Easter evening is a strange time in the lives of the apostles. They are in a locked room, and they are afraid.

Their fear makes sense. The authorities just executed their teacher. If they were willing to do that to him, who’s next? So they’re hiding. What’s more, some of the women returned from the tomb and told them, “We saw Jesus. He’s alive!” The disciples response was, essentially, “Yeah, right.” Luke writes that the women’s words seemed like an “idle tale” to them. This is a reasonable response to someone telling you that a man who was killed two days ago while you were watching is now walking around.

So here they are. The resurrection is real, but they are not living in it yet. They are not even believing it yet. They are just confused and scared and trying to stay safe.

Then Jesus appears.

There is no door opening. No sound of footsteps. One moment he is not there, and then he is standing among them. He comes to them as they are, in the middle of the fear and confusion.

Notice what he does not do. He does not rebuke them. He does not correct them. There is no disappointed look with a pointed question, “Why are you afraid?”

His first words are words of comfort. And the words are simply this: “Peace be with you.”

Not an explanation. Not instruction. Not a plan. Just peace.

And then Jesus says it again. When things are repeated in Scripture, they are not repeated by accident. “Peace be with you.” This is central, not casual.

Shalom is the Hebrew word here. Shalom is not just calmness. It is not chill. And it is not simple resignation to your fate.

Shalom is the sense that everything is in its place and in harmony. Shalom is a right relationship with yourself, your community, and your God.

Jesus says, “Shalom be with you.” Then he shows them his hands and his side.

I had some new thoughts about the wounds this year. The wounds are, as Jesus uses them in the encounter, proof that he is the same Jesus that died and that he, in his body, is standing before them.

But a new question occurred to me this year. Jesus had a lot of wounds going into the cross — the lashes, the beating, the crown of thorns. He looks nothing like that when he appears. Where are all the other wounds? These specific wounds remain. It seems that Jesus chose to keep those wounds as the visible proof of what he did for us.

The wounds point to the source of the peace he speaks to us. It is not firstly in his teachings. It is in his work.

The risen Jesus is the crucified Jesus. The cross and empty tomb are what he came for. Paul says it: “He was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification.” The wounds are the sign that what needed doing has been done.

Jesus speaks shalom as the one who has already gone through death — the ultimate fear, the one completely inescapable human reality — and come out the other side to say to us: you can trust me.

Notice something else. Nothing in the external situation has changed. Jerusalem is still upset. The religious leaders are still out there with a demonstrated willingness to kill to keep their position. The danger is still real. But Jesus’ completed work and his continued presence is the thing that can bring peace in circumstances that don’t seem to support it.

A week later, the disciples are in a locked room again. Fear has not disappeared just because they have seen Jesus. (I find that oddly comforting. Even having seen and talked with the risen Christ, they are still responding reasonably to the danger around them.) Thomas is with them this time. He was absent the first week, and when the others told him they had seen the Lord, he said he would not believe it unless he could touch the wounds himself. Which — let’s be honest — is essentially what the other disciples did when the women told them. There’s a whole cascade of unbelief running through this story. Nobody believed it until Jesus met them directly.

So, Jesus appears again. Same locked room. Same first words: “Peace be with you.” Then he turns to Thomas. No scolding. No embarrassed silence. No sigh. He says, “Thomas, come here. Put your finger in my hands. Put your hand in my side.”

No condemnation. No dismissal. An invitation.

Thomas touches Jesus and the one with the strongest doubt gives the strongest confession. “My Lord and my God.” That is the highest statement about Jesus in the entire Gospel of John, and it comes from the man who said there is no way I will believe this without concrete proof.

Then Jesus says something that reaches past that room all the way to us. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” If you are a believer, that’s you! Jesus is speaking a word of blessing directly to us, and I hope we can hear it.

When you look at both scenes together, a pattern emerges. Fear is real. Confusion is real. Doubt is real. None of that is minimized. But in both scenes, Jesus does the same thing.

He comes. He stands among them. He speaks peace.

Every time.

That is the pattern: presence first, then peace.

We have our own locked rooms. Places we have shut off because we are afraid of what is in there. Or what might get in. We do it in our relationships. We just sort of lock the room and say nobody goes there. We do it with our finances, our health, the places in our lives where trusting God feels too risky. We may not call it fear, but we know what it is.

Put yourself in that room for a moment. Feel the fear you feel. Let your emotions go there if you can. Then look around in that room and realize that what happened with the disciples is true for you. Jesus is in that room with you. And he’s not angry or disappointed. He’s offering you the same words he gave the disciples: “Peace be with you.”

He does not wait for you to unlock the door and come out in faith before he shows up. He does not look at you with disappointment in his eyes. He is just present, speaking shalom into whatever locked room you are sitting in.

You do not have to have everything figured out first. You do not have to fix yourself first. The shalom of Jesus is available to you right now, right where you are, right in the middle of whatever it is you are thinking of right now.

Because this is what the resurrection means, practically, on a Tuesday or a hard Wednesday or whenever fear comes rolling in: the one who has spoken peace over you has already gone through death and come out the other side. His word can be trusted. His shalom is the real thing. It is stronger than whatever you are afraid of.

Jesus never promised a life without danger and difficulty. But Jesus promised to be with you in it. And as sons and daughters of the risen Christ, fear does not get the final word.

Jesus does.

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Pastor John Rallison
Redeemer Lutheran Church | Salem, Oregon
https://www.RedeemerSalem.org