20 Apr Sermon for the 2nd Sunday of Easter – Year A

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Sunday 12th April, 2026

Acts 2:14a, 22-32; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31

It goes without saying – but I’m going to say it anyway – that the resurrection of Christ-is is an event unlike any other. It’s not another resuscitation à la Lazarus, but something much bigger and deeper and wider. It’s a God sized event. It’s something new. As the Word hovered over the waters of creation so now the Word Incarnate breathes into being a new reality, one which is still unfolding itself some 2000 years later. Which makes trying to produce something coherent about it all a challenge, to say the least. Still, let’s explore, and see where we end up. 

We open with the disciples – well, most of them – locked behind closed doors, hidden out of fear. Where is their trust? They’ve heard Mary Magdalene’s testimony, the Apostle to the Apostles: I have seen the Lord. Will they, like Thomas, not believe until they see for themselves? 

However, let us not judge too harshly. Hindsight is always perfect: I’m sure none of us would respond to the events of that Thursday and Friday with perfect equanimity. It is appropriate, then, that Jesus’ first words are, “Peace be with you,” as he seeks to calm the storm within each person, saying to them, do not be afraid. And he then backs up this message with his own wounds, as if to show them that he has experienced fear, pain, punishment, violence, despair, death – and has proven, is proving, that he is greater than all of them. 

It’s hard to imagine what a heady mix of emotions must have been in the room at this point: dawning realisation, rejoicing, deep amazement. Some rearranging of mental furniture, to say the least. 

And it’s into this that Jesus again speaks: “Peace be with you.” I imagine this in a different register, something steelier, more resolute, a peace that has cost everything, even life itself. And so a peace that can speak into the maelstrom of emotion, and remind the disciples that it’s Jesus that this is all about: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” A call to a deeper trust, a deeper identification with Christ. Then he breathes the Spirit onto and into them, and this word, breathes, is not innocently chosen. First and perhaps foremost, it’s the same word used in the Septuagint in Genesis 2 to describe the breath of life entering the newly created human being. The Word that was creating then, continues creating here, breathing risen life into a new reality. And also, David Ford points out that this is the same word used of a musician blowing into a wind instrument such as a flute, and this conjures up for me a lovely image of the music of creation, the disciples as those who will continue to faithfully improvise to God’s melody. 

And then comes Thomas – who, we may note, was not hiding behind a closed door. Or at least, not the same one as his fellow disciples. Wherever he was, though, it was not where Jesus had been, and Thomas, understandably, had some Feelings about this. But then, he’s always been the one who pushed at things, who would ask the awkward question: “We do not know where you are going; how can we know the way?”. And the one who, by pushing, has revealed some deep truths about Jesus: I am the Way. So Thomas, a week later, is with the disciples when Jesus again comes to them. And at this point, I imagine a scene of complete mayhem. Thomas’ jaw drops. A chorus of “see, we told you – Jesus, we did tell him, we promise.” 

And again Jesus offers peace. A peace perhaps to calm a turbulent situation – to calm a turbulent Thomas. A peace that establishes that Jesus is not disturbed by doubt. A peace that turns Jesus towards Thomas with such love and tenderness, once again offering himself and his wounds. Come. Look. See. Touch. Trust. You can believe the witnesses. You can trust what they have told you. I am real.

Once again, Thomas’ pushing opens the door to the insight that is the pinnacle of John’s project: “My Lord and my God!”. 

It’s impossible to overstate the importance and impact of this exclamation. At the beginning of John’s gospel, we read those well known words: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” Throughout the gospel, John has carefully put together the evidence to show that Jesus is the living Word, is God made flesh, leading to this moment. Jesus has identified himself in many ways in John’s account: the Way, the Good Shepherd, the True Vine. But this is the first, and only, time that he is named as God. Thomas’ lack of trust has, in the goodness of God, led him to a deeper, greater depth of awareness, a vital insight that pierces to the very heart of things. This Jesus is God, and that changes everything. As we said at the beginning, this is a God-sized event, not a human sized one. 

And having reached this point, John as it were turns to the reader and says, over to you. You have not seen, but you too can go on trusting. You too can go on believing. You can trust these witnesses, and you can trust your own encounters with God, and those of others. 

We catch glimpses of this at work in both of our other readings today. In Acts, Peter, on the day of Pentecost, explains to those who have gathered that he and his companions witnessed the Resurrection, and now speak and act in that power. He quotes from Psalm 16, a psalm which speaks of finding security and joy in God: “the Lord is my chosen portion and my cup…therefore my heart is glad and my soul rejoices; my body also rests secure…in your presence there is fullness of joy; in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” 

We see it too in the encouragement given in 1 Peter: “although you have not seen him, you love him, and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.” To pick on one phrase here: “you are receiving” – this is something which goes on being given to us, a truth and a trust in which we continue to stand, or sit, or lie, each day, so that the joy of the resurrection becomes something we carry with us always. 

If we turn back to John in closing, we might also notice that there is no ‘official’ farewell from Jesus, no ascension, no leave-taking. That’s not to suggest these things didn’t happen; rather I think that John is subtly saying to us that Jesus, in the power of the Holy Spirit that he continues to breath on us today, remains with us, continues to refine us, that we might be drawn deeper into his life, to the ongoing knowledge and love of Jesus, our Lord and our God. Amen.

Sr. Jessica

Barlach, Ernst, 1870-1938. Reunion – Thomas and Christ, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57610 [retrieved April 20, 2026]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:G%C3%BCstrow_Gertrudenkapelle_-_Barlachsammlung_Wiedersehen_1.jpg.