So, you have often heard me preach of the time that Fr. Brooks and I spent traveling around Israel. That time in the Holy Land will always inform my life and preaching. But today I want to talk about another Holy Land – Memphis.
Now Memphis is holy land for a number of reasons, not the least of which is their BBQ. Now, for those of you who are not Southerners, please understand BBQ is a holy thing. And I'm talking about hot, spicy BBQ, the kind you eat in 90 degree weather and enjoy the sweat running down your face.
Sitting on Beale Street with a carton full of ribs and a beer while listening to some blues is about as close to heaven as you can get.
But BBQ is not the only reason Memphis is considered holy land. The primary reason, of course, is because it is the home of Elvis.
Now, of course, we know that Elvis was born in Mississippi, but it's Memphis that is the Mecca (to mix religious metaphors) of Elvis mythology.
And of course, any good pilgrim to the Holy Land of Memphis will make a visit to the shrine of Graceland.
Now just a tour of the mansion itself, back when I took it, cost only $41. But if you were a real disciple, for the low, low price of $174, you could have a VIP tour which included a self-guided tour of Elvis' jets, a tour of the Elvis Car Museum, a VIP tour of the Elvis: the Entertainer Career Museum, a meal at Vernon's Smokehouse, and, best of all, the chance to buy special merchandise available only for VIP's.
I stuck with the $41 tour. There was the great welcome sign – a twenty-five foot high Elvis saying "Welcome to the Blingdom!" And I showed my ticket and stood in line with the other pilgrims.
As we were waiting, I turned to one of the tour guides and asked, "So, how long did Elvis actually live here?" Well, friends, there was an audible gasp from the shocked crowd. And I could feel them all sort of back away from me.
The guide looked at me with forced smile and whispered, "We don't use the past tense here." She then pointed at her t-shirt, which read: "Graceland, where Elvis LIVES."
It didn't matter that she had never actually seen Elvis or that technically Elvis stopped walking the earth over thirty-five years ago. It didn't matter. She didn't care. Elvis fans don't care. Elvis lives. Elvis lives, baby. The King lives.
Given that kind of reverence, I think that we, as disciples of Jesus, have a lot to learn from Elvis fans.
Those first disciples. Man, were they scared. And rightly so, I reckon. Mary Magdalene had just burst in with the news that Jesus was not in the tomb and that angels had said he had risen. And of course, being reasonable souls, they went from one fear to the next. Fear of being left alone without their Lord to fear of being accused of stealing his body. Or being caught up in a raid. Or of any number of things. So they locked themselves in a room and huddled in the corner.
And – boom! – there was Jesus. Right there with them. So suddenly that they probably held their breath, as he approached him and shared his breath with them. And then just like that he was gone.
A week goes by and they are still in the room, and Jesus appears again.
I wonder what they did in the meantime? Did they stay in the room, only one or two of them going out at a time to get some bread and wine? Or did they go around the city, looking for Jesus, trying to find him again, telling others what miraculous events have occurred?
I don't know. But I wonder if, when we hear this reading, we spend too much time on Thomas, on judging him, and tsk-tsk-ing him about his doubts? And we miss the big picture. Sure Thomas' doubts are settled, he sees Jesus, and he is the first disciple to call him God – not the Son of God, but God. And that's a big theological deal.
But Jesus, well, Jesus doesn't spend this time on theology. He doesn't sit at the table with them and explain just how resurrection works. He doesn't seem very interested in making sure that generations of seminarians will know exactly how to answer questions about the Trinity on exams or in sermons. He doesn't even seem to care much about church policy, bylaws, and vestry meetings.
Instead he puts them to work: Receive this gift of the Holy Spirit. Go out and love people. Forgive them. Bring them into the fold. Teach about me. They won't see me, but you have. Share that. Bless them by making them disciples.
Work. That's our faith. Like I've said so many times, if you think being Christian is easy, you're doing it wrong. Because it's work. It is labor. It means leaving our rooms with the locked red doors, no matter how beautiful and holy those rooms may be. It means that we have to get dirty. We have to touch the sick, not worrying about the disease. We have to stand with the oppressed, not fearing the powers that be. We have love the unlovable, regardless of being loved back. And we have to say what we believe, WHY we do what we do. Out loud. Not just with works, but with words. So that they may believe.
Your faith is not about you at all. It's about “them.” It's about all those who have no faith. So, don't hide in the room. Don't hide who you are behind the locked door. You have a name – Christian. Tell people your name.
Those people at Graceland? They aren't afraid of what people think of them. They don't care that the rest of us think they are nuts. Because they know that all around the world, there are people like them. People who love Elvis. And they go out into the world and share that news.
I don't know about you, but I want a faith like that. I want a faith that drives me out to share our Gospel. A faith that doesn't keep all that hidden.
A faith that drives me out, that makes me see Jesus in every individual. And that makes me want to share the story of Christ crucified for me and risen for me. And when they ask why I believe all this, I want to be able to smile a big smile and say:
He lives. Jesus lives, baby. The King lives.