Locked Away

John 20:19-29

August 11, 2024 • Mount Pleasant UMC

The doors were shut. Locked tight. The windows were covered and only one lamp was lit in the borrowed room. There was very little conversation, and their moods shifted between anger and sorrow and hope—and fear. The only one who really felt constant hope was Mary, and she was off in the corner by herself. She claimed she had seen Jesus that morning, risen from the dead, but no one else could confirm what she said. Yes, Peter and John had seen an empty tomb, but Jesus they had not witnessed. And so the fear that had been present since Thursday night when Jesus had been arrested, the fear that had increased when they saw him beaten, convicted and murdered—that was all too present in the room. And so the doors were locked, in case the ones who did all that to Jesus came looking for them too (cf. Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 207).

Fear pervades the first part of this story which happens on the night of the first Easter. And fear is something not unknown to the followers of Jesus today. Certainly, we don’t experience exactly the same kind of fear, but we are living in a world that seems increasingly resistant if not even hostile to the Gospel. And there is more to it than that, which is why we are spending a few weeks looking at the question of what it might look like to become whole in a fractured world. We’ve called this series “Mended,” because that is our hope, that through these weeks, all of us might find some sort of mending taking place. I want to warn you, though, that this morning might be difficult for some of us because I want to take a different angle as we look at this Gospel story. Most of the time we rightly focus on the glory of the resurrection but when we do that we miss the very real trauma that these followers of Jesus are going through there in the upper room.

Think about what these men and women have been through just in the last couple of days. They have watched their rabbi, their teacher, their friend be arrested by the Romans, stood by as he was put through a sham of a trial and hid out while he was nailed to a Roman cross. Only a very few of them were there by the cross, but undoubtedly they had all seen enough crucifixions to know exactly how painful his death had been. Even if they didn’t see it with their own eyes, they could imagine the nails in his wrists and in his feet, the life literally dripping from his body, and the mockery he would have gone through. They had experienced the strange three hours of darkness and then heard that he was indeed dead. And, as I said, most of them ran away and hid as this was all happening, maybe even in this very room. It’s possible some of them have been hiding in this room for 3 days now. So there’s fear and regret and shame all layered on top of each other. Then add in the betrayal of one of their own. Judas had turned Jesus in. He had led the soldiers to their place of prayer in the garden, and he had kissed Jesus to show them which one was the rabbi. Then (and I don’t know if they knew this yet or not) he took his own life because of his own shame. Whatever Judas had hoped would happen, it wasn’t this. Judas didn’t just betray Jesus; he betrayed all of them, including himself. Fear. Shame. Betrayal. Depression. Sadness. Loss. Trauma—deep, gut-level trauma. That’s what’s happening here in the upper room on the night of the first Easter.

Many of us know what that is like. You might be feeling it right now. To varying degrees, nearly all of us carry some level of pain, fear or shame deep in our bodies and minds. And it comes from so many different places, so much so that it’s hard for one person to truly relate to the pain of another. Even if you’ve experienced the same sort of trauma, it wasn’t really the same as what your neighbor went through. Today, we’re told, 1 in 5 Americans was sexually molested as a child. 25% of us grew up affected by alcoholism in our families, and 1 in 8 of us witnessed our mother being hit or beaten. And that’s in the general population. Within the Christian population, the sources of trauma go like this: death of a loved one (40%), betrayal by a trusted individual (33%) and domestic violence (21%). “We are surrounded by pain from the past and are very likely carrying it into the present” (Villodas, Good and Beautiful and Kind, pg. 52). We live in a traumatized world, and there are so many things that hold us back from being whole, from experiencing the shalom we talked about last week.

Not to sound simplistic, but trauma generally comes from catastrophic events in our lives. Much of the time, however, the effects of those events go unnoticed because we’re so good at building walls, self-protective barriers, and especially in the church we are good at pretending that everything is all right. I don’t know about you, but I can be having the worst day and if you ask me, “How are you?” I’ll instinctively say, “Fine. I’m good. How are you?” Right? Do you do that, too? We build walls to keep others out and to not let anyone see how trauma has affected us. So those “catastrophic events” generally break down into two areas: “getting what I didn’t deserve, and not getting what I did deserve” (Villodas 56). In other words, sometimes we are affected by things that happen to us that aren’t what we deserve: abuse of any kind, death of a loved one, a divorce or split in our family. The disciples in the upper room are certainly in this category, because every one of them knows Jesus didn’t deserve what happened to him, and they didn’t either. Their fear comes from getting what they (and Jesus) didn’t deserve. But other times we are affected by not getting what we did deserve: neglect or living in an unsafe environment, or as one psychiatrist puts it, “nothing happening when something might profitably have happened” (qtd. in Villodas 57). In both cases, a wound—usually unseen—develops that affects you for a long, long time and can cause you to turn inward, like we talked about last week.

