On Beginning Again--April 5, 2024
"When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Judeans, Jesus came and stood among them and said, 'Peace be with you'." [John 20:19]
It had to have been hard for Jesus to see them again, you know?
As many times as I have read this story or heard it preached (and this is the beginning of a story we hear literally every year on the weekend after Easter Sunday), I don't think I had ever really thought about it this way. But it had to have been difficult--even painful--for Jesus to see these guys again, because of how they had left things.
When Jesus appeared on Easter Sunday morning to the women, and in particular to Mary, there outside the tomb (see John 20:11-18), that moment didn't bring the same baggage. The women, after all, had not abandoned Jesus. The women kept their vigil there, not just through the last night in the upper room, but even at the foot of the cross itself. They didn't deny Jesus. They didn't swear up and down to him how they would pledge their allegiance to him, only to swear just as forcefully around the charcoal fire that they didn't know him, like Simon Peter had. The women, at least had not hurt Jesus so deeply as the likes of Peter, James, John, Andrew, Matthew, and the rest--you know, the guys we usually name churches after.
The eleven had all broken Jesus' heart and scattered when he most needed someone to walk with him through the fear and darkness of Thursday night in the garden. So it had to have been difficult for him to face them again at all. And yet--he knew that they needed hope when they were trapped by their own fear. So he shows up for them... even within locked doors.
And the first words out of his mouth tell them that he has set aside all the old hard feelings: "Peace be with you." Jesus makes the first move to reconcile with the disciples who had let him down so badly, knowing that they will never be mature enough (or brave enough) to seek reconciliation with him first. The risen Jesus does indeed still bear the scars from what he has endured--but he does not bear grudges from it.
This is another part of the resurrection story that needs to be heard. Certainly, the news of Easter is evidence of the hope of life beyond the grip of the grave, but it is also the assurance of reconciliation beyond the deathly chasm labeled, "Too Late." Jesus doesn't just rise from the dead and go up to heaven alone, giving the Eternal Silent Treatment to the disciples who had abandoned him. He vulnerably seeks them out, letting them know that he does not bear them any ill will, and in fact, that he brings peace to them. He brings them the thing they needed most but could not manufacture for themselves, trapped as they were inside the doors locked by their own fear.
And if we are going to hear this story rightly, then, it means that the risen Jesus bears no ill will or grudges toward us, either, even though our ongoing struggle with sin means that we keep grieving Jesus. We know he calls us to love neighbors and enemies alike, and yet we struggle with stingy hearts that cannot spare compassion to people--but Jesus hasn't given up on us. We know that Jesus has called us to a life of care for others, and in spite of that, we keep looking for ways to ignore the needs of the world around us and to baptize our apathy--but Jesus hasn't stopped talking to us. We keep crying out for Barabbas and his brand of religious nationalism rather than for Jesus' way of self-giving love--and yet, Jesus hasn't given up on choosing us. Jesus keeps finding us, even when we are walled up inside our own fear and trapped by the bridges we have burned, and starts over with us. He will not let our own estrangement with him from our side be the last word. And no, not even death will prevent him from finding us again and beginning again.
Now, to be sure, in our own lives, there are times when the ones who have hurt us--or whom we have hurt (and it's usually a matter of both)--are not able to reconcile with us. Sometimes we can't bring ourselves to face the ones who have caused us harm. And sometimes we cannot muster the courage to admit and make amends for the harms that we have caused. It is not mine to tell anybody that the marriage that ended, or the friendship that was strained into oblivion, or the partnership that dissolved, just needs some emotional duct tape and elbow grease to be put back together. There are indeed times when our best attempts to mend a relationship fall apart. And sometimes the least-worst option we have in life is not to go back to a situation that would be toxic all over again right from the get-go. But a story like this insists that what may be impossible for us is still perfectly possible for the Risen One. And moreover, this story shows us that Jesus is not only "able" (in the hypothetical sense) to reconcile with the ones who had betrayed and abandoned him, but that he actually does it. It is not merely a thought experiment, but reality. He shows up, not waiting to be invited in, but taking the initiative himself, and he tells the ones who had left him for dead, "I have come for you. I am here to bring you peace."
It is never too late for Jesus, then. And maybe that breathes life into the places in our own relationships where we had given up hope of ever reconciling or making amends. At the very least, this moment from John's Gospel tells us that the moment we are certain we have locked the doors to keep everyone out is the moment Jesus reserves the right to appear in our midst, ready to bring the reconciliation for which we had given up hope.
What doors might Jesus appear within today?
Lord Jesus, come where you will and resurrect our dead relationships as well as these bodies and hopes.
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