Choosing to believe when we don’t have to
Easter 2B | John 20:19-31
There’s a gap between the empty tomb and this moment. A small one. We fill it easily.
Mary goes from speaking with Jesus, returns to the disciples, and tells them what Jesus has said.
While we know this happens—the text says as much—but we don’t get to see it ourselves. We don’t get to hear about their reactions to the Good News of the risen Christ.
Reactions in the moment—first, to Peter and John’s statements about the empty tomb, and then after, to Mary’s words about Jesus. How he spoke to her. And how he would meet them all back there.
There, in the upper room. The place they last gathered on Thursday evening, hours before the day we’d come to call Good Friday.
The place of the Last Supper. Of the last teachings and communing. The final word on what it is all about.
And also reactions after the moment. How they reacted to the Good News in their own actions.
We don’t see any of this, but we do know it happens. Why?
Because the door is still locked.
It is locked out of fear. Fear that what became of Jesus will become of them, too.
And this isn’t an unreasonable fear. Because they are the insurrectionists that Jesus was killed for leading. And, too, Jesus said that they must be willing to carry their own crosses. His fate would be theirs. Just a little later.
So it isn’t unreasonable that they’ve locked the door. Quite predictable, actually.
But the door is locked after they’ve heard the Good News. After they know Jesus is alive. When they have heard that Jesus will be coming to them.
They have quite literally locked him out.
The locked door is symbolic.
Of their fear. Doubt. Confusion. But most importantly, their separation.
They are isolating themselves from the world, yes, but also from God. From Jesus. And even from each other.
We lock our doors at home because we’re afraid someone will come in! It really isn’t unreasonable to do. And locking mechanisms are standard.
Locking the door is normal and reasonable. But we mustn’t ignore the symbolism we all demonstrate in the 21st Century with our incessant locking up and concern for safety.
This isn’t criticism—or an invitation to rush to another extreme of locking nothing.
It is telling that we do this, however. That we run to the fear and safety polarities. To the reasonable and the unreasonable. To faith and doubt. Like a binary of only two options. Good or evil.
Lock the doors or let anyone in.
The apostles have locked the door on Jesus. Even in the resurrection.
Thomas isn’t the only one doubting here.
They all are.
And it is reasonable.
We ought to sit with that. And most often we don’t. We don’t sit with how reasonable it is to doubt. And fear.
Or how that reasonableness leads us to skip past it—so we can get to the believing. Yeah, yeah, yeah—we’re just being practical. It’s no big deal. What, you want me to be naive?
This is the two-sided coin we make of faith, life, and hope. That on one side is belief and on the other doubt. All one or else the other. Never both and never at the same time.
But we’re wrong about that. It is always both and always at the same time.
That’s why the people closest to Jesus believed. And locked the door. Because they chose to also hold onto unbelief. They wanted an out. Just in case. The moral freedom to say they were always on the bandwagon if it goes well and that they totally weren’t suckers if it doesn’t.
We want to show how faithful and rational we can be at the same time. How much we trust God and our neighbors and also lock the doors.
It isn’t that it must be one or the other. It is that we think it must be one or the other and act like it gets to be both.
And Jesus seems to suggest: What if it’s the opposite?
What if it is both? And yet we are to choose?
When Jesus shows up, he just waltzes through the door. The locking of the door is irrelevant to him. He shows up, calming certain fears and bringing new ones. And he gives them a chance to see. To know. To believe.
They probably believed already. And wanted to hedge their bets. Now…they can’t. He’s there with them.
Thomas famously misses out and wants what they had. So Jesus gives him the same chance. To see, know, believe.
When we read that famous quote, know that it doesn’t condemn Thomas:
“Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”
They all got to see to help them choose to believe. And to let go of the unbelief.
These words are famously for us. That we can believe without seeing the resurrected Jesus in the flesh! That our belief may grow without miraculous proof or absolute certainty.
And I think this is where we lose the thread, because we think faith is a debate between belief and doubt. It’s not. We can’t reason our way into certainty of faith. Nor can we maintain a safety net of unbelief to protect our egos.
We choose to believe.
The beautiful life in Christ. The promise of safety in eternal life.
But we don’t believe as an abstract construct, only with our brains. We believe with our lives, choosing to share in the love of Jesus. In the way of Jesus. Following the path of Jesus.
We are blessed to see the love of Christ in our midst. And blessed, even when we don’t see it.
We are loved by Christ through the people around us. Even when we can’t feel it.
We are inspired by the hope of Christ eternal. Even when we feel lost and confused.
Our faith is not dependent on proof. Nor should it be. It is the air we breathe because it is the hope we receive, the manna we sustain on.
So when we say “Christ is risen!” it isn’t about something we’ve seen, but something we know. It is a truth we speak. The hope we have that fuels our days and inspires our tomorrows.
We say “Christ is risen!” because we choose to believe when we don’t have to. And thankfully, we get to.