Readings

Acts 2.14a, 22–32 – Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed the crowd in Jerusalem: ‘You that are Israelites, listen to what I have to say: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with deeds of power, wonders, and signs that God did through him among you, as you yourselves know— this man, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of those outside the law. But God raised him up, having freed him from death, because it was impossible for him to be held in its power. For David says concerning him, “I saw the Lord always before me, for he is at my right hand so that I will not be shaken; therefore my heart was glad, and my tongue rejoiced; moreover, my flesh will live in hope. For you will not abandon my soul to Hades, or let your Holy One experience corruption. You have made known to me the ways of life; you will make me full of gladness with your presence.”‘Fellow Israelites, I may say to you confidently of our ancestor David that he both died and was buried, and his tomb is with us to this day. Since he was a prophet, he knew that God had sworn with an oath to him that he would put one of his descendants on his throne. Foreseeing this, David spoke of the resurrection of the Messiah, saying, “He was not abandoned to Hades, nor did his flesh experience corruption.” This Jesus God raised up, and of that all of us are witnesses.’

John 20.19–end – 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 Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.’ But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said to them, ‘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.’ A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’ Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’ Jesus said to him, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’ Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

Sermon

Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed, alleluia!

There is something deeply human about locked doors because they can symbolise so many different things. In our Gospel reading from John this morning, we find the disciples gathered together behind them, the doors shut, locked, secured, out of fear. Fear of what might happen next. Fear that what happened to Jesus might now happen to them. Fear that everything they had hoped for had come undone.

And perhaps, if we are honest, that image does not feel so distant from our own experience sometimes. There are times in life when we, too, draw the doors closed. Times when uncertainty, grief, disappointment, or anxiety lead us to retreat, to protect ourselves, to keep the world, and perhaps even God, at a distance.

And yet as our Gospel shows us today it is into that very space that the risen Christ comes.

Not when the disciples have sorted themselves out. Not when their faith is strong and confident. Not when they have everything neatly resolved. But while the doors are still locked. “Peace be with you,” Jesus says.

It is a simple greeting, and yet it is anything but simple. Because this is not merely the absence of fear or conflict. This is the presence of Christ himself. This is the peace that comes not from circumstances being easy, but from knowing that death does not have the final word.

And then, significantly, Jesus shows them his hands and his side. The wounds remain. The resurrection does not erase the crucifixion — it transforms it. The marks of suffering are still visible, but they are no longer signs of defeat. They have become signs of victory, of love poured out, of life that cannot be overcome.

And then comes the sending: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

The frightened disciples, still only beginning to understand what has happened, are entrusted with a mission. Not because they are ready, but because they are called. Not because they are fearless, but because they are filled with the Spirit. And breathing on them, Jesus gives them that Spirit, the very life of God, and sends them out into the world.

It is a remarkable moment. From locked room to open mission. From fear to purpose. From hiding to witness.

And yet, as we know, not everyone is there. Thomas is absent. And when he hears the testimony of the others, he cannot accept it. “Unless I see… unless I touch… I will not believe.”

Thomas is often remembered for his doubt. But perhaps we might see something else in him as well — honesty. A refusal to pretend. A desire for faith that is real, embodied, grounded. And a week later, once again, the disciples are gathered. Once again, the doors are shut. And once again, Jesus comes and stands among them. And this time, he speaks directly to Thomas.

“Put your finger here… see my hands… do not doubt but believe.”

There is no rebuke, no dismissal. Instead, there is an invitation. And Thomas responds with one of the most profound declarations in all of Scripture: “My Lord and my God.”

In that moment, doubt is not crushed; it is transformed. It becomes the doorway to deeper faith. And perhaps that is something we need to hear.

Because faith is not always neat or straightforward. It is not always a steady, unwavering certainty. Sometimes it includes questions. Sometimes it involves wrestling. Sometimes it looks like standing in a locked room, unsure of what comes next.

And yet Christ comes, again and again, into those very places.

He does not wait for perfect belief. He meets us where we are. He speaks peace into our fear.
He shows us his wounded, risen life. And he calls us forward.

When we place this alongside our other readings today, a pattern begins to emerge.

In Exodus, the people of Israel stand at the edge of the sea, trapped between the waters ahead and the army behind. Fear again. Uncertainty again. And yet God makes a way where there is no way — opening the sea, leading them through, bringing them into freedom. And on the other side, Miriam leads the people in song: a song of deliverance, of victory, of God’s saving power.

In Acts, Peter stands before the crowd, no longer hidden, no longer afraid, proclaiming boldly that Jesus, whom they crucified, has been raised by God. The same Peter who once denied Jesus now bears witness to him with courage and clarity.

From fear to faith. From silence to proclamation. From death to life.

And at the heart of it all is the risen Christ, who meets his people in their fear and sends them out in his peace.

So what might this mean for us, here, today, on this Second Sunday of Easter? Perhaps it begins with recognising our own locked doors.

What are the places where we feel afraid? Where are we holding back? Where do we struggle to believe that resurrection life is possible? And into those places, Christ comes. Not with condemnation, but with peace. Not with impatience, but with invitation. Not with distance, but with presence. “Peace be with you.”

And then, just as he did with the first disciples, he sends us, because the world needs the witness of resurrection. A witness that says fear does not have the final word. That wounds can be transformed. That death is not the end. That Christ is risen, present, and at work among us.

And perhaps, like Thomas, we are invited not simply to hear that truth, but to encounter it for ourselves. To see. To touch. To know. And to respond:

“My Lord and my God.”

Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed, alleluia!