Andy James

Poor Doubting Thomas

April 14, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on John 20:19-31
preached on April 14, 2013*, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Poor doubting Thomas. For centuries, Thomas has borne the brunt of contempt in the church. Just because he was out doing something else the first time the risen Jesus appeared to the disciples, just because he insisted that he wanted to see Jesus for himself, he’s been labeled “doubting” for all time. And not only that, his story shows up in the lectionary every year on the first Sunday after Easter—it’s as if we have to keep rubbing salt in his wounds over and over again, constantly reminding ourselves about Thomas’ inability to believe without seeing things for himself just in case we are tempted to do the same.

But the story is not quite so simple. As the gospel of John tells it, Thomas wasn’t the first person to doubt the resurrection of Jesus. The two disciples who first went to the tomb saw that Jesus’ body was missing, but they didn’t understand or believe the resurrection until they themselves met up with Jesus later. And even Mary wept outside the tomb because she was so sad that Jesus’ body had been stolen—until she realized that the gardener who was comforting her was no less than Jesus himself. It was only after Jesus started appearing to the disciples that the believers began outnumbering the doubters, so they started closing ranks against those who didn’t understand it or wanted to see it before they believed it. Their own experience of the resurrection made it difficult for them to think that anyone else wouldn’t believe it!

So when Thomas missed out on Jesus’ appearance to the disciples on that first Easter evening, when he stood adamant that he would not believe them unless he saw “the mark of the nails in his hands and put [his] finger in the mark of the nails and [his] hand in [Jesus’] side,” he was destined to be shunned and set apart. There was a clear divide: Those who had seen the risen Jesus believed, but those who had not did not.

Even amidst this divide in the disciples’ experiences, everyone came together again the following Sunday evening, just as they had done on that first Easter night. They gathered in the house and closed the doors— but somehow Jesus still came and stood among them. He spoke to them right away: “Peace be with you,” hoping to calm their hearts and minds and make his presence clear and real. But he knew that they were looking for more than his peace—at least some of them were looking for proof that he was who they said he was. So he immediately invited Thomas to do exactly what he wanted and needed to do: “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.”

That invitation seemed to be all that Thomas needed. John doesn’t tell us that Thomas actually did any of this, but he does record an immediate response: “My Lord and my God!” Jesus then spoke up again, practically turning away from the disciples and addressing those of us who read the gospel later: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Here Jesus doesn’t criticize Thomas for his doubting tendencies, and he certainly doesn’t single him out for this attention, because even most of the disciples didn’t believe his resurrection until they had seen it for themselves! Still, these words give a bit of extra encouragement to those of us who might be reading this story a bit later and so haven’t had seen the risen Christ with our own eyes.

Thomas was certainly not the last person of faith to harbor doubts. It is not a requirement of the Christian faith to never ask questions. Our welcome into the Christian life at baptism does not require us to have everything about our belief sorted out. And if we required everyone who presented themselves at the Lord’s Table to fully understand and explain what happens there, I myself would not be welcome! So I think Thomas was actually onto something when he questioned the resurrection of Jesus because had not experienced it for himself. We remember him because of his doubts, but that should be a good thing for us. As much as we might try to convince ourselves otherwise, doubts are a natural part of the life of faith. Presbyterian minister and writer Frederick Buechner put it nicely, I think:

Whether your faith is that there is a God or that there is not a God, if you don’t have any doubts you are either kidding yourself or asleep. (Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC)

Stories of people like Thomas help us to be more comfortable in asking good questions, in acknowledging the depth of our struggles, in helping us consider our doubts in such a way that they give us space for deeper faith, in allowing our belief to emerge and enlarge over time as we grow deeper in our experience of God. Ultimately, the reality is that faith and doubt are not opposites. When we come to believe something, our questions are not so much put aside as they are honestly answered. When we take up faith, we allow God to step in and fill in the blanks on our doubts. We recognize that we do not have all the answers and trust God enough to fill in the rest. We place our trust not in our own understanding of what God has done and is doing but in the depth and breadth of God’s life among us. Doubt gives us the space we need amidst the certainties of our world so that faith can step in. So ultimately I think Thomas’ doubt was not his problem but rather the very thing that gave him the space to believe.

