Leave this room

Text: John 20:19-31

It might seem like this passage in John’s Gospel is two stories, nearly identical versions, paternal twins. One without Thomas and one with Thomas. In each one, Jesus appears to the disciples who are locked in or shut in a room together. In each one, Jesus greets them saying “Peace be to you.” In each one, Jesus shows them his wounds to verify his identity. And in each one, some one or some many realize at that point that he is the same Jesus that they followed. The same Jesus who just a few day earlier was tried, convicted, and executed cruelly on the cross.

John’s Gospel was the last of the four to be written. Perhaps there were two stories circulating in the community when John wrote down his rendition of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Or perhaps he was including versions from two separate communities.

Either way, there is only one story now, made up of two similar parts. We assume that John has put the parts together for a reason. To indicate some important step in the development of the life of the church and the development of the relationship between God and people, God and us. There is a dramatic tension in the story as it stands. Between the first and the second parts, something happens, something changes, some new order is unfolding.

One thing that might be happening has to do with believing and seeing. Belief and seeing are important to John, so this interpretation makes sense. In that case, the most important line is “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

The emphasis here is on Thomas, usually and unfairly called Doubting Thomas. Unfairly, because he only wants what the other disciples already have: the chance to see Jesus with his own eyes. All the disciples in both stories are understandably non-plussed when Jesus appears. Can this be the real Jesus? Can this be the same one we knew? And all are convinced when they see his hands and side. There are two things different between the two stories, and in this view the important difference is that Thomas is missing from the first story but present in the second.

But the other thing that might be happening here has nothing to do with seeing or believing. Instead, it has to do with mission. The important difference between the two stories is not Thomas’s presence, but that in the first story the disciples are commissioned to continue the work of Jesus in the world, and in the second story they—through the words of Thomas—accept that commission. In this interpretation, the most important line is “Thomas answered him: my Lord and my God.” This is not so much about the identity of Jesus as about his continuing role as master, teacher, and guide for the disciples. From then up to now.

The story describes a contract, which is what a commission is. An offer, an acceptance, a consideration. Jesus makes the disciples an offer. It sounds like an order—commissions do sound like that—but it is an offer nonetheless, as commissions really are. As the Father sent me, so I send you. The disciples may allow themselves to be sent or they may refuse. You may wish to send me, but I may refuse to go. The offer may be denied.

But this offer by Jesus to the disciples is not denied. It is accepted. Though the disciples hesitate in the first story, and though we have to wait a week to learn their decision, when Thomas comes back he speaks for them all. You are my Lord, Thomas says. You are my Lord, I am your subject. The movement of the total story through the two different versions is the doing of the deal, the making of the agreement, and provisioning for its implementation.

Jesus does not leave the disciples without resources. He grants them three. First, he gives them peace. Peace be with you. A valuable gift considering their fear and wonder. Second, he gives them the continuing presence of the Holy Spirit. Receive the Holy Spirit, he says, and he breathes on them. And third, he gives them a power, or an authority. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them. This is a huge power (and it even has a name: the power of the keys—and is one of the few given to clergy on their ordination), though the power as always rests with God. They also get a fourth gift, the foundation for the others: the evidence that Jesus lives and is here.

The story of God and humans in the whole Bible has a trajectory, a story arc, or a motive, or the thing that pulls it forward through all its books. That trajectory is toward peace and freedom. Against fear and bondage. Against anxiety and captivity. Against judgment and toward grace—which is another way to say it.

The resurrection stories are part of that arc. They coincide with that arc. The readings for today mention peace, but they are mostly about freedom. In the reading from Acts, we hear how Jesus is freed from the power of death. It is, it says, part of the plan. In the psalm, we hear how God frees us from the power of fear. In the Gospel reading, how God frees us from the power of unforgiven sins. Jesus himself is a statement by God: you are free from the power of evil.

The disciples are locked in or confined in a room of fear. The door is closed. But earlier in John (in a passage about the good shepherd) Jesus told them: I am the door. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. Jesus both is a door and opens the door.

For Thomas, and for John, belief is not an action, not something we have to strive for or work at or feel bad about not having enough of. Not about doubting and conviction. But instead, it is a consequence of action. Or as in this case, the consequence of accepting the commission Jesus offers. Being convinced, through whatever means and experiences, that Jesus has the authority to make the offer in the first place. As God has sent me so I send you, Jesus says. And then being willing, both because of and in spite of all we know about following Jesus—both the joys and the hardships—to accept the offer. To be freed. To be sent. To open the door and go out.