Peace Breaks In (MPLS)

John 20:19-23

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.’

I went to the grocery store late one afternoon. Maybe I should say, I was sent to the grocery store that afternoon. We were having company. Brenda needed me to pick up a half dozen items. She asked if she should make a list. “Nah, I got this!” I said, “I’ll remember.” But as spouses sometimes do, I was listening with only half an ear. And sure enough, when I got to the store, there were a couple of items on the list that I couldn’t remember to save my soul. But did I call home to ask what they were? No, that would have been like admitting defeat. Rather, I walked around the store picking up everything I could think of that we normally buy. And I came home not with a half dozen items, but with a half dozen bags crammed full of groceries. And as luck would have it, the two forgotten items—ketchup and celery—were nowhere to be found. That day I learned a valuable lesson: There’s a big difference between those who are sent and those who just went.  

The door to the room holding the disciples is dead-bolted shut. Inside are some anxious followers of Jesus. They’re straddling the fence between faith and fear. They don’t look at all like a group that’s about to turn the world upside down. Hardly. They’re uneducated. They speak with thick Galilean accents. They have few social graces. On top of everything, the leader of their movement has just died a horrible death. Fear and despair are the order of the day. As you look at this motley crew, you’re not sure if they’ve trying to lock the world out or themselves in. And it’s hard to imagine that they’re going to be sent anywhere.

But then something amazing happens. They get a visit from the one person they’re least expecting. Moreover, he passes right through their tightly locked doors. They blink. They’re not sure if it’s a ghost or a dream or something else. As Jesus opens his arms to greet them, they notice fresh wounds on his hands.  Could it be him?  Peace breaks in. Jesus breathes on them, implying that he’s passing his Spirit on to them, or maybe better, he’s passing his Spirit in to them. And Jesus speaks words that will mark them forever, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

And send them he does—to villages and cities, to courtyards and synagogues, to prisons and palaces. They go just about anywhere. They tell about the Nazarene who has died and come back to life. What happens is really quite remarkable: the spirit of the Risen Christ comes into this not-ready-for-primetime band of believers, and suddenly they’re on a mission for God.

Do you know what this story tells me? The antidote to despair is not success; it’s mission. Easter has a way of making people come alive. Right here the disciples are called to unlock their doors and step out into the world in hope. They are sent, indeed summoned, to go into the future with confidence, trusting that the risen Christ goes before them. And finally, it’s the work they are given to do that lights a fire in their hearts and fills them with boldness.  

Now, please don’t think it was easy for those early disciples. Don’t think they were never afraid again, because they were. Don’t think they never argued over which direction to go, because they did. Don’t think they were never tempted to quit, because they were. It’s not easy to be sent into a world that isn’t really sure if it wants what you have to offer.  

Over the last few decades, Tony Campolo was a sociology professor at Eastern University. He was also a Baptist preacher. One day he was in Philadelphia speaking to a group of college students. If you’ve never heard Tony preach, suffice it to say, you’re not likely to fall asleep. He shouts and pounds the pulpit with the best of them. On this particular morning, he preached for about an hour. When he had finished, the students were standing and shouting Amen.  Tony asked, “Okay gang, are you ready to go out there and tell ‘em about Jesus?” “Yeah,” they shouted back, “let’s go.” They were going on a mission for God. They had been sent.

This is how one of the students describes the experience: “We spilled out of the church and onto a bus. We were singing and clapping. But then we began to drive deeper into the depths of the city. We weren’t in a great neighborhood to begin with, but it got worse. Gradually we stopped singing and everyone just stared out the windows. We were scared.

“Then the bus pulled up before one of the worst housing projects in Philadelphia. Tony jumped out of the bus, opened the doors, and said, ‘Alright gang, get out there and tell ‘em about Jesus.’ We made our way off the bus hesitantly and spread out. I walked down the sidewalk and stopped before a huge tenement house. I gulped, said a prayer, and ventured inside. There was a terrible odor. Windows were broken. No lights in the hallway. I walked up a flight of stairs toward a door where I heard a baby crying. Ever so quietly, I knocked. Deep down I was hoping that no one inside would hear me.

“’Who is it?’ said a gruff voice inside. Then the door opened a crack and a woman holding a naked baby peered out at me. ‘What do you want?’ she asked. I told her I wanted to tell her about Jesus. With that, she swung the door open and began cursing at me. She cursed me down the hall, down the flight of steps, and out to the sidewalk. I felt terrible. ‘Look at me,’ I said to myself. ‘Some Christian I turned out to be. How in the world could somebody like me think that they could talk about Jesus?’ I sat down on the curb and cried.

“After a while, I looked up and noticed a store on the corner. The windows were boarded up, there were bars over the door, but it was open for business. I went into the store and looked around. Then I remembered that the baby had no diapers and the mother was smoking. So, I bought a box of disposable diapers and a pack of cigarettes. I’d never bought either before. I went back to the tenement house, said a prayer, and knocked.

“’Who is it?’ said the voice inside. When she opened the door, I slid the box of diapers and the cigarettes inside. She looked at them, looked at me, and said, ‘Come in.’ I stepped into the dingy apartment, sat down on the old sofa, and began to play with the baby. I put a diaper on the baby, even though I’d never put one on before. I stayed there all afternoon, talking, playing with the baby, listening to the woman’s problems. About 4:00 o’clock, the woman looked at me and said, ‘What’s a nice college boy like you doing in a place like this?’ So, I told her everything I knew about Jesus. Then she said, ‘Pray for me and my baby, that we can make it out of here alive.’

“That evening, after we were all back on the bus, Tony asked, ‘Well, gang, did any of you get to tell ‘em about Jesus?’ And I said, ‘I not only got to tell ‘em about Jesus, I met Jesus along the way. And he asked me to be his disciple.’”

Friends, here’s the deal: If you are one of Jesus’ disciples, sooner or later he’s going to pass through whatever door is either keeping the world out or yourself locked inside. He’s going to share his peace with you. And then he’s going to say this: As the Father has sent me, so I send you.  Oh, he might not send you to a tenement housing project, but who knows, he might send you to any number of places, and you may or may not feel safe in going there. I mean, he may send you: to build a Habitat House; or to bring a hotdish to a family down the street who lost a loved one; or to share communion with one of Bethlehem’s homebound members; or to listen to the political views of an argumentative family member at a backyard barbecue; or to volunteer at Channel One food shelf; or to make an effort to get to know a neighbor who doesn’t have your skin color. Wherever Jesus might send you, your job as his disciple is to work for him—to be his eyes and ears and hands and feet. It comes down to this: Whatever real success you have in your efforts will be measured finally in how well you serve Christ; not anyone else, but only him.  

Let’s be honest: we live in a world that’s filled with uncertainty. COVID hasn’t been helping. Just unlocking the door and heading out in the morning is bound to involve risk. Like those early followers of Jesus, we may be tempted to stay inside where it feels safe and secure. We tell ourselves that we don’t have much to offer. We may think this Easter business is really only about us and our church. In the process, though, we forget that we have been sent to those who don’t know the story, and to those who aren’t sure if they care about it or not. We have been sent to those who could use a helping hand. We have been sent to those who are discouraged and who aren’t sure where to turn next.

Friends, if you are looking for an antidote for despair, try mission. Try reaching out to someone who could use what you have to offer. Say a pray, take a deep breath, and go. It’s the difference between those who are sent and those who just went. If you go, Christ will give you his greatest in your least, and never fail. Amen.