Easter Hope in a time of death

 Texts: Acts 5.27-32 and  John 20.19-31

So, here we are; the Second Sunday of Easter. The initial joy of Easter morning and a surfeit of chocolate has perhaps subsided a little.  We settle into this new season, trying to grasp what it means to live as people of the resurrection.

And as we gather, we do so with a complex mix of emotions. There’s the persistent echo of Easter joy, yes, but also the very real presence of sadness. We continue to remember John Boulton, whose celebration of life was only two days ago and whose absence is still so tangible in our community. We hold his family and friends in our thoughts and prayers, acknowledging the gap his passing leaves.  And we do so along with the passing of other loved members of our community and families.

Our thoughts also turn naturally to the events of yesterday in Rome – the funeral Mass for Pope Francis. His death on Easter Monday was sudden, and yesterday's farewell brought together world leaders and ordinary faithful in a moment of global remembrance and reflection. It feels significant, perhaps, that just a day after the world formally marked the end of his papacy, we gather here for our own Annual Meeting, reflecting on our small part in the life of the Church Universal.

So, we stand in this space holding local grief for a beloved neighbour and reflecting on the recent farewell to a global spiritual figure, all while trying to live into the Easter message: that mysterious, powerful claim that love is stronger than death, that hope endures beyond loss.

Our readings today meet us right here. In John's Gospel, we find the disciples huddled behind locked doors. It's the very first Easter evening. Resurrection has supposedly happened, but fear and grief are the overwhelming emotions. They've lost their leader in a brutal way, their hopes seem shattered, and they are terrified. The doors are locked fast against a hostile world.

And into that room, saturated with sorrow and fear, Jesus enters. Not breaking down the door, but simply being there among them. His first words? "Peace be with you." Shalom. It's a profound blessing, a deep wish for well-being and wholeness poured into their fractured reality. He acknowledges their state, shows them his wounds – proof that suffering is undeniably real, yet not the ultimate reality – and then breathes his Spirit upon them, commissioning them, turning their grief-stricken huddle into the nascent Church.

We might also remember that profound moment, yesterday, when world leaders gathered around the coffin of the Pope, also shared peace with one another.

But, back to that first Easter day: Thomas wasn't there. Good old Thomas – my namesake, I know! He often gets the label "Doubting Thomas," but perhaps "Honest Thomas" or "Needs-to-see-it-for-himself Thomas" might be fairer. He missed the experience the others had. Is it so wrong that he wanted the same assurance? He wasn't rejecting Jesus; he was articulating a very human need for personal encounter, voicing the doubt that others perhaps felt but kept quiet.

And that honesty, that questioning, is surely part of a real faith journey. It's interesting, isn't it, that Pope Francis, whose life and ministry the world was reflecting on so intently yesterday, often spoke about doubt not as a failure of faith, but as a sign of a living faith – one that seeks and wrestles and grows. He's reported to have said something to the effect that "A faith without doubt is a dead faith." He understood that engaging honestly with our questions is often how we move deeper into relationship with the mystery of God. Thomas models that for us.

And how does Jesus respond to Thomas's need? With utter grace. He appears again, invites the searching questions, offers the very proof Thomas requested: "Put your finger here... reach out your hand..." Again, the greeting is "Peace be with you." It's in that moment of gracious encounter that Thomas makes his great declaration: "My Lord and my God!" Doubt, met by understanding love, blossoms into profound faith. And Jesus’ gentle blessing extends to all of us: "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

This encounter transforms people. We see the result in Acts. Peter and the apostles, once hiding in fear, are now standing boldly in public, facing the very authorities who condemned Jesus. They are filled with the Holy Spirit Jesus breathed on them. When told to be silent, Peter's response is unwavering: "We must obey God rather than human beings!" They have become witnesses – not because they have all the answers, but because they have encountered the Risen Christ and know that death is not the end.

We see that witness lived out in countless ways. We saw it in the steady, faithful service of John Boulton right here in our community, making a difference in the lives he touched. We saw it on a global scale in the long ministry of Pope Francis, to whom the world formally bade farewell just yesterday – a ministry marked by efforts to follow God's call amidst the complexities and challenges of our time. Both men, in their unique ways, sought to live as witnesses.

And that brings us to our APCM today. Our look back at the past year is more than just reports and accounts. It's our chance to discern where we have been part of that same ongoing story of witness. Where have we, inspired by the Spirit, chosen to "obey God" in small or large ways? Where have we tried to embody Christ’s peace? Where have we wrestled honestly with our faith, like Thomas, and found God meeting us? Where have the fingerprints of the Spirit been visible in our common life, perhaps inspired by the faithfulness we remember – the local faithfulness of John, the global faithfulness of Pope Francis?

The Easter message isn't just a historical event; it's a present reality, empowered by the Spirit. The Risen Christ continues to meet us – in our joys, our griefs, our certainties, and our doubts. He met the disciples in their locked room; he met Thomas in his searching; he meets us here today.

So, as we prepare for our meeting, let's hold these threads together. Let's give thanks for the lives and witness of John Boulton and Pope Francis. Let's embrace the honesty of Thomas, trusting that our questions are welcome. Let's look back with gratitude for the signs of God's work among us this past year. And let's look forward with hope, asking for the Spirit's courage to continue being witnesses to the resurrection, sharing the peace we have received, and living fully as Easter people. For we, with all Christian people, have the confidence to say “Alleluia!  Christ is Risen!  He is risen indeed, Alleluia!”