Now don’t get me wrong—I’m not even beginning to suggest that you ought to start doubting something if your faith is strong. But what is clear to me from this strange and wonderful story about poor doubting Thomas is that God is big enough to put up with our doubts. Ultimately, Jesus didn’t ostracize Thomas because he doubted but in fact gave him everything that he needed to set his doubts aside. In the same way, we are called to honestly engage and confront our own doubts so that we can come to deeper faith, for ultimately our experiences of God in our lives show us the things we need to believe and hope and trust in God’s work in our world just as Thomas’ experience of the risen Christ enabled him to believe the strange and wonderful story of the resurrection.

So as this Easter season continues, may we encounter the risen Christ in our lives just as Thomas did, so that we can engage our moments of doubt, experience the new life of Christ in our world, and deepen our faith and trust in all that God is doing to make the whole creation new through Jesus Christ our risen Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.

*While this is not the text for the day, I am preaching from a slightly adjusted lectionary schedule after Easter this year.

No Ordinary Journey

April 7, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on Luke 24:13-35 for the Second Sunday of Easter
preached on April 7, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

It started out as just an ordinary journey, two of the disciples walking about seven miles from Jerusalem to the nearby village of Emmaus on a Sunday afternoon. But it was not an ideal time to make the trip. Passover celebrations were in full swing in the city, and people were coming and going everywhere. Others were catching up on trips that they had postponed for a day due to the Sabbath. And the disciples were still somewhat shocked and saddened by the strange events that had swirled around them just a couple days before as their friend and teacher Jesus had been tried and executed by the religious and civil authorities of Jerusalem.

That morning before they left, though, some of the women who had accompanied them along the way reported that the tomb where they had laid him on Friday was empty. Most everyone felt that this was pretty silly, really—an idle tale—it was time to get on with life and put Jesus behind them. So the two disciples began that day’s journey as a pretty normal walk along a familiar road, with their spirits somewhat subdued by the grief and pain that were still in the air even as they started to think about how they would go on with life without Jesus.

Along the road, a stranger eased his way into their conversation. He asked them what they were talking about and why they were so sad as they walked along the way. Apparently he had not heard of the events of Thursday and Friday, so they brought him up to speed as they walked and talked. But this stranger didn’t share their sadness at the death of their friend and teacher. Instead, he suggested that this person, this Messiah, had come for this very reason, to experience these very things, to suffer and die and then enter into his glory. He wasn’t worried that the tomb had been found to be empty—instead he suggested that this was all exactly as God had intended and very much in line with all that Moses and the prophets had said over the centuries. The conversation with this stranger made the seven miles on the road pass quickly for the two disciples, and what had seemed to be an ordinary walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus started to become something to remember.

Like the disciples, I’m quite a fan of a good walk. A brisk walk remains my preferred way to get exercise, even though I certainly do it far less than I should! On nice days like we’ve finally started having recently, there’s nothing quite like a good walk to clear my mind and get a little blood flowing. And there’s no better way to restore my spirit after some busy days than to share a walk around New York City with a good friend. Most of my walks are pretty unremarkable, really—I don’t expect to have a grand epiphany of life that helps me to understand God and the world better or run into someone who will change my life. Normally they are just ordinary journeys, a way to get from point A to point B and give me some time to clear my head and assess the day before I dive back in to the busyness of the world.

By the time those two disciples and the stranger who walked with them got to Emmaus, it seemed to have been a pretty ordinary journey, save for the especially good conversation with the stranger that had helped take their mind off their grief and sorrow. As the disciples started to head into the village for the night, the stranger who had walked with them prepared to continue on to his destination, but it was late, so the disciples invited him to stay the night and join them for a little more conversation. When they sat down for dinner, the stranger “took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.”

In this moment, something happened. As he broke the bread, as this guest took on the role of host, this stranger was no longer unknown. The two disciples realized that they had known this man all along. They had not been talking with a stranger all day—they had been talking with Jesus. Not only that, the reports of the empty tomb were true—Jesus was alive! But then just as quickly as they had realized that it was Jesus with them, “he vanished from their sight.” It had indeed been no ordinary journey after all—they had spent the afternoon with Jesus without even knowing it!

That walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus was pretty incredible—it’s nearly impossible to beat that kind of a story! Even when I look back on the best conversations I’ve had while walking, none of them even begin to measure up to what the disciples experienced! But this extraordinary journey can still illuminate even the most mundane walks in our lives. Like the disciples, we can share our hopes and dreams and struggles and fears with those who walk with us along the road. Like the disciples, we might just meet someone unexpected who can help us understand where we have been and where we are going. And like the disciples, we might just encounter God in strangers we meet along the way.

Even when things are pretty normal and uneventful along our journeys, we can trust that God is working to prepare our hearts and minds for whatever encounter is ahead for us, that God is walking with us along the varied roads of our lives and opening our eyes to the fullness of the divine presence just when we need to recognize this new thing in our midst. Because of this incredible encounter on the road to Emmaus and at table with Jesus, we can trust that even our most ordinary journeys can be filled with the wonder and grace and mystery of our God who is made known to us in the breaking of bread.

This extraordinary journey was not over for the disciples. They had to get back to Jerusalem as quickly as they could. They had seen the Lord, and they had to let everyone else know about it, even if it was late, the road dark, and their bodies tired. By the time they got back, reports were streaming in from near and far of encounters with Jesus—not only had the women seen an empty tomb, not only had they talked with Jesus all afternoon along the road, Peter had seen him too! Their return to Jerusalem was no ordinary journey—even though it was the same road they had walked just a few hours before, their sorrow had turned to joy. They were ready to celebrate the resurrection and figure out what was next for them as they kept following Jesus along this new road together.

And so as we too go our way on the roads of life, as we walk the Emmaus roads of our world with friends and strangers and even on our own, as we gather and go forth from this table of joy where we trust that we will meet our risen Lord, God calls us to trust that all these are no ordinary journeys. All our lives are holy encounters with God, where anyone we meet might show us the face of God, where any meal we share might help us to see our dining companions in a new light, where every step we take helps us to see God’s new creation a little more clearly and shows us how we can join in, where we are called to proclaim the wonder of resurrection to our world that is so afraid of death.

And so as we gather at this table today, may God open our eyes to see the risen Christ present among us so that we might rise to serve and show his risen life to others and prepare to meet him on the extraordinary journey ahead. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Looking for the Living

March 31, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on Luke 24:1-12 for Easter Sunday
preached on March 31, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

The women who had made their way to Jesus’ tomb were startled enough by the two men in dazzling clothes who met them there, so I can’t imagine all the other emotions that came as they were confronted by these strange words. They had come to the tomb expecting to finish the work of burying Jesus that they had started so hurriedly on Friday evening and abandoned for the sabbath, so they figured that the dead Jesus would be exactly where they had laid him. But things were not as they expected. Not only was the tomb unsealed and the large stone rolled away, Jesus’ body was not there. Then to be greeted by these two strange men—it was quite a way to start the morning!

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

Our own search for Jesus can certainly take us to some places where that question might be in order. It’s easy to think that we’ll keep encountering God in our lives in the way we always have even when our world is changing quickly and dramatically right before our very eyes. It’s easy to walk away from God when things are going right and then come back when life takes an unexpected turn. But when we do this, are we not also looking for the living among the dead? Do we show up as the women did, at the tombs of our world, expecting that we can encounter God again just like we did before? Do we put God in the same box that they did, leaving no room for resurrection and new life?

Why are you looking for the living among the dead?

If these words weren’t strange enough, the two men in dazzling clothes continued on: “He is not here, but has risen.” All the assumptions that the women had made about this morning were turned on end, all because they had forgotten what Jesus had told them. In the midst of the chaos of his arrest and trial, they did not remember that he had told them that this kind of end was ahead for him. In the midst of his execution at the hands of the religious and civil authorities of the day, they had forgotten his promise that this was not the end of his story. In the midst of their grief, they could not imagine that anything more than death was ahead for him.

