Snowy was a cute, frisky bundle of white fur––

a tiny young kitten with a greenstick fracture of his hind leg––

who was brought into the surgery where I was working as a vet.

I put his leg in a cast…

but he was abandoned by his owners, who refused to pay the bill…

so Snowy became the surgery cat.

And he grew up inside the surgery…

not stepping foot outside for the next six months; 

and he grew up seemingly without fear. 

There was the time when I found him… 

standing in front of a patient’s cage…

with his front paw extended through the cage’s bars…

trying to scoop some dog kibble out of a bowl…

while at the back of the cage squatted a very large Doberman… 

with a look of total disbelief on its face. 

No…

Snowy had no fear of any animal or any person.

No sight or sound or smell inside that surgery troubled him.

There was nothing he was afraid of.

Indeed, he was so unafraid that it started to become a problem. 

He began developing some annoying habits:

bossing around the patients;

jumping onto the operating table in the middle of an operation;

and, perhaps worst of all, he began chasing the nurses trying to bite their ankles.

He had already tried a couple of times with a particular nurse…

so, when he tried again…

she opened the back door and ran outside…

leaving the door wide open.

Snowy literally froze in his tracks.

Visibly shaken by the strange world that confronted him through the open door…

he ran away… 

and hid.

 

Fear––

it’s a very powerful emotion.

It’s one of our primary behavioural motivators;

a throw-back to our evolutionary animal instincts––

the flight or fight response.

And yet, there are times when fear seems to produce another sort of response…

namely, paralysis.

But, perhaps, that’s just another form of flight––

a desperate attempt to retreat from reality;

to pretend that what frightens us isn’t real or isn’t happening––

like the proverbial ostrich sticking its head in the sand…

or the startled rabbit freezing in the headlights.

Fear––

it’s a very powerful emotion…

driving us to strike out…

to panic buy…

to run away…

or simply to freeze.

It’s something that many of us, probably, feel right now…

in the grip of this pandemic…

where, in a sense, anyone we encounter…

or anything we touch…

could place us at risk.

But fear is so often what drives the church––

especially in recent decades––

as we compete for attention in a complex, secular, and post-Christendom world…

contending with declining numbers and dwindling finances;

so that we’re tempted to engage in all sorts of ill-conceived, knee-jerk reactions…

in a desperate effort to demonstrate our relevance… 

or to make an impact on our community.

 

Fear––

it’s a very powerful emotion;

and it’s a major theme in our reading this morning from John’s Gospel… 

where the disciples experience the first appearance of the risen Christ.

Here, we see disciples who are fearfully and fragilely gathered together…

huddled away behind locked doors…

cocooned from the world…

desperately trying to shut it out.

But… 

suddenly…

dramatically…

mysteriously…

the risen Christ appears in their midst…

seemingly out of nowhere…

unhindered by locked doors or closed minds…

confronting their fear with a “Peace be with you”––

not just once…

but twice…

as if their fears can’t be so easily assuaged.

 

And yet, in speaking words of peace and reassurance…

the risen Christ also calls them:

“As the Father has sent me, so I send you”.

In other words… 

“Go! Continue my ministry”.

“Go! Continue to demonstrate the healing, liberating love of God”.

“Go! Continue to offer hope to those crippled by fear…

and forgiveness to those paralysed by regret”.

“Go! Continue to feed hungry minds and refresh thirsty souls”.

“Go! Continue my work of transforming and renewing God’s world”.

And then–– 

in what amounts to John’s highly symbolic and stylised version of Pentecost–– 

the risen Christ breathes the Spirit on them.

Although, in the original Greek, he literally breathes the Spirit into them––

an expression that directly recalls the Genesis creation story––

as if to say that the disciples are now re-born…

that they’re re-created…

that they’re new, transformed people;

who go as agents of God’s transformation…

as signs and symbols––

even parables––

of new and resurrected life. 

 

So, what happens?

 

In effect, nothing.

Literally, they go nowhere. 

They do nothing.

After all, a week later, they’re simply back where they were before…

just as before…

meeting once more in the same room…

meeting once more in fear and fragility…

meeting once more behind locked doors.

They still need the risen Christ’s reassurance–– 

“Peace be with you”––

as if nothing had happened.

The disciples are still crippled and paralysed by fear.

So, the risen Christ keeps coming to them;

he keeps appearing in their midst;

he keeps speaking words of peace;

he keeps calling upon them to go…

to leave their cocoon…

to re-enter life renewed and restored…

that they might be a source of life for others.

 

Now, the stories in John’s Gospel aren’t real or historical.

Rather, they’re symbolic…

they’re meant to teach us something about ourselves and about God.

And the characters we meet in them are meant to be typical or representative…

characters with whom we’re meant to identify…

characters in whom we see ourselves and our experience.

And, in that regard, this story is no exception.

Here, we’re invited to see ourselves among the disciples–– 

huddled away behind locked doors…

continually paralysed by fear…

unable to accept or grasp or experience resurrected life.

And we’re invited to consider:

What are the fears that hold us back?

What are the fears that paralyse us?

What are the fears that prevent us from experiencing new… 

abundant… 

resurrected life?

What are the fears that stop us from being sources of new life for others?

 

There can be any number of fears that haunt and hinder us––

both the rational and the irrational.

There can be fears grounded in past hurts and failures;

fears that arise from the realisation that we aren’t in control;

fear of the unknown;

and, of course, perhaps the greatest fear of all:

the fear of losing who we are––

of losing our self-image or the image that we project to others… 

or losing our sense of self-worth.

Any one of these can stop us from truly living.

And, symbolically, through this story, we’re also invited to see ourselves among the disciples…

huddled away in our fears…

only for the risen Christ to come to us…

and to stand among us…

and, reassuringly, to say, “Peace be with you”…

“Peace be with you”…

again… 

and again…

until we hear it;

until we believe it;

until it permeates our beings;

until it drives us out–– 

from our metaphorically locked upper rooms–– 

to take hold of life…

to be agents of peace and transformation…

to be living signs and symbols of resurrection.

 

Isn’t that what our community––

what our world–– 

needs now, more than ever:

courage and hope…

made manifest and real through transformed lives?