Year C: Pentecost Sunday: Jesus Appeared to the Disciples (John 20:19-23)

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

As I stand before you today in this sacred space where we have gathered to worship our risen Lord, my heart is filled with both profound joy and deep contemplation. We find ourselves just days after celebrating the most glorious moment in human history – the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ from the dead. The empty tomb stands as the ultimate testament to God's power over death, sin, and despair. Yet even as we rejoice in this magnificent truth, I want us to journey together into a moment that occurred on that very first Easter evening. This moment speaks directly to the human condition we all share.

Today, we turn our hearts and minds to the Gospel of John, chapter twenty, verses nineteen through twenty-three. These five verses contain within them an entire universe of meaning about fear, faith, peace, and the transformative power of Christ's presence in our lives. As your shepherd in Christ, I want to walk with you through this sacred text, not as distant observers of ancient history, but as fellow disciples who still struggle with doubt, who still lock our doors against fear, and who desperately need the peace that only Jesus can provide.

Let me begin by painting the scene for you, because understanding the context helps us grasp the profound significance of what unfolds. Picture, if you will, a small, dimly lit room in Jerusalem. The sun has set on that first Easter Sunday, and darkness has begun to settle over the holy city. Behind locked doors – and John is particular about this detail – the disciples have gathered. These are not the bold, confident apostles we might imagine. These are frightened men whose world has been turned completely upside down.

Just three days earlier, they had watched their beloved Master, their teacher, their friend, their hope for Israel's redemption, die the most horrible death imaginable on a Roman cross. They had seen Him beaten, mocked, spat upon, and tortured. They had witnessed His final breath and watched as His body was taken down and laid in a tomb. Their dreams had been shattered, their faith tested beyond measure, and their courage had failed them so completely that they had abandoned Him in His darkest hour.

But now something even more confusing and frightening has happened. Earlier that morning, Mary Magdalene had come running to them with the impossible news that the tomb was empty. Peter and John had raced to see for themselves, and indeed, they found nothing but empty grave clothes. Then Mary had returned with an even more incredible story – she claimed to have seen Jesus alive, to have spoken with Him, to have been commissioned by Him to tell the disciples that He was ascending to His Father.

Can you imagine their state of mind? They were caught between impossible hope and rational disbelief, between the testimony of their trusted friend and the evidence of their own eyes that had seen Jesus die. And underneath it all was a very real and present fear for their own lives. If the Jewish authorities and the Romans had crucified their Master, what would prevent them from hunting down His followers? The doors were locked not just against confusion and grief, but against very real physical danger.

It is into this scene of fear, confusion, and desperate need that Jesus comes. And how He comes! John tells us, "Jesus came and stood among them." There is something beautifully simple yet profoundly mysterious about these words. He didn't knock on the door. He didn't call out from outside. He didn't wait to be invited in. The locked doors that seemed so secure against the dangers of the world posed no barrier whatsoever to the risen Christ. He appeared in their midst, present among them in a way that transcended all physical limitations.

My dear friends, I want you to understand that this is not merely a historical curiosity, but some interesting detail about the nature of resurrection bodies. This is a profound truth about how Christ continues to come to us today. How often do we find ourselves behind locked doors of our own making? We lock the doors of our hearts against pain because we've been hurt too many times. We lock the doors of our minds against hope because disappointment has taught us to expect the worst. We lock the doors of our souls against God's love because we feel unworthy, unclean, or too broken to be fixed.

But here is the glorious truth that this passage proclaims: no door we can lock is strong enough to keep Christ out. No barrier we erect, no wall we build, no defense mechanism we employ can prevent the risen Lord from entering our lives when we need Him most. He comes not as an intruder breaking down our defenses, but as the loving Savior who knows that our locked doors are prisons we've built for ourselves.

And what are the first words that fall from His sacred lips? "Peace be with you." Not "Why did you abandon me?" Not "Where was your faith when I needed you?" Not "How could you doubt after all you had seen?" No, His first words are words of peace, of blessing, of love that knows no conditions and sets no prerequisites. This is the heart of our God – not condemnation for our failures, but peace for our troubled souls.

