The Revised Common Lectionary for today, the second Sunday of Easter, gives us the gospel story from John 20:19-31, where an apostle gets a derogatory nickname. I’m referring, of course, to “Projecting John.” Or did you think I meant somebody else?

Along with all the other descriptions of geometrically following various lines and curves to new places in space, displaying images on a screen, or helping one’s voice carry out into an audience, the Merriam-Webster Dictionary offers this definition: “the attribution of one’s own ideas, feelings, or attitudes to other people or to objects, especially: the externalization of blame, guilt, or responsibility as a defense against anxiety.” In other words, all of those times we think of something awful, and we assume somebody else has the same bad motives.

Think about it: that first Sunday night, despite the news from the women who had gone to the tomb that morning, despite the report from Mary Magdalene, who had hung around when John and Peter saw the empty tomb and went back to bed, these bold apostles were hiding in the upper room with the door locked. They were still afraid of the Temple authorities, afraid they would come do to them what they had done to Jesus on Thursday and Friday, afraid despite the evidence that none of this stopped their Teacher.

The locked door did nothing to stop Jesus, of course, and we know the rest of the story. Our Lord shared the Holy Spirit and they all knew with certainty that he was alive. Imagine if they had just been willing to believe the women evangelists. That’s my sermon for this morning, but I digress.

Anyway, Thomas missed the party, and we know all about his doubts. The thing is, when they got to the next Sunday night, they were still in the same room, still with the doors locked, still afraid. All of them were doubting. John projected his own doubts onto his friend “The Twin” and branded him alone among all twelve apostles. And yes, twelve; is there any question that Judas doubted?

Projection is a normal if not flattering part of human nature. We know our worst instincts and motivations, and we assume these are the motivations and instincts of those around us. So we in the US have spent the past week being absolutely and rightfully horrified about the Easter greetings of our President, and while I might use words like “neener” in a Reformed Journal blog post, I will not re-post the words he used. It is not the first time his words have shocked sensibilities. His actions and attitudes and those of his surrogates and deputies have made us furious and embarrassed. The violence and glorification of violence, the threats against allies, the victimhood, the greed, the lack if empathy, and the abundance of racism, not too mention the blasphemy, the ego-centrism, and the obvious lies all sicken and infuriate us.

But here’s the thing: if we projected all of that doubt onto Thomas when everybody was doubting, what are we projecting now? The current US administration is, no doubt, full of bigotry, racism, and hate, but none of them became that way all by themselves. These are taught behaviors. While we want to be a color-blind society, and we want to believe that everyone is equal here, the truth is that all of these ugly traits run deep in our nation. Jim Crow and “The Lost Cause” are not new. The political movements that have made the current situation possible have been brewing for at least half a century, and many of them for much longer. As a white, straight, cisgendered male, I have to admit to benefitting from systemic racism, sexism, and even homophobia all of my life, no matter how much I hate it all. We live in an environment where it is now acceptable to say things out loud that we would have been ashamed to whisper just a generation ago.

We are all guilty. We have cooperated in building the brokenness we now face: by encouraging, or at least not refusing, the systems, powers, and principalities that foster such behavior, by participating in a political system where Congress has forgotten the meaning of the word “compromise”—or at the least made it a dirty word, analogous to “traitor” or “enemy”—by letting the small injustices slip either because we can’t be yelling and complaining all the time or because gasoline and grocery bills weren’t too bad. This doesn’t let the incumbent administration off the hook. This just puts us all there with them.

So, we must keep calling them to account. We must continue, in the name of the Gospel, to defy the injustices of the principalities and powers. And we must defy them no matter which political party they represent, no matter what color ties or hats they wear. We must call them to account whether we voted for them or not, whether or not we benefited from their tax cuts or social programs. 

Most of all, however, we must confess our own guilt, our own place in all of this. We must lament our own role in the broken families created by overzealous federal agents, the neighbors whisked away, not just in the night but in broad daylight, the relationships broken all around the world, and the children and bystanders murdered by our nation’s bombs and bullets. We must confess all of this.

We must work, again and again, one day after another, to turn back from our own racism, our own hatred, our own fear, because we can’t make a one-for-all-and-perfect decision to make them stop in our hearts, any more than we can decide to stop doubting and believe—but that’s my sermon for this morning again.

We must bow down in prayer and acknowledge our shared guilt. Then we must remember that we are forgiven, that Christ died for us, Christ rose for us, Christ reigns in power for us, Christ prays for us (Romans 8:34). And Christ does all of that for the people who wear the funny hats and say the vile things and voted for the wrong people.

And Christ shows that same love for Thomas . . . and John . . . and Peter and James and all the other apostles . . . even Judas.