The New Testament tells us a lot about Jesus — but even so, we really only get the highlights.  In this sermon for March 30, 2008, I reflect about what makes a story worthy of being a “highlight.”

Book of Life

1 Peter 1:3-9  John 20:19-31; 21:25 

Last Tuesday evening, Jean, her mom, and I went to the Ordway theatre in St. Paul to see a performance of “The Drowsy Chaperone” (which was, by the way, quite a charming evening of musical theatre). On the way back to our car we couldn’t help overhearing the conversation behind us. A young woman looked across the street and asked what the building was. “The library,” answered her companion.

“That whole building is full of books?”

“Yes, it’s a library, after all.”

“Well if that whole building is full of books, it must have all the books in the world!”

The author of the fourth gospel has in mind a bigger collection of books than even this young woman could imagine: volumes that would somehow tell the entire story of Jesus’ life – and not just the highlights.

Because that’s what the gospels are: highlights. We don’t know, of course, precisely how these ancient authors chose what to include. We do know, however, that the gospels were written as persuasive documents, intended to lead their original readers into faith in Jesus. They were not, as we sometimes assume, just reports of the events of his life. The reason they are alive for us is that the gospels weave together events in ways that illuminate who Jesus was and why he was among us. Because of

that, we can make some guesses about how the events that are included were chosen: they were distinctive, rich with meaning, dramatic, and experienced by at least several (and sometimes many) people.

Events are memorable when they are distinctive – when what has happened is out of the ordinary, unpredicted, or just plain surprising. The stories of miracles are the most obvious examples, but Jesus did other unexpected things, like speaking with the woman at the Samaritan well, performing healing on the Sabbath, or turning over the tables in the temple. These events caught the eye of those who were present, and they became part of the gospel story.

Events are also made memorable when they connect with other stories and symbols that are familiar to us. Think of the story of the Transfiguration, in which Peter, James, and John see Jesus on the mountaintop in the company of Moses and Elijah. Those figures from the Hebrew Scriptures, and their stories, would have been well-known to the first hearers of the gospels. Their understanding of Jesus as sent by God was deepened by those rich strands of sacred story.

Events are remembered, too, when they are filled with drama. The great and terrible scenes of Holy Week are powerful (and recent) examples: the great powers of temporal rulers and temple officials up against the suffering power of Jesus.

And events are remembered when they have been seen or experienced by a number of people. Although there are some private events described for us in the gospel accounts, by and large the narrative focuses on the public life of Jesus. And we, like most scholars, are particularly attentive to those parts of the narrative that are attested to in more than one of the four gospel accounts.

Given all of that, it is not surprising that we find the post-resurrection story of Thomas in the New Testament. It is surely a distinctive story, just by virtue of being a post-resurrection story! It is also distinctively about Thomas, and about his particular response to reports from the other disciples about Jesus, and then to the Risen Christ himself. It is a story rich with meaning, reminding us both of the gathering of the disciples for the Last Supper and of the crucifixion. It is a dramatic story, bringing us the oddly compelling image of Thomas reaching out to touch Jesus wounds. And while John’s is the only gospel to report this particular story, the tale is told in a way that makes it clear that the other disciples were also present.

I sometimes wish that the ancient authors of the gospels had told us more about those “other things that Jesus did.” If they had, we might expect to find out that his human days were filled with events that were rather commonplace, that were free of layers of religious meaning, that were low key, and that were private. We know, if we stop to think about it, that these are the events that everyone’s life is made of: the routines of daily living, repeated frequently, and only very occasionally being distinctive, symbolic, dramatic, or public. When we say that Jesus was fully human, this is what we mean: that he lived a life immersed by the rhythms of human life.

And when we say that Jesus was also fully divine, I think we mean that he infused these rhythms and these routines with holiness. The wonder of the incarnation is that God chose to live among us, to take on our ordinariness, to be immersed with us in the everyday reality of everyday life. We can see that human life and human experience are sacred, because we have shared them with Christ. We can see that human love and human compassion are hallowed, because we have seen them in Christ. We can see that human generosity and human suffering are blessed, because we have watched them in Christ.

I believe that living a faithful life is living in this holiness. To be fully alive as a Christian is to be spiritually awake and mentally aware of the ways that our lives, and the lives and world around us, are full of God’s presence.

I know that many of you discern God’s presence in the beauty and complexity of the natural world. To tell the truth, that is not exactly my experience. What I experience in the beauty and complexity of the natural world is the beauty and complexity of the natural world.

My experience of God’s presence generally comes in the form of patterns that I discern in events and relationships. For example, you may know that in November we received word that we had received a grant from the Fund for theological Education to support work next year with college students and young adults who are considering ordained ministry. It is a project that is very dear to my heart, and one to which I feel a strong and persistent calling. It is also a project that has been shuttled to the back burner for the last three months while I finished my sabbatical and returned to deal with Lent. But on Tuesday, three people contacted me about the program – each one bringing a bit of encouragement and enthusiasm for what we are hoping to do.

Let me give you one more, rather different example. In my position as minister, I hear many stories about people’s lives. Some of those stories are upbeat, but many of them also include episodes of grief, violence, hardship, and disappointment. Even in the harshest stories, though, I often discern the presence of God. Someone will have kept persistently at a task, in spite of opposition or difficulty. Someone will have remained faithful to a spouse or partner, in the face of illness or disability. Someone will have chosen a difficult but ethically sound response to a problem. Someone will have chosen forgiveness over resentment or revenge. In those courageous and grace-filled actions, I experience the everyday presence of the Divine. And I am grateful.

And so, at the last, I agree with John the Evangelist: “…if everyone of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.”

And my friends, the good news of Easter is that they continue to be written – in our lives and the lives of those around us. Thanks be to God.