And so since they had forgotten, they went to the tomb to look for Jesus. They thought that he belonged there among the dead. They expected him to be there, right where they had laid him. But they were wrong. The stone was rolled away, the tomb was empty, and Jesus was alive and present in the world even though they had not seen him yet. They couldn’t look for him as they had done before—they had to see him in different places, in new ways, and maybe even right where they were.

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

It’s a fair question for us, too: where do we look for Jesus? Do we come to church, thinking that he has set up shop permanently and exclusively within these walls? Do we look for people who have a grand outward appearance of faithfulness, expecting that their holiness and virtue will show us the face of Christ? Do we seek out people who think like us, look like us, pray like us, speak like us, and believe like us? When we do these things—when we look for Jesus in all places where we expect to find him, in the halls that seem to hold religious power, in outward expressions of faithfulness, in people who are just like us—are we not looking for the living among the dead?

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

The women were not alone in this in their time. Even after they believed the news from the two men in dazzling clothes who met them at the tomb, the other disciples just didn’t understand it when the women told them. They called it nothing more than an idle tale—leiros in the Greek, literally meaning “nonsense”—except for Peter, who ran to the tomb himself to see it with his own eyes and then returned home, amazed and confused by what he had seen. The disciples were not yet ready to go looking for Jesus in new places.

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

It’s easy to get sucked in to this way of thinking, to join with the disciples and question how we might ever expect to see Jesus in our world. There is enough brokenness in our world to bring even the most confident and faithful among us to question how God is at work around us. There is enough war and violence in our world for us to reasonably wonder how the peace of Christ is actually taking root around us. And there is enough death in our midst to make us even wonder if the resurrection is real at all. And so we too often stand with the women, the disciples, and countless others who look for Jesus in the wrong places, who don’t understand how Jesus could be resurrected in the first place.

Yet those two men in dazzling clothes at the tomb call us to seek something different, to look for the living Christ in the real world, in the places where there is real and great need, in the places where something is deeply missing, in those places where we would least expect to encounter him, for he is present and alive and at work here and now, and we are called to join him as he works to make all things new. Maybe it is time to look for Jesus alive and at work in our world in new places, among the prisoners and the poor, among the homeless and harmed, among the sick and sad, among the destitute and depressed, among people who don’t look like us, act like us, love like us, believe like us, think like us, or dream like us.

It is there in those places, in the places we least expect it, in the places furthest from the tomb, in the places of greatest need, where we might just find Jesus. And so whether we have seen him yet or not, whether we have sought him in a graveyard or out on the streets, whether we believe or whether we doubt, may we go forth on this Easter day with our eyes and hearts open to meeting the risen Jesus in our world, wherever that search may lead us, ready to serve others and embody the fullness of his love to everyone we meet until he comes again in final victory to destroy death once and for all. Lord, come quickly! Alleluia! Amen.

Two Parades

March 24, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on Luke 19:29-40; Luke 23:26-27, 32-38, 44-49 for Palm and Passion Sunday
preached on March 24, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

It all seemed very impromptu—a borrowed colt, some cloaks tossed along the road, disciples from the countryside converging on the big city as the main cheering section—but it was all quite a welcome for Jesus on his first recorded trip to Jerusalem as an adult. Whether it had been planned for months or organized on the spur of the moment, the signals were still clear on that Sunday just outside Jerusalem’s gate. Someone important was coming to town. Something big was happening here, and everyone needed to pay attention!

Organized or unorganized, planned or unplanned, it was quite a parade—while the balloons of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day certainly are far more spectacular, the fancy apparel of next Sunday’s Easter Parade down Fifth Avenue is far more fashionable, and the “popemobile” is the preferred mode of transit for religious figures these days, this parade that started out Jesus’ last week in Jerusalem was one of the most notable in all history, so much so that it gets acted out in churches large and small once a year! But even the simple trappings that marked this parade had deep and great meaning. When the people cried out, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” they welcomed a ruler not on a great white stallion but on a young colt. When Jesus rode into Jerusalem, he brought with him not a mighty army but a ragtag band of disciples who could barely make up their mind about how to organize themselves, let alone scheme to topple the great power of Rome. And the cloaks that covered the road to mark a pathway for the new king belonged not to the privileged and powerful but to the poor.

