As it says in our first reading from the Book of Acts, “They stoned Paul and dragged him out of the city, supposing that he was dead.”
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Imagine Paul covered in rubble and bruises, passed out on the ground.
Lifeless.
His message of salvation has been utterly rejected by the Jews to the point they try killing him.
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But he’s a tough old ox.
At some point, that pile of rubble starts shaking. A bruised and dusty Paul emerges victoriously from his makeshift tomb.
A man once considered dead is alive again.
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Isn’t this image a foreshadowing of Paul’s resurrection?
He endures such a brutal beating willingly; regardless of whether or not he lived or died, he knew that he would rise again.
His faith in the resurrection was the source of his persistence.
As he writes in his first letter to the Corinthians, “O death, where is your sting? O grave, where is your victory?”
Death – and the fear of it – no longer had power over Paul.
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How many of us feel like Saint Paul, stuck under a pile of rubble?
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Whether we’re buried under the rubble of grief, the rubble of unemployment, stress, frustration, or boredom, Paul reminds us that Christians never give up.
When we get knocked down, we stand up again, dust ourselves off, and continue moving forward.
Because the same Lord who strengthened Saint Paul now strengthens us.
Welcome to unchartered waters. It’s a Covid-19 world. Our lives, and society at large, have changed.
We’ve entered a world of widespread infection, unemployment, social distancing, protests, panic buying, face masks, and gloves.
Classrooms have been replaced with chatrooms; graduations are taking place online; funerals viewed via FaceTime.
The ground has shifted beneath us.
Which is why today’s Gospel couldn’t come at a better time.
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“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus says.
To be “troubled” in the sense that he used it meant to be, “overwhelmed by the fear of death or some other grave evil.”
An evil like Covid. Or cancer.
In fact, these are the words I spoke to my mother as she lay dying of cancer in her hospice bed.
The world as she knew it was over. The ground was shifting beneath her. A new, unfamiliar world was coming whether or not we were ready for it.
But Jesus said to her, as he says to his disciples and to us in today’s Gospel, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”
Do not be overwhelmed by fear, uncertainty, or even death. “In my Father’s house,” he says, “there are many dwelling places.”
Meaning: God is roomy. God is hospitable. God is with us. God is leading us home.
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Strangely enough, we’re reading this Gospel passage on the heels of Easter. We’ve backtracked a bit to the final night of Jesus’ life on earth.
Yet consider how timely this passage is. The Coronavirus has rattled our world; it’s still here. It feels like the ground has shifted beneath us.
But the same was true for the disciples. They were entering unchartered waters, too.
On this, his final night on earth, Jesus washes their feet and feeds them with himself in the Eucharist. Then Judas betrays him. Peter denies him three times. And hours later, Jesus is hanging from a tree.
The disciples awaken to a different world, a world where Jesus seems absent; gone. Where he was going, they could not follow for now.
But they’re not to be troubled.
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The disciples demand proof.
“How can we know the way (to where you’re going)?” Thomas asks. “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied,” Philip says.
We could add, “Lord, tell me when my job will return; when this virus will end; when social distancing will be a thing of the past.”
“Give me a glimpse of a brighter future – and while you’re at it, a glimpse of heaven – and I’ll be satisfied. I won’t be troubled.”
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Unfortunately, it’s not that easy.
Subconsciously, we want a God whom we can calculate, or even control. Lord, do this, this, and this, then I’ll be content. Then I’ll believe. Then I won’t be troubled.
But faith isn’t like that. Faith is based on trust. A trust rooted in the promise that Jesus is alive. And he is with us – ALWAYS.
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Perhaps one of the many lessons coming out of this Covid crisis is our need to consider where we find our deepest sense of security.
It’s tempting to place all of our eggs in the basket of economics; good health; or a steady job.
While these things can be reliable, they aren’t infallible.
Our deepest sense of security should come from God, who alone never changes. As it’s written in the Letter to the Hebrews, “Jesus Christ is the same; yesterday, today, and forever.”
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So what does Jesus offer us?
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Peace.
In Hebrew, Shalom.
Shalom is the first word the Risen Lord speaks to his disciples. It means inner stillness; harmony; wholeness; prosperity; health.
Think of Shalom like an anchor dropped into the depths of the sea. Though the surface shifts, the anchor never does.
Similarly, the circumstances in our lives may change, but the Lord’s peace remains deep within.
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In three weeks, we will celebrate the feast of Pentecost, the moment when the Holy Spirit descends upon the Apostles like tongues of fire.
And with that fire, peace.
Shalom.
It’s what we need today.
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There’s a hymn that goes back a thousand years that Christians have sung through countless plagues, a hymn which we still sing today:
“Come, Holy Spirit…Far from us drive our deadly foe; true peace unto us bring; and through all perils lead us safe beneath thy sacred wing.”
Drive from us, Lord, the evil of this pandemic and all the chaos it has wrought, robbing so many of their jobs, their futures, and their lives.
To you we turn, seeking the peace – the Shalom – which only you can give.