But let us not pass too quickly over this word "peace," because the peace that Jesus offers is not merely the absence of conflict or the temporary calm that comes when our circumstances improve. The Greek word John uses here is "eirēnē," which encompasses wholeness, completeness, harmony, and well-being at the deepest level of human existence. This is the peace that surpasses all understanding, the peace that can exist even amid storm and trial, the peace that comes from knowing that we are held in the hands of a God who loves us beyond measure.

This peace is desperately needed in our world today. We live in times of great uncertainty, when it seems that the foundations of society are shaking, when fear and division seem to rule the day, when the future appears uncertain and threatening. Like those first disciples, we often find ourselves behind locked doors – doors of anxiety about the future, doors of bitterness over past hurts, doors of despair about the state of the world. And into our locked rooms of fear and confusion, Jesus still comes with that same gentle but powerful word: "Peace be with you."

But Jesus doesn't stop with words, profound as they are. John tells us that "He showed them his hands and his side." This detail might seem simple, but it contains depths of meaning that could occupy us for hours. By showing them His wounds, Jesus is doing several crucial things simultaneously.

First, He is proving His identity. This is not some ghost or vision or hallucination. This is the same Jesus who was crucified, bearing in His glorified body the very marks of His passion and death. The wounds that had been instruments of death have become, in the resurrection, proof of life. The scars that spoke of defeat now proclaim victory. The marks that had been signs of human cruelty have been transformed into eternal testimonies of divine love.

Second, He is revealing the nature of His victory over death. He has not simply returned to His previous life, as if the crucifixion were merely an unfortunate interruption to His earthly ministry. No, He has passed through death and emerged victorious on the other side, bearing in His body the permanent record of what it cost to win that victory. His resurrection is not an erasure of the cross but the vindication of it.

Third, and perhaps most beautifully, He is showing them that their wounds, their failures, their scars do not disqualify them from His love and service. If the risen Lord can bear His wounds as badges of honor, then our brokenness, acknowledged and surrendered to Him, can become sources of strength and compassion for others.

How often do we try to hide our wounds from God, as if He doesn't already know about them? How often do we disqualify ourselves from His service because we feel too damaged, too scarred, too broken? But Jesus, by showing His wounds to His disciples, is teaching us that our scars can become sources of ministry, our pain can become pathways to helping others, and our brokenness can become bridges of understanding and compassion.

The text tells us that when the disciples saw the Lord, they rejoiced. What an understatement! Can you imagine the explosion of joy that must have erupted in that room? The impossible happened. Their beloved Master was alive, standing before them, speaking to them, showing them His wounded hands and side. All their grief was transformed to joy, all their fear to courage, all their despair to hope in a single moment of recognition.

But Jesus is not finished with them yet. He speaks again, repeating His greeting: "Peace be with you." Why the repetition? Perhaps because peace is something we need to hear repeatedly. Probably because the peace of Christ is not a one-time gift but a continuous blessing that needs to be renewed daily, hourly, moment by moment. Perhaps because, even in their joy, Jesus knew they would need this peace for what was coming next.

And what comes next is one of the most significant commissioning statements in all of Scripture: "As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you." These words link the disciples' mission directly to Christ's mission. They are not being sent out as mere teachers, moral reformers, or social workers, as important as those roles might be. They are being sent as Christ was sent – as bearers of divine love, as ambassadors of reconciliation, as instruments of God's redemptive work in the world.

But notice the pattern: first peace, then mission. First, the gift of Christ's presence and blessing, then the call to go and serve. We cannot give what we have not received. We cannot bring peace to others if we do not possess it ourselves. We cannot be effective ambassadors of Christ if we have not first been transformed by His presence in our own lives.

This is a crucial lesson for all of us who seek to serve Christ in our generation. Whether we are called to formal ministry or to serve Him in the secular workplace, whether our mission field is across the ocean or the street, whether we minister to hundreds or to just our family members, the pattern remains the same. We must first receive His peace, allow His presence to transform our fear into faith, and then we are ready to be sent as He was sent.

