MISSING THE MARK
I John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31
2nd Sunday of Easter, April 7, 2024
Rev. Dr. Ritva H. Williams
Alleluia! Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia!
This morning we meet Jesus once again on that first Easter Sunday, this time from John’s gospel. Mary Magdalene has already come to the tomb early in the morning, only to discover that it is empty. Quickly she runs to get Peter and the beloved disciple, who come and verify that the tomb is indeed empty, but leave confused and wondering. As Mary weeps by the empty tomb, the Risen Christ asks who she is looking for. She mistakes him for the gardener until he speaks her name. Christ then sends sends her to proclaim the good news of his resurrection to the disciples, which Mary Magdalene does with joy.
Now it is the evening of that first Easter Sunday. The frightened disciples are gathered behind locked doors. Jesus comes, stands in their midst, and greets them, “Peace be with you.” When the disciples see Jesus’ nailed scarred hands and pierced side, they rejoice. Christ addresses them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father sent me, so I send you.” Then he breathes on them, saying, “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.”
The Risen Christ was busy that first Easter Sunday, and very intent on mission, empowering Mary Magdalene to proclaim the good news, and now commissioning the disciples to become apostles. Christ sends them into the world just as God sent Jesus. Then there’s this curious sentence which in Greek reads literally, “if/whenever you release/let go the sins of anyone they are released/let go; if/whenever you grasp/seize/hold fast to them they hold tight.”
Historically, the church has interpreted this as the power of the keys bestowed upon the apostles and their successors, by which ordained clergy have the power to determine who gets into heaven. Personally, I am convinced that is a misinterpretation of the words of the Risen Christ.
The word ‘sin’ is a translation of the Greek word hamartia, which is can also be rendered as ‘missing the mark.’ But what is the mark we miss? When we dig a little deeper, we discover that hamartia is made up of two parts: ha— is work likes the English “dis,” as in dislike. Martia comes from another Greek word meros meaning “form, origin, or being.” So the basic meaning of hamartia is negating or dissing your origins and being.
Sin is anything that negates, diminishes, or misrepresents the truth that as a human being you are created in God’s very own image and likeness, declared very good, and blessed with strengths, talents and skills to make a positive contribution to the world (Genesis 1:27-28). Your behavior can be an authentic way of expressing this truth or an effort to cover up shame, guilt, and brokenness of our lives (William Paul Young, Lies We Believe about God, p. 229).
Our reading from 1 John, warns us, “If we say we have no sin we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us … If we say we have not sinned, we make God a liar” (1:8, 10). When we don’t own up to the ways we sometimes miss the mark in our daily lives, deceive ourselves. Making mistakes is an essential part of being human; it’s how we learn. Expecting perfection is a denial of our humanity, misrepresents our origins and identity, and even worse proclaims God to be liar.
Yet, the author assures us that “when we confess our sins, God who is faithful and just will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1:9). God releases us from the things that cause us to miss the mark and brings us back into an honest and authentic relationship. Jesus Christ, the epitome of authentic relationship with God, advocates and intercedes for us. The risen Christ is the means of atonement — making us at-one with our origins as God’s beloved children (2:2).
Every Sunday we begin worship by confessing how we have missed the mark of showing forth God’s image and living out God’s original blessing in our thoughts, words and deeds, by things we do and things we don’t do, by not trusting God with our whole heart, and by not loving one another as Christ loves us.
When we ask God to forgive us, we are asking for help to let go of all the things — personal, social, political, even religious — that make us blind, deaf and ignorant to the truth of who human beings are. When we ask God to forgive us, we are asking for help to live into our true-image-of-God selves. God’s forgiveness is sure and certain. Christ’s gift of the Holy Spirit is intended to empower us to do so. So why do we continue to miss the mark? Because we are human, still learning, still growing.
In our gospel reading, Christ speaks specifically about letting go of and holding tight to the sins of others. In my personal experience, it is easier to trust in Christ’s gracious forgiveness when I miss the mark, but way more difficult to let go of sins of others, especially when they hurt me or my loved ones. For the vast majority of us, our deepest wounds are inflicted by other people, often through an endless litany of messages about how we’re not smart enough, skinny or tall enough, not white or black enough, not manly or womanly enough, not rich enough, etc. Many of us bear wounds inflicted by the bigotry, prejudice, hostility, hatred, and violence of others.
Christ’s words about letting go or holding tight to the sins of others are both promise and warning. When we let go of the sins inflicted on us, we can begin the process of healing as we are gradually liberated from their power over us. But when we hold tight to the sins inflicted on us, they remain, continuing and even increasing their power and control over us.
Did you notice that the Risen Christ still bears the marks of the crucifixion? The violence inflicted on Jesus changed his physical body, creating scars that not even the resurrection can erase. Christ bears them forever. But neither the violence nor the scars can or will diminish the truth of his identity as a beloved child of God, created in God’s image, and shining forth in God’s likeness. That is the meaning of the resurrection.
As Father Richard Rohr writes,
The Risen Christ is the standing icon of humanity, in its final and full destiny. He is the pledge and guarantee of what God will do with all of our crucifixions … (Immortal Diamond, p. 84)
On this Sunday when we are reminded of why letting go of sins inflicted on us is both vital and difficult, let me end with Jan Richardson’s poem The Hardest Blessing
If we cannot lay aside the wound, then let us say it will not always bind us.
Let us say the damage will not eternally determine our path.
Let us say the line of our life will not always travel along the places we are torn.
Let us say that forgiveness can take some practice, can take some patience,
can take a long and struggling time.
Let us say that to offer the hardest blessing, we will need the deepest grace;
that to forgive the sharpest pain, we will need the fiercest love;
that to release the ancient ache, we will need new strength for every day.
Let us say the wound will not be our final home—that through it runs a road,
a way we would not have chosen but on which we will finally see forgiveness,
so long practiced, coming toward us, shining with the joy so well deserved.
(The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief, p. 157)
Alleluia! Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia!
