Priests and Victims

When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained” [John 20:22-23; a portion of the Gospel lesson appointed for Pentecost Sunday (RCL, Year A)].

As I mentioned six weeks ago in an earlier post [April 15, 2020, “Hiding in the Safe Room,”], the Gospel reading for the Second Sunday of Easter is the same for all three years of the Lectionary cycle. It’s John’s familiar story of the “disciples” cowering behind locked doors on the evening of that first Easter Sunday [John 20:19-31]. In Year A (i.e., this year), a segment of that same reading — verses 19-23 — is repeated as the Gospel selection appointed for Pentecost.

I’d like to repeat two points from my earlier post.

1. While the text advises that they are huddled in “the safe room” because of their fear of those who killed Jesus — and that is no doubt true — there may yet be another reason that they were ignoring safe-distancing protocols that evening: They are ashamed. After all, with the exception of a few women and John, they had abandoned their Lord in His time of suffering.
2. Generally speaking, when the Fourth Evangelist uses the term “disciples,” as he does here, John isn’t referring to an exclusive list of twelve men. Certainly “the Ten” — i.e., “the 12” minus Judas and, for unexplained reasons, also minus Thomas — were there huddled behind the locked doors that night, but so also were others. That “the disciples” refers to the larger group is important.

By now, the news had leaked to the entire band of Jesus’ followers. The story had funneled back from Cleopas and the unnamed traveler who accompanied Jesus on the road to Emmaus [Luke 24]. Christ is risen; He’s loose; He’s uncontrollable, and He is busy regenerating the World!

And so, the uncontrollable, powerful, risen Lord appears to “the disciples” through closed and locked doors. It is as if He’s looking for someone. And, thanks be to God, indeed He is! He’s looking for lost sheep and He’s found us. Then, instead of giving us a “piece” of His mind, Christ does the truly unexpected thing. Instead of words of condemnation and judgment, Christ offers instead what we do not deserve: “Peace.” Showing His wounds in order, at least in part, to express the tremendous cost in providing it, Christ offers His followers forgiveness. This uncontrollable risen Lord doesn’t stop with forgiveness, however. Then, and this is the reason the text is used in Year A on Pentecost Sunday, Christ says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

Pay careful attention to what Christ says and perhaps even more attention to what He doesn’t say. Jesus didn’t say, “If you want to receive Holy Spirit, then speak in tongues.” Nor did he say, “If you want to receive Holy Spirit, then sell all you have, or pray five hours each day, or go to seminary, or tend to those in need.” Within His statement and within his Gift, there is no “if.” Jesus uses the imperative tense; He commands the disciples — commands us — to receive the Spirit; it isn’t subject to negotiation.

And what are we to do with the Spirit? With the Spirit and through the Spirit, we are to offer (or withhold) forgiveness:

If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained [John 20:23].

This passage has usually been understood — and appropriately so — as playing a part in the establishment of a priesthood, particularly for the parts of Christ’s holy church that follow the Episcopal manner of organization (i.e., the parts of the church that have bishops: Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican, Episcopal, Methodist, some types of Lutheran — I’m leaving some folks out here). For these segments of the church, the priest is part of an unbroken lineage that reaches back to “the Twelve” (or, perhaps more accurately, to “the Eleven”). After all, one of the most important duties of a priest — and this duty is manifested in somewhat different ways in the various “Episcopal” churches just mentioned — is to pronounce to the sinner (and the world) that which Christ produced on the cross: forgiveness. For a great portion of the Christian church, the priest is capable of conveying forgiveness based, at least in part, on the language expressed here in John Chapter 20.

Can we come to see, however, that if, as I’ve tried to point out, John’s use of the term “disciples” isn’t limited to that original band of men, that John intended it in a broader sense, then all of us — yes, you and me — are endowed by Christ with priestly power: the power to forgive? Through Christ’s gift to us (and charge to us), as retold to us in John’s Gospel, we have a choice: to be a priest or to be a victim.

The conversation took place at the foot of the front steps of Olney Presbyterian Church, in what then was a rural part of Gaston County. It was summer, probably 1962 — certainly before the assassination. It was very much the time of “Blue Laws,” when the only activity “allowed” to decent folks on Sunday was church. Everyone went to church somewhere; it was the right thing to do.

The ladies were about the same age, in their mid-30s. Although not close friends, they had known each other all their lives, since both had been raised at Olney. Each had her own brood of young ones. The one I’ll call Sue was quite active in church. Wife of a deacon, she taught Sunday school. The other, let’s call her Bonnie, was not nearly as prominent in the life of the church. She managed to get her children, although not usually her husband, to the sanctuary on most Sundays, but volunteering for additional duties was beyond her.

On that summer Sunday, just after the 11 o’clock service, Sue uttered some of the harshest, most unforgivable words ever spoken to someone, “Bonnie, have you been ill?”

Bonnie’s quick reply, “No, of course not. What would make you think that?”

“Well, we’ve all missed you here at Olney the past three Sundays.”

Bonnie huffed harshly, turned, and walked quickly to her car, with her children in tow. Several other ladies, including my Mother, heard Bonnie say, “Who does Sue think she is, Christ Almighty?” And from that day forward, at least according to my Mother, Bonnie never went back to church. By that I don’t mean she never went back to Olney; I mean she never went back to church.

You see, I think Bonnie was quite familiar with the 20th chapter of John’s Gospel, about the part I mentioned above, where our Lord tells us, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them, if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” On that sunny, summer morning at Olney, Bonnie determined that Sue’s sin would never be forgiven and, therefore, would forever be retained. Our Lord had given Bonnie the power to forgive. But the gift of forgiveness would be withheld forever. The only problem with Bonnie’s decision, of course, is that it hurt no one but Bonnie. Bonnie had determined in her mind that she would rather be a victim than a priest. She’d rather nurse her pain than pronounce forgiveness. To my knowledge, no one ever told Sue what Sue had done.

When one has been hurt by someone, it can be difficult to be a priest. We may think, “How can I ever get to the point where I can give up the pain that I have so close to my heart? If I forgive, then I’ll be unable to nurse the wound to which I so often refer.”

Remember folks, we aren’t actually called upon to produce forgiveness. Christ has done that already. We’re only called upon to pronounce it.

There’s an interesting point of proximity in John, Chapter 20. Jesus gives “the disciples” — that means you and me — the gift of the Holy Spirit before he calls upon us to forgive. He’s done the work; we are to convey the message. Jesus leaves us with an open-ended, binary question: “Are you a priest or a victim?”