Psalm 22:1-11; 23-24 2 Corinthians 5:14-21 John 20:19-22
From Locked Doors to Living Hope
There is something deeply human about fear. It creeps in quietly at first…an unease, a tightening of the chest…until it grows into something heavier: anxiety, confusion, even despair and a sense of hopelessness. It robs us of clarity. It drains our courage. It leaves us feeling small, exposed, trapped, and uncertain about what comes next.
This is not a 21st Century phenomena. In fact, when we turn to the Scriptures, we do not find many people standing tall in confident faith, do we?
We find fear. We find anguish. We find people overwhelmed.
The same is true about the Easter story.
On the same night on which he was betrayed, Jesus, who had throughout his earthly life spoken with authority, who had calmed storms, healed the sick, and raised the dead, now falls to the ground in the Garden of Gethsemane. And what we see there is deeply moving. We do not see strength as we might expect, but anguish.
Jesus is honest about his distress. He is overwhelmed. And so he prays, “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me.”
This is not cold composure. This is real human dread. The weight of what lies ahead presses down upon him…the suffering, the abandonment, the bearing of sin that was not his.
And yet, in that same prayer, we hear surrender: “Yet not my will, but yours be done.”
Here is courage based, not upon his feelings or his emotions, but upon his faith in his Father…a faith manifested in the very midst of fear.
But what of His followers? Well, as we see at the moment of his arrest, they scatter.
The disciples…those who had walked with him, eaten with him, pledged their loyalty to him…they all flee into the darkness. One runs so desperately that he leaves his cloak behind and escapes naked into the night. It is almost a painful image of sheer panic.
And then Peter…Peter, who had once said, “Even if all fall away, I never will,” now stands in a courtyard, surrounded by strangers, and fear takes hold.
A servant girl asks a simple question…and Peter denies his Lord.
Again. And again.
Three times he says, “I do not know him. I am not his disciple.”
And then the rooster crows and the overconfident fisherman sinks into the depths of despair. He weeps bitterly. The weight of his failure crashes down upon him. The man who thought himself strong now knows his weakness.
And then comes the cross.
For the disciples, the crucifixion is not just the death of Jesus…it is the death of hope…it is the death of a dream…it is the death of faith.
The disciples do not stand bravely at a distance. No, they disappear. They hide. Only one remains near the cross, along with the women…no doubt because he knew the High Priest’s family.
The rest? They are behind locked doors. Huddled. Afraid. Immobilised through fear.
The world they thought they understood has collapsed. The one they believed would redeem Israel is gone. Their purpose, their calling, their future…all of it seems buried in that tomb.
Imagine, if you will, the silence in that room. No bold speeches. No confident prayers. No arguments as to who is the greatest. Only whispered questions: “What now? Was it all in vain?”
Fear. Loss. Confusion. Hopelessness.
And then…Easter morning.
The message of Easter does not come with a triumphal entry, mind you…not with public spectacle…but with something almost fragile.
Women…those whose witness meant nothing in a strict patriarchal society…women go to the tomb.
Not expecting resurrection but bringing spices to properly bury a dead body.
There is no hope-filled excitement as they walk in the semi-darkness…only grief.
And then they find the stone rolled away.
There is no body in the tomb…only two angelic beings who give them a message: “He is not here. He has risen.”
It is so unbelievable that even when they tell the others, it sounds like nonsense.
But then comes Mary Magdalene.
She sees him. She hears him call her name. “Mary!”
For her everything changes, but the disciples are still afraid.
Even with these reports, even with the rumours of resurrection, they remain behind locked doors.
And then Jesus comes…suddenly standing among them.
“Peace be with you,” he says.
He does not rebuke their fear. He does not shame their failure.
He comes into their anxiety and speaks peace.
And in that moment, everything begins to turn.
Because the real news of Easter is not only that it happened…though it did, gloriously and historically…no, the real news of Easter is that it matters.
It matters more than any event outside of the life of Jesus.
Why? Well, firstly because it deals with our past.
Just as something broken that has been expertly mended and now functions as it should is evidence of a successful repair, so the resurrection stands as the definitive demonstration that the cross accomplished all that God intended. The resurrection is not merely an event; it is the confirmation that Christ’s sacrifice was wholly sufficient, meeting every purpose set forth by God. The cross was not a defeat, but a triumph that the resurrection validates. In this way, the empty tomb is the proof that the work of redemption is complete and trustworthy.
Jesus did not merely die…he paid a penalty that was ours…and we know that this transaction, if you will, was successful because of the resurrection. He is no longer dead. He is alive.
As Paul tells us, “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”
The resurrection is God’s declaration: “The price has been paid.”
Every wrong thought. Every careless word. Every hidden failure.
Covered. Forgiven.
And not only forgiven…in Jesus we are counted as righteous…as right before God.
Easter matters because it speaks into our past…not with condemnation, but with mercy.
Secondly, Easter matters because it transforms our present.
The resurrection is not just about what was…it is about what is. The same powerful Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead is now at work in us.
Think of that.
The Holy Spirit that breathed life into the tomb now breathes life into people like you and me…people who are dead in trespasses and sins.
Paul says that this powerful Holy Spirit is active, shaping us, strengthening us, helping us to pray when we cannot find words, guiding us when we feel lost, forming us more and more into the likeness of Christ.
And it is now the Holy Spirit who meets us in our fear. He steadies us in our anxiety.
He gives us courage to live and to love God and others…even our enemies…those who hate us, spitefully use us, hurt us, or persecute us.
Easter means that we are not left alone behind locked doors. The risen Christ comes to us and he says, “Peace be with you.”
Thirdly, Easter matters because it secures our future.
Easter lifts our eyes beyond the present because death is no longer the end.
Paul says that death has lost its sting. What once held absolute power has now been defeated and our future is no longer uncertain darkness but promised restoration.
A new heaven. A new earth. A place where sorrow and suffering are no more. Where what was broken is made whole. Where we are with him forever.
Easter matters because it gives us a future filled with hope…not wishful thinking but certain, anchored, unshakeable hope.
But for a moment, let us return to that locked room. To the fearful disciples. The shattered expectations. The uncertain hearts. The debilitating anxiety. The shame of denial.
And here, in that locked room, we realise something: these disciples are not so different from us.
We know fear. We know broken dreams. We know failure. We know shame. We know loss. We know uncertainty. We know anxiety. We know what it is to feel overwhelmed, to lose direction, to wonder what comes next.
We know that locked room, don’t we?
But Easter bursts into the reality of our locked rooms.
It tells us that fear does not have the final word. Failure does not define us. And despair is not the end of the story.
Because Christ is risen…and he still comes to people like us.
He comes into our locked rooms. Into our anxious thoughts. Into our uncertain situations. And he speaks the same words: “Peace be with you.”
Human history is full of incredible events. Moments that have shaped nations, changed cultures, altered the course of time.
But what else, apart from the resurrection of Jesus, can absolve my past, transform my present, and secure my eternal future?
Nothing else comes close, does it?
And so today, we stand not in the shadow of fear but in the light of resurrection.
Not in despair but in hope. Not in silence but in proclamation: He is risen.
He is risen indeed.
Hallelujah.
Shall we pray?
© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2026