Just a few days later came a very different parade. That joyful crowd that had greeted Jesus upon his arrival in the city was transformed into an angry mob, crying out for his execution. The simple colt that carried him on the journey was replaced with an innocent bystander, a visitor from out of town, who was forced to carry the cross. And the cloaks that had once been tossed on the road to pave a highway for a king became Jesus’ own clothes, divided by lot among his executioners.

Things surely can change in just five days! It was no surprise, really. Over the course of this week, Jesus had managed to get under nearly everyone’s skin. This country boy came to the city and started calling out all the things that he thought weren’t right. This Jesus didn’t properly respect the religious leaders and civil authorities, and his strong words condemning all of them needed to be spoken behind closed doors, not out in public. He threatened the livelihood of a lot of people who made their living on a particular way of thinking about and living out Judaism that had taken hold in that day and age. Even his most trusted disciples seemed to have had enough of his teachings and denied having anything to do with him.

While that first parade had embodied the people’s great hopes of a Messiah who would transform the relationship between God and the people, this second parade made it clear that the people didn’t have a clue what this would really look like. They couldn’t imagine how a nonviolent revolt would actually change things. They couldn’t even dream about how a profound teacher and healer would show power in new and different and transformative ways. They couldn’t embrace the challenge of repentance and new life that Jesus had offered them because it would require them to clean house and make room for something new. Someone like Jesus just didn’t fit in their world—someone who gave up a simple life as a carpenter to take up a new and more hopeful way, someone who was willing to endure the criticism of his family and be shamed in his hometown to teach some fishermen, a tax collector or two, and some other nobodies about what God was doing in the world, someone who kept faithfully pushing and challenging and longing and praying and working for a new way.

Amazingly, though, even amidst all this opposition and confusion, Jesus didn’t give up on all that he had fought for. Even if his first parade showed how much people just didn’t understand what he was up to, even if the second became a gruesome procession to his execution and burial, these two parades embodied everything that Jesus stood for in his life and ministry. In them he made it clear that his way of life was not about holding tight to the old ways but about setting something aside to gain something new. In these two parades he made it clear that his brand of power was not about exploiting anyone or anything but about seeking the fullness of life for everyone. And in these parades he made it clear that he intended to die exactly like he had lived, keeping the focus not on himself but on God’s presence in his life and even in his death.

And so in these two parades, Jesus lived out this new understanding of power for everyone to see. Even after his faithfulness had been honored and celebrated as he entered Jerusalem, he gave up his power and chose the cross. Even after he had received everything that he had longed for, his life for others became so clear and deep and real that he gave up everything. And even after God had given him honor and glory in his life among us, Jesus let go of it all so that he could experience the full depth of our humanity—even death—and transform it into new life.

And so as we mark this week of two parades—a parade of simple celebration upon the arrival of a humble teacher into the holy city and a procession unto death and execution at the hands of the powers of the world and people like us, even us—may God give us the strength to give up our power as Jesus did, to let go of the life we have known in hopes of finding something new, and to make room for the great transformation that awaits us by nothing less than this great power revealed in weakness and shown in Jesus Christ our Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Wet

March 17, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on Isaiah 43:16-21 and Psalm 126 for the Fifth Sunday in Lent
preached on March 17, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

The other day, I met a friend in Manhattan for a cup of coffee after work. He needed to run a couple errands, so I joined him in wandering around Manhattan as we talked. Most days at this time of year, this would have been a refreshing way to spend a late afternoon, with a gentle, crisp breeze to keep things cool but not cold and the late afternoon sunshine taking the edge off the wind.

But sun was not in the cards for us that afternoon—it was overcast and gray. Even worse, though, it was a drizzling and misting day, raining just lightly enough that you didn’t really need an umbrella most of the time, but as we walked along, we ended up getting soaking wet—not just our coats, not just our shoes, but everything, soaked to the bone.

