14 April 2024 Easter 3

Acts 3.12-20 Psalm 4 1 John 2.15-17; 3.1-6 Luke 24.36b-48

We don’t know what Jesus’ resurrection body was like.  People have been discussing for centuries, was it a physical resurrection; was the tomb literally empty or is it just described that way to figuratively depict God’s victory over evil; is Jesus’ reported resurrection just ‘metaphor.  There are no easy answers to these questions.  But the important thing is working out what the resurrection of Jesus means for me and my faith.  Do I need to ‘know’ it was a physical resurrection for my faith to make sense.  What if it wasn’t physical, does that change the meaning that Easter and life after Easter has for me.

This morning, we are given another ‘post resurrection’ story.  This story reveals the grief and confusion felt by the disciples.  This, and all of Jesus’ post resurrection appearances, centre on the physical – the presence of skin and bones, hands and feet, scars and wounds.  We can read of Mary, tearfully embracing Jesus and she doesn’t want to let him go.  Cleopas and his companion, joined on their walk by someone who later breaks bread into chunks with scarred hands.  On the beach Jesus makes a campfire and cooks breakfast for his friends.  The Jesus of Easter is the Jesus of the Incarnation.  The Jesus who grows in the womb, who sleeps in a feeding trough, and nurses at his mother’s breast.  The Jesus who scrapes his knees and knuckles, who roughhouses with friends, who loses his parents at Passover.  The Jesus who soaks in the waters of baptism and hungers for bread in the Judean wilderness, who weeps at his friend’s grave and swings a whip around in the temple, who appreciates scented oils on his feet and head, who sweats blood in the garden of Gethsemane and suffers asphyxiation on a Roman cross.  Jesus offers his hands and feet for the disciples to ‘touch’ as evidence of his ‘reality’.  He tells his disciples ‘It is I myself’ as they struggle to reorder all they know about life and death, souls and bodies, in the aftermath of his astonishing appearance.  It is me.  The one you love.  The one you trust.  Touch me and see. 

Showing his hands and feet to the disciples is an odd way to get them to identify him.  Think about it.  When you are looking for someone in a crowd, you usually look for faces, not hands.  And yes, Jesus’ hands would have been ‘different’ from most of those around him, but it is not usually the way we identify each other, not usually the ‘proof’ you offer to those who are unsure you are who you say you are.  And in choosing to show his hands and feet, Jesus is exposing himself in ways most of us might prefer to hide.  His feet and hands hold unmistakable signs of crucifixion, defeat and vulnerability.  These wounds are fresh, raw, and probably painful to touch.

Jesus tells the disciples “You are witnesses of these things”.  Resurrection is a profound mystery.  We struggle to understand it.  At its simplest, it is a story of embodiment, a story of hands and feet, scars and hungers, skin and bone.  “Touch me and see” is an invitation that is trustworthy.  An invitation that endures.  For all of us, for all bodies, for all time.

But the disciples do not seem totally convinced that Jesus is ‘real’.  So he asks for food.  Ghosts don’t eat.  Apparitions cannot eat.  And when Jesus eats the fish, everything changes.  The disciples immediately get in close to really listen to him, and their receptivity allows Jesus to ‘open their minds to understand’, and by the end of the encounter they are no longer ‘frightened people’ they are ‘witnesses of these things’, ready for action and ministry.  By expressing physical hunger and accepting bodily nourishment, Jesus turns trauma into communion.

And something powerful happens when we offer and receive hospitality as an intentional spiritual practice.  It doesn’t matter how ‘grand’ or ‘simple’ our offering is, as long as the table is open and inviting, nourishment occurs because eating breaks down barriers, eases awkwardness and fosters intimacy.  Maybe, we should be reading Jesus’ question to the disciples about food as a gentle reminder of this.  The disciples appear to have forgotten the basic rules of hospitality, maybe because of their fear and confusion.  They have pulled away from Jesus, they appear aloof and suspicious and maybe also afraid, so they have forgotten to offer food, water, shelter or comfort.  And by leading them with vulnerability, Jesus reminds them of this most fundamental calling –– ‘I’m hungry, have you any food’.

We will soon all gather around the altar and share hospitality, we share body, blood, bread, wine, poured out freely and shared by all.  This most ordinary, yet also subversive, practice where everyone is welcome, and even the despised and outcast are honoured.   Maybe we need Jesus’ gentle reminder as much as the discipled did.  Are we able to push past fear, - fear of the stranger, fear of our inadequacies, fear of rejection or failure, fear of wasting time or money, fear of our messy kitchens, fear of not having enough for ourselves, - because hospitality is the best way to reveal Jesus to the world.  What if practicing hospitality is practicing resurrection?  Maybe we will find that there is more at stake in a piece of fish, or a cup of tea, or a loaf of bread, than we could imagine.  When the disciples fed Jesus, he fed them in return.  When they overcame their suspicion, their eyes were opened, death fled the room, and the resurrected Jesus came alive to them.  Belief didn’t come first, food did.

Scarred and hungry.  This is our God.  This is resurrection.  This is the Word made flesh.  May we be witnesses of these things.