There’s a wonderful story about how a relatively unknown cardinal became Pope.
During the conclave Cardinal Bergoglio offered a reflection upon the familiar image of Jesus standing and knocking at the door. The traditional and pious reading, he noted, is that Jesus is knocking to be admitted, to come into our hearts, to enter our lives. But what if, he said, Jesus is instead knocking for us to come out, to join him in the world outside?[1]
Apparently, it was this moment that prompted the other cardinals to realize Bergoglio was the leader the church needed at the time.
Indeed, throughout his papacy, Francis led the church into the world in surprising and powerful ways. Though his predecessors enjoyed extravagances, he insisted on a simple life in solidarity with the poor and suffering. On Maundy Thursday he washed the feet of prisoners rather than those of other cardinals. His encyclical on climate change was a passionate call for our society to turn from our culture of extraction and domination. He was a fierce advocate for immigrants and refugees. A spokesperson from the Church of the Holy Family in Gaza recalled:
He used to call us at 7 p.m. every night. No matter how busy he was, no matter where he was, he always called. He would ask us how we were, what did we eat, did we have clean water, was anyone injured? . . . It was never diplomatic or a matter of obligation. It was the questions a father would ask.[2]
I’m not saying that Francis’ leadership was perfect. I’m saying that he offered an authentic witness to Jesus, as a representative of a church that has too often been tragically at odds with the ways of our own founder. (And here I mean the church universal, not just the Catholic church.) In a world that is rightfully cynical about Christianity, Francis gave us all another chance to understand what it truly means to claim the name Christian.
In the Gospel of John, the disciples need multiple chances to process what is happening, what resurrection means for them and their world. Mary Magdalene was the first to encounter the risen Jesus at the tomb on Easter morning. She saw the stone rolled away, the linen graveclothes folded up empty. Still, when Jesus appeared, she did not recognize him through her tears. She thought he was the gardener. It was only when Jesus called her by name that she realized he was her beloved Teacher. Today’s story begins late on that same day, Easter evening. The other disciples received Mary’s heartfelt testimony, “I have seen the Lord.”
Clearly, this proclamation did not yet sound to them like good news, like a word of joy, hope, or liberation. We know this because when they gathered it was in fear, behind locked doors. And, even after Jesus appeared to them, offering them peace, showing them his healed wounds, breathing the spirit upon them, and sending them out to continue the work of ministry, they remained unconvinced and immobilized. The very next week when they gathered again, the doors may no longer have been locked, but they were still shut. No one leapt up to answer Jesus’ knock. None of them were quite ready to follow him out into the world.
Jesus repeatedly reassured his traumatized disciples using words that have deep biblical significance: “Peace be with you.” Peace, in the Bible, is much more than an absence of violence. It is shalom—wholeness, wellness, harmony. “Peace be with you” is Jesus’ own proclamation of resurrection. John’s Gospel emphasizes the importance of the disciples seeing and touching the wounds of Jesus. I suspect the Gospel writer wanted to make clear, again, what kind of Messiah Jesus was. He was no military general or superhero. He was a wounded Messiah who was willing to share the pain of creation, who embodied vulnerable love and humble service. The peace Jesus offers us is not an escape from danger or difficulty. It is the gift of calm and connection as we face the worst. This peace is no fragile truce that depends on silences and lies. It is resilient, resistant and boldly truthful.This peace holds our doubt and despair. Its beauty incorporates our flaws. This peace embraces conflict as a source of creative energy, a necessary part of growth and change. The peace of Christ is a divine power of renewal and rebirth that, again and again, bring us another chance at life. At Bible study this week, we scratched our heads a little over the part about forgiving and retaining sins. And then we began to wonder: was this Jesus’ way of calling his disciples to be peacemakers in the world? Was he empowering them to create and sustain community by cultivating the practices that mend relationships—confession and forgiveness, repentance and repair?
Flooding caused by Hurricane Helene devasted the small North Carolina town of Swannanoa. Life is still very difficult for residents there. The post office and grocery store were wiped out, and eight months later, many homes remain damaged. Amid these wounds, however, astonishing beauty has sprung up as well. A local man, Marco Rosenbruck, wanted to lift his neighbors’ spirits. He requested that a company in the Netherlands donate a couple boxes of flower bulbs. Instead, they sent 10,000 tulips, peonies and daffodils. Volunteers planted them in the town park and they are blooming right now. You can see the image here:https://www.npr.org/2025/04/21/nx-s1-5361245/blooming-tulips-become-sign-of-hope-following-devastation-caused-by-hurricane-helene
Friends, Jesus is patiently knocking on our locked rooms full of fear, still today. There’s a reason the Easter season is fifty days long; we need time to absorb the good news of resurrection. There’s always another chance to come alive in new ways. Over and over again, he is offering us God’s peace, breathing upon us the power of the Holy Spirit, and beckoning us to join him in tending a wounded world. Like Marco Rosenbruck and his community, like the tulips, peonies and daffodils they planted, we are here to be signs of new life, messengers of resurrection. We have begun, in the last couple of years, to call ourselves a storytelling church. We all have the gift and the responsibility of telling our own stories. We are each experts about our own lives and our experiences of faith and doubt, hope and cynicism, death and new life. And at the same time, we need to hear the stories of others just as much as we need to tell our own. It is only in community with the rest of creation that we become completely human. We grow through a process of story exchange. We influence, encourage and provoke each other to become more alive and more fully ourselves.
I would love for us to share our stories throughout this Easter season. Will you take a few minutes now to write something in response one of the prompts in the bulletin?
When have you offered, or received, another chance?
When have you found life where you were expecting death?
And then consider offering the gift of your story to the rest of us. You can write a brief sentence or two that can be used anonymously in a prayer or litany. Or you can tell your story during worship. If you feel ready to do either thing, please place your paper in the offering plate today (or email it to me) as a way of letting me know. Peace be with you.
[1] https://www.facebook.com/john.stendahl
[2] https://www.npr.org/2025/04/22/g-s1-62064/pope-francis-gaza-church-palestinian-christians