It’s been one week since Easter Sunday; one week since the women found that the very large stone that had covered Jesus’ tomb had been rolled back; one week since they discovered the tomb was empty; one week since they heard the news, “He has been raised; he is not here”; and one week since I proclaimed to you, “Alleluia. Christ is risen,” and you responded, “The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.”

For as long as I can remember I’ve come to today, the Second Sunday of Easter, with one question. What difference is Easter making in your life and my life? Are our lives and world different today because of Easter and, if so, how and in what ways? 

To be honest, today, one week after Easter, my life and world look pretty much like they did before Easter. Yours probably do too. Not much has changed. I suspect that was true last year and the year before that.

I’am not sure what to do with that but here’s what I am not going to do. I am not going to ask you the same old question I asked you last year, the year before, and the one before that. 

Tomorrow’s solar eclipse has helped me realize I’ve been asking the wrong question. The better question is this: What is eclipsing the resurrection in our lives today? Here’s what I mean by that. 

Today’s gospel (John 20:19-31) is the disciples’ story of uncertainty, fear, and struggle with what to do with Jesus’ resurrection. Something in their lives is overshadowing the light of resurrection. We often call this day Thomas Sunday but maybe we should be call it Eclipse Sunday.

In the first part of today’s gospel it’s Easter evening and the disciples are hiding. That morning Mary had seen Jesus alive. She told the disciples this good news. But now the disciples are in a house with the doors shut and locked. They are afraid. And in the second half of today’s gospel, one week after Easter, they’re in the same house behind the same locked doors. Nothing has changed for them after Easter. The tomb may be empty but the house is packed. 

Every year on this day we hear this gospel story. We heard it last year, the year before, and the one before that. We’ll hear it again next year on the Second Sunday of Easter. It never changes because our struggle with resurrection never changes. That struggle, however, does not negate the resurrection. It is, rather, the way of resurrection. Isn’t that struggle what we experienced all through Holy Week and into Easter Sunday? 

What if the whole experience of Holy Week and Easter Sunday is like a solar eclipse? Starting on Palm Sunday the light of Jesus’ life begins to be eclipsed. Each day of the week it gets darker until we reach totality on Good Friday and Holy Saturday when we sit in darkness and wait. And then “on the first day of the week” the sun rises, a new day dawns, and the light returns. 

That’s not just a Holy Week and Easter Sunday pattern. It’s a pattern in each of our lives. Every one of us could tell stories about times when our lives were eclipsed; the changes, the losses, the darkness, the new light. I’ve never seen a total solar eclipse, tomorrow’s will be my first, but I have lived through them, so have you, and so has Uvalde. Many of us still are. 

I wonder in what ways you are locked in the house with the disciples in today’s gospel. What’s keeping you there? What is eclipsing or overshadowing resurrection in your life today?

It might be fear, anxiety, grief and loss, resentment, anger, conflict with another, guilt, regret, self-criticism, self-doubt, busyness, superficiality, nostalgia, hurt. Those and a thousand other things like them are the locks on the door of our house and they overshadow the light of resurrection.

Sometimes we lock the doors individually and sometimes we do it collectively through group think, as political parties, as shared opinions, or factions. And the doors we lock are always locked from the inside. 

Here’s the paradox. The very things by which we lock ourselves in are the same things that lock us out of the life we want, the life that resurrection offers. And yet, the light of resurrection is always with us. It doesn’t go away any more than the sun goes away during an eclipse.

I think that’s why in today’s gospel Jesus shows up in the house, behind the locked doors, stands in the middle of the disciples, and says, “Peace be with you.”

Peace be with your fear. Peace be with your anxiety. Peace be with your grief and loss. Peace be with your guilt. Peace be with your self-criticism. Peace be with your hurt. Peace be with whatever has eclipsed your life and locked you out from a new and larger life. 

Here’s the things that strike me about that. Jesus offered the disciples peace but he did not unlock the doors for them. They will have to do that for themselves, and so do you and I. Maybe that’s what it means to experience resurrection. Maybe Easter is asking something of us. Maybe Easter is more about doing something than just believing in something. 

From all that I have learned, read, and heard about tomorrow’s solar eclipse I believe the moon will cross in front of the sun. I believe the sky will darken and the temperature will drop. My belief, however, is not an experience of the eclipse. If I want to experience the eclipse I have to do something. I have to get out of the house. 

I also believe that the very large stone that covered Jesus’ tomb had been rolled back. I believe that his tomb was empty and he was seen alive. My belief, however, is not an experience of resurrection. If I want to experience resurrection I have to do something. I have to get out of the house. 

As long as we remain behind the locked doors of our houses nothing in our lives and world will change. The resurrection will remain eclipsed. I don’t want that for you, me, Uvalde, or our country. 

It’s time to get out of the house. I want you to experience the light of resurrection in your life. I want that for myself, for our town, for the world. 

It’s time to get out of the house. I wonder what that means and looks like for you today.

____________________

Image Credit: 2017 Total Solar Eclipse photo by Jan Haerer on Unsplash.