Sermon for the Second Sunday of Easter, April 27, 2025
Acts 5:27-32+Psalm 150+Revelation 1:4-8+John 20:19-31
Several years ago, an amusing question game popped up, I believe on Reddit, that quickly spread elsewhere, and it still shows up from time to time on my social media feeds. It's this: If you were sending a text message to someone to let them know that you had been kidnapped but it had to be innocuous enough so as not to arouse the suspicions of your kidnapper, what would you say? Someone whose friends all know that he's a couch potato might text, "I'm so excited about running the marathon tomorrow," or a homebody might say, "I can't wait to go out dancing again tonight." If it were me, it would be something a bit more mundane like, "the Oxford comma is stupid" or "I love the Yankees" because people who know me know that I have...opinions on such matters and would never say either of those things.
But what if you had died and risen from the dead? What would you say to let those who know you - who saw you arrested and killed - what would you say to let them know that it was really you? And if you're Jesus, why would the first words you would choose be, "Peace be with you," (John 20:19)? I suppose an obvious guess would be because of course they would be anything but at peace to see this phantom appear. But I don't think that's the only reason. Just a few days ago in the context of this story, just after washing the disciples’ feet and sharing a final meal with them, Jesus had said, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid" (John 14:27). Maybe Jesus thought these words might take them back to their last hours together? Remind them not to worry, to be at peace? Don't be afraid when with every part of your heart and mind you are terrified, traumatized, worried that you might be next?
Jesus had been through the worst that the Roman capital punishment system could throw at him, and here he stood bestowing peace on them. And maybe those words sparked a recent familiar memory among those gathered there. It might have been enough to lower the anxiety in the room at least a little bit.
They were all there, all except Thomas (and Judas, of course, who has exited stage left). Where was Thomas? The rest of them were cowering behind closed doors. Did curiosity about what was going on out in the streets, what people were saying about the events of the past few days, get the best of him? Our text says that that day, the first day of the week which is, in case you are confused, what we know as Easter Day, the day of the resurrection, on that evening, the disciples were locked in their lodgings "for fear of the Jews" (20:19).
As I try to do whenever this comes up, I need to explain that for all the antisemitism that has arisen over phrases like this in John's gospel, we need to understand that he is referring to the Jewish leaders who collaborated with the Roman authorities. This is not a blanket condemnation of all Jews, nor is the statement that we heard in Acts that, "The God of our ancestors raised up Jesus, whom you had killed by hanging him on a tree" (Acts 5:30). In that case, Peter is addressing fellow Jews, a specific set of the Jewish leaders. The Church has done enough harm, and in some quarters continues to, by using scripture to blame all Jews not just for killing Jesus but of missing the boat and losing their place as God's chosen. All of that is antisemitic, and none of it is okay.
So, there are the frightened disciples except for Thomas who may be frightened but isn't letting that stop him. And when he hears that Jesus had appeared to the others, he wasn't just going to take that at face value any more than Peter and John had taken the women's claims that the tomb was empty without seeing it for themselves. And because he needed to see and touch the wounds, he is forever known as Doubting Thomas, as if that's an insult. But Thomas is the stand-in for all of us who have questions we would like to have answered. At that last meal together when Jesus tells them that he going to prepare a place for them and they know the way, Thomas is like, "No we don't" (John 14:3-5). This is the same eager guy who, when Jesus told them that he had to go to Bethany because their friend Lazarus was dead, is ready to go and die, too (11:16). This is also the same Thomas who, tradition has it, traveled to India in the year 52 CE and founded the Christian Church there that we now know as the Mar Thoma Church, one of the oldest Christian traditions that we have.
There are those who will tell you that to be truly faithful you can't have doubts. But faith is not faith without doubts. That would be certainty, and until we shuffle off this mortal coil and meet our Maker, faith that it is all true is what we have. We live as if everything the Gospels tell us is true. And as for me, I would rather live in what sometimes feels ambiguous and uncertain, that is utterly unprovable, than to force my belief into some kind of straitjacket of certitude.
As we baptize these two little ones this morning, we are promising them that we believe that what Jesus said and did is true, that faith is worth staking our lives on, and that we will love them and support them walk with them through whatever doubts and uncertainties they might have. That's the promise we make to them and to each other so that, like Thomas, we can proclaim, "my Lord and my God" (20:28).
God sent Jesus and Jesus sent the disciples. That's us, too. And no matter what comes, Jesus promises peace to those who love him, doubts and all.