The fear-filled disciples bar themselves in the upper room, following Jesus’ crucifixion
Lockdown.
Only thing to do. Running scared after the bewildering events of the last three days, we shut the doors, barred the windows. A coded knock to gain entrance. We couldn’t, wouldn’t let anyone in. Fear. You could smell it in the room, appetites and sleep left in the street. We snipped and griped, unable to meet each other’s eyes. Nerves taut, and tempers short. When your world is tipped upside down, panic speeds the spin. Apply control. Lock the doors. Limit who comes in. Who can you trust? Listening for studded feet on dusty stone.
We might be next. Darkness falls and magnifies our fears, our imaginations flickering with the shadows in the lamplight.
Ignoring codes, knocks, locks and walls, he is suddenly in our midst. The hairs stand on end, and we stare slack-jawed. A collective gasp, as we breathe in his exhale. Soft, warm breathing body, freshly scarred. ‘Peace be with you’.
The words melt into souls as he meets our eyes, one by one.
Holds out his hands, parts his garments to show his wounds.
‘This is my body, given for you’ words spoken days before, now writ in blood.
Hope and joy and terror fight for space, strangling our words. For once there is no sound.
He smiles.
‘Peace be with you’ he repeats, calming the turbulence of fear and guilt, as once he calmed the waves.
‘As the Father has sent me, so I send you’… …‘Open the doors’ was left unsaid, but each one heard. Looking round our bolted room, our robust self-defence, he sighs a heavy sigh, and expels courage.
‘Receive the Holy Spirit. Know the power your forgiveness brings.’ (Take that freedom to bound hearts)
Beloved voice that made our spirits leap.
Stunned to silence, and he was gone. Was he here and did we feel his breath, when we had laid that body in the grave? We rolled the stories round our mouths and told our own of what we’d seen. (Behind closed doors)
Thomas had not seen, had not felt and did not know the truth we spoke. Pushed back our puzzled joy.
We stayed locked in. Locked down. Our portals barred to keep the strangers out. Closed doors and guarded hearts. Like a feral cat, fear lurked and scratched.
Yet still he came. Slipping through our defences and asking no permission to come in. Present. Presence that laughed, ate fish, and smelled of cassia.
Presence whose gentle hands took Thomas’s questions and pressed them to his side.
Thomas on his knees in obeisance, declaring Lord.
‘Do you only believe because you see, you touch? Your eyes and hands the means of trust? Blessed are those who will not see, and yet believe.’
Fear grips and bites, for all our joy. We would rather stay within our own. Control the doors, and monitor who comes in. Control is all we have, and we clutch it with tight hands. Primal response to threat. It makes sense though, anyone can see that.
We cling to Peace, ignore the Send.
(He couldn’t mean that, look what they did to him!)
But what if he did? That question raps on the door of sleep.
What if? What if?
The riddle thrummed its fingers over our sturdy window bars. It mocked our barriers.
He rarely kept their rules, what would he make of ours?
Never playing safe, he sat down with questionable sorts. Spoke with women. Crossed boundaries that should remain un-breached. Stretched hands that would be nail-pierced, to touch the leper.
We stay and pray, and keep our holy huddle tight. Soothe our conscience with religious words.
It will take wind and fire to prise us from our prayers.
Blow open shutters, doors.
And in the shadows the cat still lurks and scratches.
I wrote this a couple of years ago, commissioned by The Preacher magazine for Sunday 27th April 2024 (2nd Sunday of Easter) with a remit of 850 words.
The icon above was written by Br Robert Lentz OFM
And Dr Kristina Rizzotto writes of it :
“Whenever we build walls to separate ourselves from those in need, Jesus chooses the side of the wall where the need is.” – Carlos A. Rodríguez
The icon of Christ of Maryknoll by Br. Robert Lentz, OFM, portrays Jesus always on the “other side” — of barb wire, prison bars, wall, border, door, ethnicity, citizenship, political party or religion. Do we dare recognize him there?
In this video he explains the icon himself:
https://youtu.be/kmHNRD-LU1U?si=Qg6QVoZXCbji9Kyq
afeatheronthebreathofgod 