There are a couple of other ideas I want to touch on here before we return to the story in John. One is the idea of transgenerational trauma. My word processor tells me transgenerational isn’t really a word, but it should be because many times trauma is passed down from generation to generation, and in most of those cases, families simply can’t imagine another way to function. Living in trauma is all they know. I knew a woman whose family had a lot of secrets, and to let anyone else outside of the family system know the secrets was considered a betrayal of the whole family. Family was everything, and the secrets had been passed down from generation to generation. Each one of them had received this painful legacy and it was assumed that legacy would be continued. And to this day, in parts of that family, it has been. Old wounds continue to haunt them.

And though there are lots of types of trauma I could touch on, I want to specifically mention sexual trauma, which happens when vulnerable people are not treated as the image bearers of God that they are but instead are treated as objects, sources of pleasure or satisfaction. They are abused and treated as less than human. Women especially, men to a much lesser degree, are victims of this kind of trauma that never goes away and can be triggered without any warning. We’ve heard a lot about it in the entertainment world, but it’s happened in the church, too, and even very recently. But it doesn’t matter where it happens; treating anyone as less than the sacred image bearer of God that they are breaks God’s heart and should break ours as well.

So the disciples are in the upper room on that night, and we’re not told what they were doing, just that they were “together,” which is a very good place to be. We’re going to come back to this idea in a few moments because it’s so important. But here’s the scene: the disciples are there together, maybe praying or maybe just silent, and suddenly Jesus appears, saying, “Peace be with you.” Notice what John says happens immediately after the greeting: “He showed them his hands and side” (20:19-20). This is after the resurrection, when Jesus’ body has been transformed into one made to live forever, when he can literally walk through walls and appear in various places all of a sudden. His body, we know, looks similar yet is different, but he still bears the scars of what humanity did to him. He still has wounds in his hands and his side. How will we know Jesus when we finally meet him in eternity? I think we will know him as the one who has scars. None of the rest of us will; all of our scars will be healed, but Jesus kept his scars. And do you know why I think he did? Maybe you remember what the prophet Isaiah promised about this savior of the world: “He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). Now, that verse has a lot in it and I don’t have time to unpack all of what Isaiah has to say about how Jesus’ death “saves” us this morning. I’m just stopping by this passage to say this: whatever else Jesus’ wounds might heal us of, his wounds can provide healing for our trauma. He kept his wounds, I believe, to tell us that we don’t have to keep ours. He has already taken the worst punishment the world has to offer and come through on the other side. He has wounds so that we can allow ours to heal. By his wounds we are healed, and in that offer of healing we are given a choice: “We can be wounded wounders or wounded healers” (Villodas 59). That same choice is now before the disciples in the upper room. There, filled with shame and broken by what has happened, they have a choice. They can accept the healing offered by Jesus’ wounds and thereby change the world, or they can be like Judas and let their brokenness destroy them. Wounded wounders or wounded healers. 

One of the disciples was not there that night. We don’t know why Thomas was absent on Easter night. Without giving too much away, the series The Chosen gave Thomas a motive for his hurt, pain and absence in the fourth season, but we don’t really know the real story. John apparently didn’t think that was important enough to tell us, but I always like to say: you never know what’s going to happen when you skip church. In this case, Jesus shows up and Thomas wasn’t there! And I think maybe the worst part is Thomas had to wait another week before Jesus showed up for him. I don’t know why; Jesus doesn’t just show up on Sundays. Couldn’t he have visited Thomas on Monday, or even later on Sunday wherever Thomas was? For whatever reason, he chose not to which meant another week of living with his trauma, with his hurt for Thomas. Can you imagine how hard it was to listen to his friends and colleagues talk about Jesus’ appearance on Easter night? Can you imagine how hard he wanted to punch some of them? I’m guessing Peter, he probably wanted to punch Peter, because Peter is rarely quiet. Or maybe, just maybe, the community came around Thomas and held onto him and prayed with him and loved him. Maybe they kept quiet and honored his hurt. Maybe, just maybe, they became wounded healers. I don’t know, but I like to imagine that’s how it happened.

I think I’ve said it here before, but I believe Thomas gets a bad rap and has throughout history. He’s usually called “Doubting Thomas,” as if doubt is a bad thing, but as the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard said: “Only he who doubts can truly believe” (qtd. in Card 209). Doubt is not the opposite of faith. Biblically speaking, disbelief and disobedience are the opposite of faith. Doubt is very often a stepping stone to growing faith (McKnight, John, pg. 320-321). Thomas doesn’t ask for outrageous proof; he simply wants to see what the other disciples have seen, and Jesus grants that request. A week later, Jesus shows up while Thomas is in the room and invites him to touch the wounds. John doesn’t say that Thomas did; all he tells us is that Thomas proclaims his immediate belief: “My Lord and my God!” (20:28). His doubt did not hinder him or keep him from belief. His doubt led him to belief and to a place of healing.

So let me suggest three things that can help us move toward healing, but let me also say that a lot of trauma will never completely leave us. It’s very much like the scar I have on my chest where my heart surgery took place. It will always be there, though I have healed from that planned trauma. It’s a reminder of what happened, but it doesn’t control my daily life. That’s what I’m talking about this mroning; we can find healing and hope even though the wounds are still there. We can move toward shalom.

