Sermon for April 12, 2026
Easter 2 A
John 20:19-31
Rev. Karl-John N. Stone
This story of “Doubting Thomas” from John 20 comes every year on the 2nd Sunday of Easter, and the first time I remember preaching on it was April 7, 2002. I was a new pastor. Only eight months and three days earlier I had been ordained, which happened back at my home church, Atonement Lutheran in Queens, NY. The day after my ordination, Beth Ann and I drove to Pennsylvania and settled into the parsonage as we began ministry in our first-call congregations. One month and one week after that, on a beautiful, sunny morning I was driving from the parsonage to my new church, Messiah Lutheran, in the small village of Troxelville, when some strange, unexpected news interrupted the radio broadcast. An airplane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers in New York. We all know now how the story unfolded from there. The fear, the terror, the grief, the depression, the anger, the rage, the shock, the disbelief—all of that and more would soon be making its ugly appearance when the Towers fell, leaving scars that mark the ground of lower Manhattan to this day.
Seven months later, the 2nd Sunday of Easter rolled around. The scars left by the pile of rubble still smoldered at Ground Zero, even as two of its surviving beams stood high on a pedestal forming a makeshift cross. The Metropolitan New York Synod had put out an invitation for pastors from all across the ELCA to come to New York and preach that Sunday—a pastoral visitation on behalf of the whole church to the congregations, church members, and pastors, who were still finding their way through trauma and grief. Over 200 pastors and bishops answered the call, and I was one of them.
So, eight months after my ordination I returned to preach at my home congregation, the place where my faith and growth in Christ had been nurtured for almost 20 years. I hadn’t read the sermon that I preached that day for many years, but last week I decided to find it and see what I had said. I was not expecting the emotional response I would have as I revisited that memory. It wasn’t so much thinking back on the attacks on the Twin Towers, as terrible as that was. What really struck an emotional chord with me as I looked back 24 years ago was the sign of the risen Christ that I saw, which I shared with the people of Atonement Lutheran Church.
Now, I realize that 24 years is a long time ago. Franklin, Wisconsin is a long way from the sidewalks of New York; so is the farmland and mountains around Troxelville, Pennsylvania, for that matter. We perceive these things as large distances of time, place, and space, but for the risen Christ—who appeared to the disciples because they had locked themselves behind closed doors in fear—these distances for Jesus are as if you simply walked out of your house, crossed the street, and visited your neighbor. The risen Jesus is equally present to the past, present, and future.
Here is some of what I preached: “Because it is God himself who went to the cross, who has the marks on his hands and side, and who was buried in the tomb, there is hope. The last thing to be said about Jesus during that first Holy Week wasn’t that he died on the cross, but that he is risen. There is hope for the future. What was Jesus’ response when the disciples were locked away in their room in fear? He came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you’. And he showed them the wounds in his hands and side. And he breathed on them the Spirit of forgiveness, which gives new life in Christ every day. Jesus did not abandon the disciples when they were sad and afraid. It was precisely then that Jesus came into their midst, to comfort them with his peace…. Whenever the crucified and risen Christ shares his peace with us there is hope for the future.”
A little later my sermon addressed the people of my home church as I continued and said: “I want to assure you that your brothers and sisters in Christ in central Pennsylvania have not forgotten you… The Church is the body of Christ for the world. I myself experienced the peace that the risen Christ offers through his body, the Church, in the days and months following September 11th. I received Christ’s peace when the people of my parish came together for two special prayer services and for Sunday worship after those horrible events, and as they asked me how I was doing, and how my friends and family back in New York were doing.
“The peace of Christ that they shared wasn’t just for me though—it was also for you. They’ve offered their prayers for the people of New York; they’ve offered their money for the ongoing work of Lutheran Disaster Response; and they’ve sent fresh Pennsylvania pork to ground zero to feed the recovery workers… Your brothers and sisters in Christ…have not forgotten you because Jesus has not forgotten you, and Jesus continues to use his body, the Church, to share his peace and forgiveness with those who are sad, grieving, angry, shocked, afraid, or in disbelief… Because those first disciples had shared Christ’s peace they had hope. And because we today share Christ’s peace, we have hope. With his peace there is hope.”
Here at House of Prayer, we love to share the Peace of Christ. It might be a bit confusing at times to visitors or supply pastors, that in the middle of our worship we seem to descend into organized chaos, as people wander around the room greeting one another, asking “how are you doing?”, offering a handshake, or fist bump, or hug, or simply a friendly nod while saying “Peace be with you”. What we’re doing is inspired by Jesus in this story from John 20. And what Jesus was doing was more than simply saying “hello”. Jesus was meeting the disciples as they were—in their fear, in their need for forgiveness, in their doubt—and he was letting them know he had not forgotten them. He was assuring them of his continuing risen presence among them. And his risen presence still has the marks of the nails in his hands and the spear in his side. Jesus’ risen body is not perfect—it still has scars—but his scars have been redeemed!
That’s why “Doubting” Thomas can finally believe—he believes when he sees for himself that Jesus is just as wounded as the rest of them. The scars are real; the wounds are real; the fear, the sin, the doubt—all real. Yet none of those things have the last word, because they have been redeemed—we have been redeemed—redeemed and saved by the wounded and risen Jesus who share his peace with us. With his peace, there is hope.
So, when we share the Peace of Christ a little bit later today, we are joining Jesus in doing more than simply saying “hello”. We are sharing the Spirit of our Lord’s risen presence among us. We are assuring one another that he has not forgotten us. Out of that bit of organized chaos, Jesus is forming us into his body for the world. And Jesus cannot have a body if it has no wounds or scars; Jesus is assimilating our wounds and scars into his own.
With them he encourages us: “Do not doubt but believe”. Believe that Jesus will redeem you, with all of your wounds and scars—physical, mental, spiritual; and he will send you—us—the Church—into the world as his risen body, to carry the peace and forgiveness he has already given us, so that we will share it with anyone who needs it. Amen.