Sermon for 2nd Sunday of Easter – John 20:19-31

Last week I wrote a greeting card for a friend’s birthday. Naturally I waited until the day of, so I had to drop it off at his house. I think I put it off because it was so awkward. He lost his wife to covid some months back, and the family’s still struggling with it. I struggle in these situations because it feels weird to celebrate in the middle of such sadness, but I did my best. Just as I was walking to his mailbox, he saw me and came outside to talk. That was nice. He mentioned that since his wife’s death, he’s been a hermit, not really wanting to talk to folks. And it reminded me of when my mom died a few weeks ago. My sister told me how she was getting calls from a bunch of the cousins, but she wasn’t answering because she just didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Have you ever felt like that? You lose someone you love and then you just want to lock out the world?

This is what kept running through my mind as I studied this week’s gospel reading. Jesus was dead and buried. That morning, Mary and a couple of the disciples had discovered the stone rolled away and tomb empty. But that evening, the disciples are gathered in secret behind locked doors. On the one hand, it makes sense, because they’re afraid. They witnessed the authorities arrest and kill Jesus. What’s to stop them from doing the same thing to all of Jesus’ accomplices? On the other hand, it doesn’t make sense, because Jesus has been raised just like he promised. Death should be nothing to fear. Now, it’s easy to start judging the disciples for not being faithful, but that kind of glosses over the heavy grief of losing Jesus. He meant everything to them and now he’s just gone. He’s only been dead for three days. Who could move on this quickly? So maybe shutting out the world is also a way to keep things as they are. Maybe they even resent Mary telling them that she saw the Lord. They’re not ready to hear that.

But then Jesus appears in their midst. He pushes the issue. Though, you notice that it’s not enough for him to say “peace be with you.” Jesus actually has to show them his wounds before they can even recognize him. Except Thomas is missing. So afterwards they tell Thomas what happened, but he says, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” So the next week, they all gather again in secret behind the same locked doors and Jesus re-appears to grant Thomas his demand. Now, it’s weird when we focus so much on Thomas’ doubt, because the rest of the disciples are just as skeptical. I mean, Jesus isn’t an exhibitionist. He doesn’t just show off his wounds because he can. It’s because he knows they all want to see the wounds too. The only difference is that Thomas actually confesses it out loud. And who’s to say the others’ skepticism didn’t come roaring back in that week? Grief comes in waves, why not doubt too? So here’s the thing. What if this skepticism isn’t so much about whether resurrection is real. What if skepticism is really just a way we protect ourselves against further pain? Mary could be hallucinating. So, skepticism is like raising the stakes so high that it could never be true, because what if it’s a lie? If Jesus would just stay buried, then at least they could come to grips with what’s happened and move on with their lives.

Except, they’re not ready to move on either. When we’ve been hit by this kind of grief and loss, we feel like time somehow stops. We feel stuck. And we resent how the rest of the world seems just keeps moving as if nothing happened. It’s so alienating. But we can’t stand to feel that powerless, so we isolate ourselves because our hearts refuse to let go of what was taken from us. Maybe because at the end of the day, we can’t help but resent the God who gives and takes. It never seems fair. After all, what kind of God would let God’s only Son be crucified on a cross? The God who just takes away the one who meant everything to the disciples and left them to fend for themselves. So maybe deep down, locking that door wasn’t just about locking out the world, but even locking out God, because God can’t be trusted. I’m not sure we’re any different. What has God taken away from us that we still can’t let go? How do we try to protect ourselves? At the end of the day, we don’t trust God any more than the disciples. Except if we don’t trust God, then what’s left?

What’s left is Jesus, God’s only Son, who trusted God in our behalf because he knows we don’t. So he goes to the cross, to suffer, to die, and still he rises in the glory of his resurrection. Not like a vision or a ghost, but as real flesh that will never die. So he comes to his disciples, in their despair and hopelessness, because he won’t let any door or lock or anything in heaven or earth stand between him and his beloved. He knows they’re skeptical, but he never condemns them. He forgives them by inviting them to touch his hands and side so that their sadness would be turned to joy. Not because he had to. Not because they asked. Only because he loves them that much. And he does the same for us, by coming to us in his living Word and Holy Sacrament, so that we would taste and see the goodness and faithfulness of our Lord.

But Jesus isn’t done. He breathes the Holy Spirit into his disciples to make faith in them, so that they might “not doubt, but believe.” Then he gives them his Word of forgiveness to speak to others for the same reassurance. This is why Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” It’s not a rebuke, but a promise. We’re living proof of that. We’re blessed because we have not seen, and yet have come to believe, strictly by Jesus’ gift of faith. Neither our deepest fears nor the locked doors of our hearts can block that. Even still, Jesus knows that faith dissipates. Monday through Sunday is a hard road. So, he keeps coming back to his disciples, to sustain them by his Word and Spirit. That’s why our gospel says, “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book.” So he does to us by drawing us into the community of faith, to be present with each other in our joy and our sadness. And here we are.

Then Jesus says one more thing. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Because the disciples won’t stay locked up forever. They’ll head out into the world to teach, heal, and forgive has Jesus has empowered them to do. Sure, they may still fear death, but the glory of the resurrection is a still more surpassing joy. So Jesus sends us too, empowered to do the same works. Of course, unexpected losses will still come our way. Jesus never promised faith would be easy. But may our losses become our gifts, so that when we share our pain and suffering with others, they can trust that we really do know where they have been and where they are going. They can unlock their doors and let us sit with them in their sadness, not isolated, but together as the living body of Christ.