus could give them—his very own self, the Holy Spirit. It’s the Spirit of the Second Chance. By breathing forgiveness and peace, not vengeance or vindictiveness, upon them, the world is being recreated. Courage now replaces shame. Why? Because the Spirit of love is greater than their shame. Instead of being a bunch of lost souls held up in their self-made prison, they are now a community of wounded and forgiven healers.

I believe it was the late Fr. Henri Nouwen who coined the phrase that we are “wounded healers”. It’s also the title of one the books he wrote, The Wounded Healer. A wounded healer sounds like an oxymoron, a contradiction. Maybe that’s the genius of Jesus appearing in his wounds. He might be telling us not to be afraid of our wounds.

 Our wounds, like his wounds, are the very channels from which the Spirit flows out of us into the world. When someone, well on in their cancer treatments, can shares their struggles and fears with another who is about to start their cancer treatment, they become a wounded healer for that second person. In that moment a breath of peace is being poured into the heart of the fearful one. When a seasoned parent can share their fears and struggles with a frightened first-time parent, that parent has shown his or her wounds and says, “Peace be with you. I did O.K., and so will you.” When we dare to share our fears, our flaws, our struggles, our failures with another, something wonderful usually happens. The other lets go of their need to appear perfect or of having it all together. It’s a burden lifted off of their shoulders.  

My favorite people are the ones who just know they don’t have it all together and don’t feel the need to pretend to be something they are not. They are down-to-earth as they say. They just know they are a clump of clay who will remain a clump of clay without the breath of God in them. They truly are wounded healers who no longer hide from the wounds life has given them but offer their wounds as places where others can safely find healing. Although not limited to it, I find a lot of wounded healers in the 12-step programs such as Alcoholics Anonymous or Gamblers Anonymous. By sharing their struggles, by sharing their wounds, they bring many others to a new life, a life beyond the world of addiction.

Who are the people still trembling behind locked doors? How might the sharing of our own wounds breathe new life into their situation? Jesus doesn’t stop the chaos of the world. Rather, he is present within it, calming our hearts and bring us peace. Our mission is nothing less.

~Fr. Phil