But even this is not the end of Christ's work with His disciples on that first Easter evening. John records that "he breathed on them and said to them, 'Receive the Holy Spirit.'" This simple act carries profound theological significance. Just as God had breathed into Adam the breath of life and man became a living soul, now Jesus breathes upon His disciples, and they receive the spiritual life of a new and higher order.

This breathing upon them is an act of new creation. The disciples are being transformed from fearful, confused, doubting men into apostles equipped for the mission ahead. The Holy Spirit that Jesus imparts to them is not merely a helpful addition to their natural abilities; it is the very power of God dwelling within them, enabling them to be and do what they could never be or do in their strength.

And immediately Jesus tells them about the purpose for which this spiritual power is given: "If you forgive the sins of any, they have forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld." This is not a statement about the disciples' authority to arbitrarily decide who receives forgiveness and who doesn't. Instead, it is a declaration of their role as ministers of the gospel of reconciliation.

The disciples, empowered by the Holy Spirit, are being commissioned to proclaim the good news that forgiveness is available through Christ. When they faithfully declare God's offer of forgiveness to those who repent and believe, that forgiveness is real and practical. When they faithfully warn that those who reject Christ's offer of salvation remain in their sins, that warning is tragically accurate.

This commission extends to all who follow Christ. We are all called to be ministers of reconciliation, to share the good news that peace with God is possible through Jesus Christ. We may not all be ordained clergy, but we are all commissioned to bear witness to the transforming power of Christ's love in our lives.

My dear brothers and sisters, as we reflect on this magnificent passage, I want us to consider how it speaks to our lives today. Like those first disciples, we live in times of uncertainty and fear. Like them, we sometimes find ourselves behind locked doors of our own making. Like them, we struggle with doubt and confusion, with broken dreams and shattered hopes.

But the same Jesus who appeared to them in that locked room appears to us today. He comes through the closed doors of our hearts with the same message: "Peace be with you." He shows us His wounds, not to increase our guilt, but to assure us of His love. He rejoices when we recognize Him, and He sends us out as He was sent – as bearers of His peace, His love, His forgiveness to a world that desperately needs all three.

The peace that Jesus offers is not dependent on our circumstances. It is not contingent on our understanding. It is not earned by our good behavior or forfeited by our failures. It is the gift of His presence, available to all who will open the doors of their hearts to receive Him.

The mission He gives us is not burdensome but joyful, not impossible but empowered by His Spirit. We are not called to convert the world through our eloquence or to save souls through our efforts. We are called to be faithful witnesses to what He has done in our lives, to share His peace with those who are troubled, to offer His forgiveness to those who are burdened by guilt.

And the Spirit He breathes upon us is not a feeling that comes and goes but the very presence of God dwelling within us, transforming us day by day into the image of Christ, empowering us for service, comforting us in sorrow, guiding us in decisions, and assuring us of our eternal hope.

As we prepare to leave this place of worship and return to our daily lives, let us carry with us the message of this passage. Let us unlock the doors of our hearts and invite Jesus to enter with His peace. Let us receive His commission to share His love with others. Let us breathe deeply of His Spirit and allow Him to transform us into the people He calls us to be.

Let us go forth not as fearful people hiding behind locked doors, but as joyful disciples who have seen the Lord and been sent by Him into the world. Let us be bearers of His peace in a world filled with turmoil, ambassadors of His love in a society marked by division, and ministers of His forgiveness in communities broken by sin and guilt.

And let us never forget that the same Jesus who appeared to those first disciples continues to appear to us today, continues to speak His peace over our lives, continues to commission us for service, and continues to breathe upon us His life-giving Spirit. He is not a figure from ancient history but our living Lord, not a character in an old story but our present Savior, not a memory from the past but our hope for the future.

May the peace of Christ, which surpasses all understanding, guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. May you go forth knowing that you are loved beyond measure, forgiven beyond deserving, and called to a purpose beyond your imagination. And may the same Jesus who said to His first disciples, "Peace be with you," speak that same peace into your heart today and every day.

In the name of the XFather, and of the XSon, and the XHoly Spirit. Amen.