As I pondered this text over the last few days, this soaking mist kept coming back to me. Usually we think of waters much like we hear in our reading from Isaiah today, rushing around, pouring into our lives, changing things quickly. We look for waters that will quench our thirst and bring us a taste of new life. We seek the full promise of Isaiah’s prophecy:

I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

We long for new springs that will not damage us or destroy us, hoping for the presence of God to bring waters that will make a way where there was no way, quench the thirst of a dry land, and refresh the people of God. We look to be refreshed and renewed by the memory of who God has been and what God has done, to once again set aside the former ways of destruction, the frustrations of exile, the mourning and crying and pain of the past, so that we can embrace this new thing, a way opening up through the wilderness, the possibility of new life breaking through into the weariness of our world. We seek something so easy and so dramatic that everything changes, that everyone stops and takes notice—like in Isaiah’s world, where even the wild animals pay attention, give their honor, and share the gift of life in this new water, and all people are enabled to declare great praise.

But when we look around us, when we stop and wander around in hope of finding something that has eluded us, more often than finding gushing springs of new life, we find what seems to be a dreary mist—yet before we know it, we are soaked through and through. And we just don’t know what to do with that—while I know of few people who don’t appreciate a good wet shower or a nice rainstorm from inside, most of the time we’re just ready to dry off and dry out already! Yet God’s new thing is sinking into us anyway, soaking us like a drizzly New York day, getting us wet whether we like it or not, calling us to set aside where we have been and keep our focus on where we are going.

I love these words from Isaiah, but something is missing in them. When I read more closely, I realize that Isaiah isn’t worried about convincing people that this is the right thing. He doesn’t seem to be concerned that they might be anxious about taking a new path. He certainly doesn’t worry that God’s people will share the emotions that I feel almost every time I face a new way—that strange blend of deep and real and true excitement mixed with a healthy and honest dose of fear. And he doesn’t spend a lot of time wondering how to get them to accept this challenge—it seems almost a given that they would welcome this new way.

And that makes a lot of sense in the original context of the prophet’s words. The people of Israel were desperate to be back in control of their own destiny, to set aside foreign leadership and feel that they had power again, to come back home and get things back to normal once again. They were ready to sing songs of praise and joy, as in our psalm for today—they were like those who dream, with mouths filled with laughter, tongues with shouts of joy, and praises echoing among the nations.

Yet for us, the promise of something new is not always so joyful. Since we are generally well-off and without difficulty, change means that something that has at least felt settled in our world will have to be made new. We are afraid of what this new thing will mean for the past and present that we know and love—or that we just know and expect to not love! We struggle to change our plans and our ways to make space for something more than what we have always known. And we wonder how much we will have to change in order to adapt to the new thing. How soaked will we be when this drizzle ends, and how much drying off will we have to do? Can we just stay a little dry and keep even a little of this new thing out of our lives? Or even better, can things change without getting us wet at all?

The reality is that God’s new way changes everything about us. We spend these forty days of Lent preparing for Easter not because we like to beat ourselves up, not because we need to know what it is like to be thirsty every now and then, and not even because we are sinful people who need to change our ways. No, we set aside this time of penitence and preparation because the new thing ahead—the Easter of joy and gladness, this new day of resurrection—inaugurates a new way of life in our world, and we have the opportunity to join in.

When the new thing that God is doing really sinks in, when the little drizzle of grace that we sometimes even struggle to feel on our faces starts to soak us through and through, when we recognize how the waters of baptism have seeped into us and changed us as much as we might have tried to resist them, we start to perceive what God is doing in our midst. We start to see the way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. We see a new path emerging just where we thought we were staring into an abyss. We watch as God opens unexpected doors, offers us unusual opportunities to give honor and praise, and shares the crisp gift of the water of life with us all.

So as we make our way through these final Lenten days, as tomorrow night we begin conversations about our future as a congregation and wonder what new path God may offer us, as we look for a way forward for our congregation and even more for the life of faith in the midst of a world that is changing even as it is longing for something new, may God’s amazing grace soak us through and through so that we may be a part of the springs of new life in our weary world, the way of hope in the wilderness of our lives, the rivers of justice in the desert of our world, and the gift of the water of new life for all those who seek something new.

So may we be wet with the abundant mercy of God’s love, now and always.

Amen.