So, in true preacher fashion, I have three “C’s” for you this morning, and the first is “confess.” That’s a words we usually associate with admitting what we’ve done wrong, but really it just means telling what you know. In the context of trauma it means being honest both about what happened and what you need. It’s Thomas saying, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe” (20:25). As he says that, Thomas is confessing the hurt that came from the abuse the Romans heaped on Jesus, and also sharing what he needs in order to find healing. For some of us, the first piece of confession might be getting to the place where we know what happened is not our fault. You are not responsible for your wounds. You do not deserve the shame that resides within you. Confession in this case means saying, “It wasn’t my fault.”

I knew a person who grew up with very little in terms of financial resources. This person’s family lived, pretty much, paycheck to paycheck and the checks didn’t come in on a regular basis which made any kind of planning hard. There was a lot of shame in being “the poor kid” at school, at church, and so the family tried to pretend they were better off than they were. Growing up, my friend lived with a constant fear that there would never be enough. Shame led to fear which led to an unhealthy concern over money which lead to challenges in relationships with others. My friend felt an inordinate amount of responsibility for the family finances; the first thing needed is a confession: “It’s not my fault” (cf. Villodas 59-63), and maybe a further confession: “It’s also not my responsibility to fix.”

The second word for healing is community. Once Thomas returned to the disciples and learned what he had missed, he stayed with them. For the next week, as far as we can tell, he stayed close to this community that had become like family. He allowed them to be strong for him when he could not be strong himself. And don’t you wonder what they talked about in that week? I would imagine they spent a lot of time remembering the times they had spent with Jesus, recalling what he had taught them and probably even telling stories about the times they messed up. And they probably also remembered what had happened in the weekend before. It was important for them to remember the good times but also the horror and the pain. At this point they did not understand it all yet; they didn’t yet know what it meant. But they knew it was important to get the story right, to be clear on what happened. Making sense of the story was the only way they were going to heal and the only way they were going to be able to share it with others when they figured out what it meant. It was vital that their community stay together, not just out of fear but also to bring about hope.

When we have faced traumatic events, when we have been hurt, the natural thing is to turn inward, to build that wall and keep others out. And that’s exactly what we should not do. Now, I say that while at the same time knowing that I’m the first one to start laying bricks and protecting myself. God made us for community; we need others, especially when we are trying to make sense of our story. That most likely does not mean telling our story to a large group of people. It more likely means we need a small group of trusted friends or maybe even just one close friend with whom we can be ourselves, with whom we can tear down the walls and ask that other person or persons to help us make sense of our story. We need a community; the Biblical record is that we will not survive without it. We need each other. We need to be together which people who will love us without judgment, someone who will just be willing to be present with us. Thankfully, Thomas turned back to his community just at the time he needed it the most (cf. Villodas 63-65).

Then, let me offer the word “care,” which isn’t so much tied to our passage as it is to the reality of our world. We have to take care of ourselves, including our physical body. The larger Biblical story reminds us that our bodies are being redeemed. Contrary to what a lot of people think, in eternity we will not be disembodied spirits floating around on clouds. That’s not Biblical faith. We’re not going to become Casper the Friendly Ghost or angels or anything like that. Angels do not get their wings when a bell rings; I know, I just ruined Christmas for some of you. No, the Bible says our bodies will be resurrected, just like Jesus’ body was. And though we don’t know exactly what that will be like, it does tell us that God values who we are right now. God made us physical beings not just for here and now but for eternity. Even now, Paul says our bodies are “temples of the Holy Spirit”  (cf. 1 Corinthians 6:19) and therefore they are not to be abused. Paul even goes so far as to instruct us, “Honor God with your bodies” (1 Corinthians 6:20). This is when I quit preaching and go to meddling, because that begs the question: do you honor God with your body? “Honor” there is the same word as “doxology,” praise, worship. Does the way we treat our bodies bring glory to God? I can tell you that there are a lot of mornings when I have to get up early so I can make it to cardiac rehab on time, I don’t feel like going. I could easily talk myself out of exercise most mornings. But if I am going to honor God with my body, I have to do what I can to take care of it. Think about that the next time you start to eat a dinner of junk food (not that I’ve ever done that, of course). Honor God with your body because if we’re going to find healing from the hurt we have experienced, a key piece of that is taking care of ourselves (cf. Villodas 65).

Here’s the good news in Thomas’ story: our wounds don’t have the last word. Our trauma does not have to define us. Jesus’ wounds didn’t, and neither did whatever Thomas was going through. Whatever you have been through, whatever wounds you bear (visible or invisible), God can and will bring healing to them if you open yourself to him. And here’s the even more beautiful news: God never wastes anything, not even our trauma, our wounds or our scars. Instead, he will use what you have gone through to make you into a wounded healer who helps bring wholeness to the “wounded and wounding world” (cf. Villodas 68-69). There is nothing—and no one—he can’t use. Thanks be to God!